Gayle Buck by The Desperate Viscount Page A

worked would be one of her own creation, he knew, for she had proven to be quite artistic with her needle. The expense that he had been put to in sending Mary to that select seminary had been a worthwhile investment, for he could not think of another young woman of their social standing who was as refined or educated as his own dear Mary.
    Mr. Pepperidge lowered the newspaper to allow his appreciative gaze to go round the comfortably appointed drawing room. Mary was talented in other ways. She had a knack of making a room appear warm and welcoming, a quality much prized by an old gentleman such as himself, or for that matter, any other gentleman.
    On the thought, Mr. Pepperidge sighed heavily, for it occurred to him, and not for the first time, that his daughter should have been stitching chair covers for her own house instead of for her father’s.
    Mary looked up upon hearing the regretful sound, a smile coming at once to the full curve of her lips. “What is it, Papa? Have you read another item that does not quite meet with your approval?”
    “I have been a selfish old man, Mary. I should have seen you wed and the happy mistress of your own house years ago.”
    Astonished, Mary lowered her embroidery to her lap. “Papa! What an extraordinary thing to say. I am quite content as I am.”
    “As am I, dear child. Your being here has meant all the world to me since your sweet mother died. But you are a lovely young woman. You should have pretty dresses and choose a suitable gentleman of our acquaintance for your husband,” said Mr. Pepperidge.
    Mary laughed, a rich throaty peal of amusement. “What a funny you are, Papa. I do not pine after frivolity or furbelows, as you well know. And as for a husband, well, I suspect I am a little too long in the tooth to expect to receive a suitable offer. I am all of one-and-twenty since last week and had a lovely locket from you and a scarf sent by Tabitha and a beautiful nosegay from William. Now, Papa, pray do not scowl. I could scarcely wish for anything dearer than the affection of my family.”
    Mr. Pepperidge shook his head, sighing again. “I have kept you locked away too long with me, Mary. I see it now. I have been blinded by my own selfishness. You have spoiled me too well, Mary.”
    The door to the drawing room opened and the house maid entered with the coffee tray. Mary set aside her embroidery in the basket, saying, “If I have done so it is because you are such a darling. Now, Papa, we will have no more of this nonsense if you please. I am well content to go on just as we are. Do we not have everything we could possibly wish for our comfort?” Mary quietly thanked the housemaid and dismissed the girl until she was needed again.
    “Oh, aye, we do well enough,” agreed Mr. Pepperidge. “Business is very good since the South American market has been tapped. However, that is not to what I am referring, as well you know, child.”
    Mary shook her head. “Really, Papa. I confess I do not understand this strange tack you have taken this evening.” She fixed the coffee precisely as her father preferred with a generous dollop of cream and sugar. He accepted the cup and upon tasting the coffee, nodded his approval. Mary poured herself a cup and sat back comfortably against the settee. She said serenely, “How was business today. Papa?”
    “You would make a delightful wife, Mary.”
    “Papa,” she said warningly.
    Mr. Pepperidge shook his heavy finger at her. “I know of what I speak, daughter. You always do my coffee just as I prefer. My favorite dishes are always at table. The rooms are clean and bright and cheerful. You always inquire after my concerns with the right mixture of interest and intelligence. These are little things that a gentleman appreciates. You are a treasure, Mary, and one that any gentleman would be honored to have to wife.”
    “Very well, Papa, I am a treasure. I shall not pull caps with you on that score,” said Mary, her eyes twinkling.