but stood looking at him with thinly veiled impatience.
“If you have finished taking your inventory, may I suggest we leave,” snapped Annabelle. “And may I also suggest, my lord, that you save your intimate glances for Lady Jane Cherle!”
T HE Dowager Marchioness was in a tearing fury, and the reason for her bad temper had not yet arrived home. She had sustained a visit from Captain MacDonald who had complained bitterly that Annabelle was causing no end of talk by leaving the breakfast with Lord Varleigh. The Captain was obviously “well to go” as he himself would have put it, and Lady Emmeline unfairly thought Annabelle had been encouraging him to drink, or at thevery least keeping insufficient control of him.
She promised the Captain she would deal with her goddaughter when Annabelle arrived home and sent him packing. She was fully recovered from her fright of the night before and felt the need to take some action. Calling for Horley, she informed that long-suffering lady’s maid that they were going out for a promenade and told her to take that look off her face and fetch the umbrella immediately.
For the hundredth time Lady Emmeline vowed to buy herself a new umbrella. Her old one was heavy and cumbersome but, for all that, seemed nigh indestructable. Heavy scarlet silk covered tough iron spokes and the umbrella felt as if it weighed a ton.
As she stood on her doorstep, several heavy spots of rain began to fall, driven by the rapidly increasing force of the wind, a fact that Horley pointed out with a sort of gloomy relish. But Lady Emmeline was determined to exercise. Exercise cleaned the liver and purged the bowels, she told Horley. She also remarked that Horley’s perpetual long face was due to the disorder of her spleen.
Feeling slightly refreshed after this lecture, Lady Emmeline unfurled her enormous umbrella and stepped briskly out onto the pavement … and straight into— What appeared to the terrified Horley—to be an absolute rain of bricks. Bricks fell from the heavens like the thunderbolts of Jove and smashed down on her ladyship’s doughty umbrella. The Dowager Marchioness was knocked to the ground by the weight of the bricks and fell screaming onto the pavement—unhurt, thanks to her umbrella—but terrified out of her wits.
It was at that moment that Annabelle arrived home, just in time to see the extraordinary sight of her godmother lying flat out on the pavement in a pile of bricks with her dress indecently hitched up, displaying her fat little calves bulging over a tight pair of glacé kid halfboots. Lord Varleigh helped the shaken lady to her feet, and Lady Emmeline’s wrath erupted.
“How dare you, sirrah,” she roared in Lord Varleigh’s surprised face. “My goddaughter is
affianced—affianced
d’ye hear?—to Captain MacDonald, and I will not have her traipsing around the countryside with a man who is little better than a
rake
.”
“Control yourself,” said Lord Varleigh coldly.
“And
you
” went on Lady Emmeline, rounding on Annabelle, “you ungrateful
baggage
. I bring you to London. I arrange a marriage for you with the finest young man…”
“That money can buy,” said Annabelle, nearly as furious as her godmother.
“Don’t be impertinent,” roared the Dowager Marchioness, oblivious of the gathering crowd of spectators. “If I have any more of your nonsense, you will be packed back to Yorkshire in disgrace and not one penny of my money will you see.”
“Your money cannot buy everything,” shouted Annabelle, pink with mortification.
“Quite right,” roared Lady Emmeline. “It can’t buy poverty.”
The avidly listening crowd cheered this sally, and Lady Emmeline’s wrath fled like the black clouds above.
“Well, well,” she said mildly. “Come into the house—you too, Varleigh. We should not be bandying words in public.”
Begrimed with brick dust and with her bonnet and red wig askew, Lady Emmeline led the way into the house.
“What
“If you have finished taking your inventory, may I suggest we leave,” snapped Annabelle. “And may I also suggest, my lord, that you save your intimate glances for Lady Jane Cherle!”
T HE Dowager Marchioness was in a tearing fury, and the reason for her bad temper had not yet arrived home. She had sustained a visit from Captain MacDonald who had complained bitterly that Annabelle was causing no end of talk by leaving the breakfast with Lord Varleigh. The Captain was obviously “well to go” as he himself would have put it, and Lady Emmeline unfairly thought Annabelle had been encouraging him to drink, or at thevery least keeping insufficient control of him.
She promised the Captain she would deal with her goddaughter when Annabelle arrived home and sent him packing. She was fully recovered from her fright of the night before and felt the need to take some action. Calling for Horley, she informed that long-suffering lady’s maid that they were going out for a promenade and told her to take that look off her face and fetch the umbrella immediately.
For the hundredth time Lady Emmeline vowed to buy herself a new umbrella. Her old one was heavy and cumbersome but, for all that, seemed nigh indestructable. Heavy scarlet silk covered tough iron spokes and the umbrella felt as if it weighed a ton.
As she stood on her doorstep, several heavy spots of rain began to fall, driven by the rapidly increasing force of the wind, a fact that Horley pointed out with a sort of gloomy relish. But Lady Emmeline was determined to exercise. Exercise cleaned the liver and purged the bowels, she told Horley. She also remarked that Horley’s perpetual long face was due to the disorder of her spleen.
Feeling slightly refreshed after this lecture, Lady Emmeline unfurled her enormous umbrella and stepped briskly out onto the pavement … and straight into— What appeared to the terrified Horley—to be an absolute rain of bricks. Bricks fell from the heavens like the thunderbolts of Jove and smashed down on her ladyship’s doughty umbrella. The Dowager Marchioness was knocked to the ground by the weight of the bricks and fell screaming onto the pavement—unhurt, thanks to her umbrella—but terrified out of her wits.
It was at that moment that Annabelle arrived home, just in time to see the extraordinary sight of her godmother lying flat out on the pavement in a pile of bricks with her dress indecently hitched up, displaying her fat little calves bulging over a tight pair of glacé kid halfboots. Lord Varleigh helped the shaken lady to her feet, and Lady Emmeline’s wrath erupted.
“How dare you, sirrah,” she roared in Lord Varleigh’s surprised face. “My goddaughter is
affianced—affianced
d’ye hear?—to Captain MacDonald, and I will not have her traipsing around the countryside with a man who is little better than a
rake
.”
“Control yourself,” said Lord Varleigh coldly.
“And
you
” went on Lady Emmeline, rounding on Annabelle, “you ungrateful
baggage
. I bring you to London. I arrange a marriage for you with the finest young man…”
“That money can buy,” said Annabelle, nearly as furious as her godmother.
“Don’t be impertinent,” roared the Dowager Marchioness, oblivious of the gathering crowd of spectators. “If I have any more of your nonsense, you will be packed back to Yorkshire in disgrace and not one penny of my money will you see.”
“Your money cannot buy everything,” shouted Annabelle, pink with mortification.
“Quite right,” roared Lady Emmeline. “It can’t buy poverty.”
The avidly listening crowd cheered this sally, and Lady Emmeline’s wrath fled like the black clouds above.
“Well, well,” she said mildly. “Come into the house—you too, Varleigh. We should not be bandying words in public.”
Begrimed with brick dust and with her bonnet and red wig askew, Lady Emmeline led the way into the house.
“What
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