along the
length of the bed. She patted him, coming slowly more awake as he
nuzzled her.
"That'll do, Bertie." She chuckled when his
rough tongue tickled her ear. She caught the dog's head firmly
between her hands and mumbled, "I trust you will be a good dog
today and behave more civilly if we chance to meet Lord Ravenel
again."
Bertie gave a sharp bark as though he
understood.
She yawned, scratching his ear. "Aye, like
all rogues, you are most quick with your promises, sir."
She knew full well Bertie would conduct
himself as outrageously as he always did. Not that it mattered.
There was little likelihood they would see Lord Ravenel again. Even
if he hadn't gone, she sensed that his lordship would dodge her
company. Why could she simply not leave him alone? It was one of
her own principles to rigorously avoid any gentleman with too much
starch in his collar. She had often found it denoted a most
humorless outlook on life.
She might certainly have put Ravenel down as
the stuffy lord he appeared to be, striking eyes or no, if she had
not chanced to be walking toward the front of the inn at a
particular moment yesterday afternoon. It was then that she had
seen Ravenel as he stood and waved good-bye to Miss Carruthers. He
must be more in love with the lady than Gwenda had at first
supposed, for he had appeared not so much high in the instep as
unhappy and vulnerable. Gwenda's intuition told her that Lord
Ravenel was a lonely man, and she could not bear to see anyone left
lonely. But what could she do to alter Ravenel's case? He was
obviously not the sort of man to accept anyone's advice.
"I doubt my interference did any good at all,
Bertie," Gwenda murmured to her dog. "Most likely he used my book
to light the fire as soon as I was gone, and the next time he woos
Miss Carruthers or any other lady, he'll make the same mistakes all
over again."
Gwenda sighed, then shrugged. At least she
had the satisfaction of knowing she had tried. She swung her legs
over the side of the bed. Through eyes yet dulled with sleep, she
squinted at the small china clock ticking on the mantel. Good
heavens! Five minutes after the hour of nine. If that time were
correct, then the morning was more advanced than she had at first
supposed. She was not ordinarily a late sleeper.
"Colette?" Gwenda called, stretching her arms
over her head and suppressing another yawn. She spoke more sharply
when she received no answer. "Colette!"
There was still no response from the
adjoining chamber.
"Rot that girl. Sleeping in again and deaf as
a post besides. I tried to tell Mama she would never do."
Grumbling, Gwenda pushed herself to her feet and was surprised to
feel that her legs were a little wobbly. Even the swat of Bertie's
tail against her calves seemed enough to unsteady her. She
staggered to the white porcelain washbasin She strained to lift the
heavy pitcher and splash a small quantity of water into the
bowl.
Taking a deep breath, she heroically dashed
some of the cold water onto her face. Although she gasped with the
shock, it felt good, setting all her pores a-tingle, and driving
off the last wisps of fog that clouded her brain. As she reached
for a linen towel to dry herself, her gaze fell on a soiled glass
left on the nightstand.
Her nose crinkled at the curdled remnants of
the milk she had drunk last night. Beastly stuff. She would not
have bothered with it if Colette had not pestered her so. The milk
had had the most peculiar undertaste. She must remember to speak to
Mr. Leatherbury about it.
But the first order of business was to rouse
Colette to help her dress, then make inquiries as to whether that
dratted coach brace had been mended.
Gwenda shuffled barefoot across the carpet to
the door of the small chamber that adjoined hers and rapped loudly.
"Colette!" This time she did not wait for any response before
unceremoniously shoving the door open. The sight that met Gwenda's
eyes momentarily drove all thoughts of her errant maid from
length of the bed. She patted him, coming slowly more awake as he
nuzzled her.
"That'll do, Bertie." She chuckled when his
rough tongue tickled her ear. She caught the dog's head firmly
between her hands and mumbled, "I trust you will be a good dog
today and behave more civilly if we chance to meet Lord Ravenel
again."
Bertie gave a sharp bark as though he
understood.
She yawned, scratching his ear. "Aye, like
all rogues, you are most quick with your promises, sir."
She knew full well Bertie would conduct
himself as outrageously as he always did. Not that it mattered.
There was little likelihood they would see Lord Ravenel again. Even
if he hadn't gone, she sensed that his lordship would dodge her
company. Why could she simply not leave him alone? It was one of
her own principles to rigorously avoid any gentleman with too much
starch in his collar. She had often found it denoted a most
humorless outlook on life.
She might certainly have put Ravenel down as
the stuffy lord he appeared to be, striking eyes or no, if she had
not chanced to be walking toward the front of the inn at a
particular moment yesterday afternoon. It was then that she had
seen Ravenel as he stood and waved good-bye to Miss Carruthers. He
must be more in love with the lady than Gwenda had at first
supposed, for he had appeared not so much high in the instep as
unhappy and vulnerable. Gwenda's intuition told her that Lord
Ravenel was a lonely man, and she could not bear to see anyone left
lonely. But what could she do to alter Ravenel's case? He was
obviously not the sort of man to accept anyone's advice.
"I doubt my interference did any good at all,
Bertie," Gwenda murmured to her dog. "Most likely he used my book
to light the fire as soon as I was gone, and the next time he woos
Miss Carruthers or any other lady, he'll make the same mistakes all
over again."
Gwenda sighed, then shrugged. At least she
had the satisfaction of knowing she had tried. She swung her legs
over the side of the bed. Through eyes yet dulled with sleep, she
squinted at the small china clock ticking on the mantel. Good
heavens! Five minutes after the hour of nine. If that time were
correct, then the morning was more advanced than she had at first
supposed. She was not ordinarily a late sleeper.
"Colette?" Gwenda called, stretching her arms
over her head and suppressing another yawn. She spoke more sharply
when she received no answer. "Colette!"
There was still no response from the
adjoining chamber.
"Rot that girl. Sleeping in again and deaf as
a post besides. I tried to tell Mama she would never do."
Grumbling, Gwenda pushed herself to her feet and was surprised to
feel that her legs were a little wobbly. Even the swat of Bertie's
tail against her calves seemed enough to unsteady her. She
staggered to the white porcelain washbasin She strained to lift the
heavy pitcher and splash a small quantity of water into the
bowl.
Taking a deep breath, she heroically dashed
some of the cold water onto her face. Although she gasped with the
shock, it felt good, setting all her pores a-tingle, and driving
off the last wisps of fog that clouded her brain. As she reached
for a linen towel to dry herself, her gaze fell on a soiled glass
left on the nightstand.
Her nose crinkled at the curdled remnants of
the milk she had drunk last night. Beastly stuff. She would not
have bothered with it if Colette had not pestered her so. The milk
had had the most peculiar undertaste. She must remember to speak to
Mr. Leatherbury about it.
But the first order of business was to rouse
Colette to help her dress, then make inquiries as to whether that
dratted coach brace had been mended.
Gwenda shuffled barefoot across the carpet to
the door of the small chamber that adjoined hers and rapped loudly.
"Colette!" This time she did not wait for any response before
unceremoniously shoving the door open. The sight that met Gwenda's
eyes momentarily drove all thoughts of her errant maid from
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