miserable, and dangerous years. A little straw was all he needed to start a conflagration. She wouldn’t perish in it—he’d snatch her out before she did. But it would be a fatal fire. He’d see to that.
4
“A gain!” Lady Swanson asked anxiously. “What was said, how was it said, and who else was there to see or hear?”
“Ma’am,” the maid said miserably, wringing her hands, “I told you all, every bit, every scrap. I can’t remember every word nor one other, I swear. As to who saw? Anyone in the Park, I’d think.”
“It’s clear you didn’t think!” the tall blond woman sitting next to Lady Swanson boomed. “You should have taken Sibyl away the minute they appeared! Oh, get out, do!” she told the trembling maid with a wave of her hand. The maid scurried from the room.
“This is too much,” the blond woman said angrily, turning to face Lady Swanson. “Leigh and St. Erth? Trying to scrape up an acquaintance with Sibyl on their own? In the Park?” She stamped her foot, making a porcelain shepherdess on the mantel do a little jig, “I will not have her marrying before me, Mama. Life is hard enough as it is!”
“Before you?” another fair-haired young woman cried from her seat by the window. “What about me? You can’t allow it, Mama.”
“Ho!” another thickset blond young lady said angrily from the chair where she sat, staring at her feet. “Allow? Are you mad, Chloe? Much Mama has to say about it. She allowed Mercy to marry before me, didn’t she? And Mercy’s a year younger.”
“But McIntyre offered for her and wanted no one else, so Mama’s hands were tied,” Chloe said with a touch of malice. “But, Mama, you can do something to nip this in the bud!”
All three pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at their mother. Lady Swanson repressed a sigh. She was such a delicate-looking little woman, it was hard for people to believe she’d given birth to these three strapping young females. For herself, too, sometimes. Still, she loved all her daughters, even though there was, she admitted, perhaps a surplus of them. But though she loved, she didn’t dote. It was hard to play favorites when one had seven daughters. Impossible, when they’d been so blessedly brought up by maids and governesses, she’d never experienced intimacy with them. Until now. No hired servant could see to marrying them off.
Lady Swanson gazed at her daughters and sighed more deeply. It would cost a fortune. She had that, and had spent a great deal of it already. Which was how she and her husband had popped off the older girls. But so far these three hadn’t agreed to marry any of the gentlemen her parents offered to buy for them. And she couldn’t find it in her heart to insist on any of those who had proposed because they’d been from the bottom of the barrel. It seemed even fortune hunters had some standards these days. Or maybe it was becausethe peace was finally offering some prosperity, so times weren’t as bad as they’d been when her elder girls had been wed.
She felt as bad for her daughters as for herself and her husband. She knew what marital bliss was. She and her husband loved each other and always had done. He didn’t blame her, as some men might have done, for producing no sons. And how could he object to the fact that the girls she’d borne had inherited almost everything from him? That was the problem.
Lord Swanson was a man’s man, with a face and form that suited a man. He looked hale and hearty with his big broad bones, round red face, and prominent nose. It gave him weight and character. His eyes were a nondescript color, but well opened. And he’d thick brown hair, when he’d had it. His wife had lovely blue eyes, but they were small. No one noticed because her features were so charming and delicate, as was her body. The girls had inherited her blond hair and eye shape. Everything else was a feminized version of their father. Only not that feminine, Lady Swanson thought, and
4
“A gain!” Lady Swanson asked anxiously. “What was said, how was it said, and who else was there to see or hear?”
“Ma’am,” the maid said miserably, wringing her hands, “I told you all, every bit, every scrap. I can’t remember every word nor one other, I swear. As to who saw? Anyone in the Park, I’d think.”
“It’s clear you didn’t think!” the tall blond woman sitting next to Lady Swanson boomed. “You should have taken Sibyl away the minute they appeared! Oh, get out, do!” she told the trembling maid with a wave of her hand. The maid scurried from the room.
“This is too much,” the blond woman said angrily, turning to face Lady Swanson. “Leigh and St. Erth? Trying to scrape up an acquaintance with Sibyl on their own? In the Park?” She stamped her foot, making a porcelain shepherdess on the mantel do a little jig, “I will not have her marrying before me, Mama. Life is hard enough as it is!”
“Before you?” another fair-haired young woman cried from her seat by the window. “What about me? You can’t allow it, Mama.”
“Ho!” another thickset blond young lady said angrily from the chair where she sat, staring at her feet. “Allow? Are you mad, Chloe? Much Mama has to say about it. She allowed Mercy to marry before me, didn’t she? And Mercy’s a year younger.”
“But McIntyre offered for her and wanted no one else, so Mama’s hands were tied,” Chloe said with a touch of malice. “But, Mama, you can do something to nip this in the bud!”
All three pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at their mother. Lady Swanson repressed a sigh. She was such a delicate-looking little woman, it was hard for people to believe she’d given birth to these three strapping young females. For herself, too, sometimes. Still, she loved all her daughters, even though there was, she admitted, perhaps a surplus of them. But though she loved, she didn’t dote. It was hard to play favorites when one had seven daughters. Impossible, when they’d been so blessedly brought up by maids and governesses, she’d never experienced intimacy with them. Until now. No hired servant could see to marrying them off.
Lady Swanson gazed at her daughters and sighed more deeply. It would cost a fortune. She had that, and had spent a great deal of it already. Which was how she and her husband had popped off the older girls. But so far these three hadn’t agreed to marry any of the gentlemen her parents offered to buy for them. And she couldn’t find it in her heart to insist on any of those who had proposed because they’d been from the bottom of the barrel. It seemed even fortune hunters had some standards these days. Or maybe it was becausethe peace was finally offering some prosperity, so times weren’t as bad as they’d been when her elder girls had been wed.
She felt as bad for her daughters as for herself and her husband. She knew what marital bliss was. She and her husband loved each other and always had done. He didn’t blame her, as some men might have done, for producing no sons. And how could he object to the fact that the girls she’d borne had inherited almost everything from him? That was the problem.
Lord Swanson was a man’s man, with a face and form that suited a man. He looked hale and hearty with his big broad bones, round red face, and prominent nose. It gave him weight and character. His eyes were a nondescript color, but well opened. And he’d thick brown hair, when he’d had it. His wife had lovely blue eyes, but they were small. No one noticed because her features were so charming and delicate, as was her body. The girls had inherited her blond hair and eye shape. Everything else was a feminized version of their father. Only not that feminine, Lady Swanson thought, and
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