Dragonwyck by Anya Seton

entertaining the intelligentsia at Dragonwyck. He read the new works of Bryant, Hawthorne, and a startling young writer called Poe, with a sincere appreciation which was only slightly patronizing. For Nicholas' conviction of his own superiority was so interwoven with his flesh and bone that he had no need to prove it to others as do those not quite secure. He was a Van Ryn of Dragonwyck Manor, a law unto himself and beholden to nobody on earth—or in heaven.
    He glanced again at Miranda who sat forward gazing first at one shore then the other. The breeze had whipped color into her white skin, her lips were slightly parted, her small breasts under the brown merino bodice rose and fell rapidly. There was a strong aura of femininity about her, and her long eyes, gold-flecked in green between thick dark lashes, were really magnificent. Except that they were innocent of all sex-consciousness, they were the seductive eyes of a passionate woman.
    He was suddenly reminded of a French marquise he had met in Paris and of whom he had been enamored until she offended his fastidiousness. This memory annoyed him and he said coldly:
    'I fear you're rather ignorant, Miranda. I shall map out a plan of reading for you.'
    She smiled nervously, hurt by his tone. He had seemed so cordial and charming on the trip that she had felt at ease with him, almost as though he were her own age. It was therefore startling to see that his handsome face had grown indifferent and remote, and to have him speak to her as her father did. She felt suddenly that she bored him, and was sure of it when he wrapped his cloak about him and rose abruptly, saying, 'I'm going to take a few turns about the deck; you'll be quite safe here.'
    She would have liked to walk with him, she was unused to sitting still for hours on end, and her healthy young muscles ached for exercise, but she dared say nothing. Nicholas had turned sternly unapproachable. It was her first experience of his dark moods, and far more experienced and mature people than Miranda had found them impossible to understand.
    In an hour he came back, and she saw at once that the darkness had lifted. He approached her with his rare smile, a smile devoid of merriment and yet magnetic and intensely personal so that the recipient invariably felt flattered.
    'In half an hour we'll arrive at Dragonwyck, Miranda. This town is Hudson.'
    She obediently inspected the small neat collection of buildings and wharfs, but she was somewhat sated with new sights and privately thought Newburgh or Poughkeepsie more attractive.
    'I've wondered about the name Dragonwyck, Cousin Nicholas,' she said timidly. 'Please don't think me prying,' she added, fearful that she might offend him again.
    But Nicholas was pleased to explain anything that bore on the history of his family or Manor.
    He sat down at once. 'The name is typical of the place in that it's a mixture of Indian legend and Dutch now anglicized—made into English,' he added, seeing that she did not understand the word. 'You see, when my direct ancestor Cornelius Van Ryn, the first patroon, acquired our lands here, he sailed up from New Amsterdam to inspect them and choose the site for the Manor House. He decided on this cliff by the river. But there was a party of Mohican Indians camped near-by and he soon found that they were afraid of this cliff on which he had started to build the house. They avoided it always, and though he was kind to them they feared him too, nor would they touch one stone or brick which went into the building. After he knew them better he discovered the reason. They believed that under the cliff there lived a great winged serpent which devoured everything which encroached on its territory.'
    'And did he build there anyway?' asked Miranda.
    'Of course he did. And he called the place
Draketmyck,
"place of the dragon" in Dutch, and so it has been for two hundred years.'
    'The dragon hasn't ever bothered you?' asked Miranda, half-seriously.
    Nicholas was