Black Sheep by Georgette Heyer

without Fanny’s knowledge, to talk privately to Mr Calverleigh, and here, by a veritable stroke of providence, was her opportunity. To flinch before what would certainly be an extremely disagreeable interview would be the act, she told herself, of a pudding-heart. Bracing herself resolutely, she got up from the writing-table, and turned, saying, in a cool, pleasant tone: “Mr Calverleigh?”
    He had picked up a newspaper from the table in the centre of the room, and was glancing through it, but he lowered it, and looked enquiringly across at her. His eyes, which were deep-set and of a light gray made the more striking by the swarthiness of his complexion, held an expression of faint surprise; he said: “Yes?”
    If he was surprised, Abby was wholly taken aback. She had formed no very precise mental picture of him, but nothing she had been told had led her to expect to be confronted with a tall, loose-limbed man, considerably older than she was herself, with harsh features in a deeply lined face, a deplorably sallow skin, and not the smallest air of fashion. He was wearing a coat which fitted too easily across his very broad shoulders for modishness, with buckskins and topboots; his neck-tie was almost negligently arranged; no fobs or seals dangled at his waist; and his shirt-points were not only extremely moderate, but even a little limp.
    She was so much astonished that for a full minute she could only stare at him, her brain in a whirl. He had been described to her as a young, handsome town-beau, and he was nothing of the sort. He had also been described, by her brother-in-law, as a loose fish, and that she could far more readily believe: there was a suggestion of devil-may-care about him, and these deeply carven lines in his lean countenance might well (she supposed) betray dissipation. But what there was in him to have captivated Fanny—and Selina too!—she found herself quite unable to imagine. Then, as she continued to stare at him, she saw that a look of amusement had crept into his face, and that a smile was quivering at the corners of his mouth, and she perceived very clearly why Fanny had allowed herself to be fascinated by him. But, even as an answering smile was irresistibly drawn from her, it occurred to her that Selina, even in her sillier moments, would scarcely refer to a man of her own age as a very pretty-behaved young man ,and she exclaimed, with that impetuosity so frequently deplored by the elder members of her family: “Oh, I beg your pardon! I mistook—I mean,—I mean— Are you Mr Calverleigh?”
    “Well, I’ve never been given any reason to suppose that I’m not!” he replied.
    “You are? But surely —?” Recollecting herself, Abby broke off, and said, with all the composure at her command: “I must tell you, sir, that I am Miss Wendover!”
    She observed, with satisfaction, that this disclosure exercised a powerful effect upon him. That disturbing smile vanished, and his black brows suddenly snapped together. He ejaculated: “ Miss who? ”
    “Miss Wendover,” she repeated, adding, for his further enlightenment : “Miss Abigail Wendover!”
    “Good God!” For a moment, he appeared to be startled, and then, as his curiously light eyes scanned her, he disconcerted her by saying: “I like that! It becomes you, too.”
    Roused to indignation, Abby, losing sight of the main issue, allowed herself to be lured into retorting: “Thank you! I am excessively obliged to you! It is an outdated name, commonly used to signify a maidservant! You may like it, but I do not!” She added hastily: “Nor, sir, did I make myself known to you for the purpose of discussing my name!”
    “Of course not!” he said, so soothingly that she longed to hit him. “Do tell me what it is you Jo wish to discuss! I’ll oblige you to the best of my power, even though I don’t immediately understand why you should wish to discuss anything with me. Forgive me!—I’ve no social graces!—but have I ever met