little influence. Unless Sara made a push to prevent it, Jaisy might be made to pay dearly for her outrageous conduct.
“You will understand that Jaisy is accustomed to country ways, my lord, I hope,” she offered quietly, “and not hold it against her if she goes on in a way that appears unseemly. No offense was intended, I promise you.”
As has hitherto been reported, one of Lord Carlin’s virtues was an unflagging kindness to his social inferiors; and this kindness he now displayed. Not only did he pity Miss Valentine the exigencies of her position as gooseberry, he was grateful to her for offering an unexceptionable avenue of exit. “No offense has been taken, Miss Valentine; and I beg you will accept my excuses, for I have a previous engagement and have already tarried too long. Your servant, Lady Easterling, Jevon!” With cordial haste, his lordship took his leave.
Their voices followed him. “Deuce take it, Sara!” ejaculated her ladyship. “I must say I think very poorly of your interference! Just when things were going so well, too!”
“Well?” echoed Miss Valentine, with a stupefaction shared by Kit. The remainder of the exchange he was not privileged to hear. With a haste his lordship applauded, Jevon ushered the ladies out of earshot.
Perhaps, had his lordship been allotted sufficient time in which to recover from his annoyance at the volatile Lady Easterling, the matter might there have rested. But his lordship was not granted that respite. No sooner had he removed from the vicinity of Jevon Rutherford and party that Lord Carlin fell into company with several of his cronies, who quizzed him mercilessly about his prolonged conversation with the Heaven-Sent.
This provocation numbered one more than even a perfect gentleman could bear. “The breath of life, is she?” inquired Lord Carlin, with a practiced sneer. “Clearly you have not had conversation with the lady. She is better called Fair Fatality!”
----
Chapter 6
“Fair Fatality!” uttered the dowager duchess, with an expression so disdainful that her aristocratic nostrils flared. “My patience is exhausted, Jaisy. I warned you against providing food for scandal. Now you must reap the consequence.”
“Jupiter!” said Lady Easterling. “You are as bad as Sara, aunt. She tries to tell me Carlin was put off by my sporting talk, which is a great deal of nonsense! It was clear as noonday that Carlin was amazed to find me so knowledgeable. For my part, I found him a regular Trojan, bang-up to the nines!”
Slender fingers clenched upon the scrolled arm of her massive chair, Georgiana observed—without the least evidence of any degree of approbation—her niece. The dowager duchess’s raddled face was every bit as savage as the sharp-beaked eagles’ heads carved on her chair arms. Lady Easterling might not have been the most perspicacious of beings, but even she could not help but recognize the revulsion directed at herself.
Why should Georgiana dislike her? Jaisy wondered, as she studied that hostile face. And, disliking her, why had Georgiana issued an invitation to London and provided her a Season? Not so many years before, the dowager had bluntly refused to stand the nonsense. Yet here was Jaisy, pampered guest in Blackwood House.
Perhaps Jaisy’s unconciliating manner had raised her aunt’s spleen. Generously, Jaisy set herself to make amends. To that end, she embarked upon an unexceptionable monologue upon the sights of London as revealed to her by Miss Valentine: the British Museum and its diverse treasures, ranging from stuffed giraffes and stag’s antlers to a bust of Hippocrates and the celebrated Portland vase; Mrs. Salmon’s Waxwork house in Fleet Street, and opposite it, the moving giants of St. Dunstan’s clock who struck the passing hours on a bell.
Still the dowager duchess appeared to be on the fidgets. “I know what it is!” said Lady Easterling, abruptly abandoning all attempts at tact. “You’re miffed
“You will understand that Jaisy is accustomed to country ways, my lord, I hope,” she offered quietly, “and not hold it against her if she goes on in a way that appears unseemly. No offense was intended, I promise you.”
As has hitherto been reported, one of Lord Carlin’s virtues was an unflagging kindness to his social inferiors; and this kindness he now displayed. Not only did he pity Miss Valentine the exigencies of her position as gooseberry, he was grateful to her for offering an unexceptionable avenue of exit. “No offense has been taken, Miss Valentine; and I beg you will accept my excuses, for I have a previous engagement and have already tarried too long. Your servant, Lady Easterling, Jevon!” With cordial haste, his lordship took his leave.
Their voices followed him. “Deuce take it, Sara!” ejaculated her ladyship. “I must say I think very poorly of your interference! Just when things were going so well, too!”
“Well?” echoed Miss Valentine, with a stupefaction shared by Kit. The remainder of the exchange he was not privileged to hear. With a haste his lordship applauded, Jevon ushered the ladies out of earshot.
Perhaps, had his lordship been allotted sufficient time in which to recover from his annoyance at the volatile Lady Easterling, the matter might there have rested. But his lordship was not granted that respite. No sooner had he removed from the vicinity of Jevon Rutherford and party that Lord Carlin fell into company with several of his cronies, who quizzed him mercilessly about his prolonged conversation with the Heaven-Sent.
This provocation numbered one more than even a perfect gentleman could bear. “The breath of life, is she?” inquired Lord Carlin, with a practiced sneer. “Clearly you have not had conversation with the lady. She is better called Fair Fatality!”
----
Chapter 6
“Fair Fatality!” uttered the dowager duchess, with an expression so disdainful that her aristocratic nostrils flared. “My patience is exhausted, Jaisy. I warned you against providing food for scandal. Now you must reap the consequence.”
“Jupiter!” said Lady Easterling. “You are as bad as Sara, aunt. She tries to tell me Carlin was put off by my sporting talk, which is a great deal of nonsense! It was clear as noonday that Carlin was amazed to find me so knowledgeable. For my part, I found him a regular Trojan, bang-up to the nines!”
Slender fingers clenched upon the scrolled arm of her massive chair, Georgiana observed—without the least evidence of any degree of approbation—her niece. The dowager duchess’s raddled face was every bit as savage as the sharp-beaked eagles’ heads carved on her chair arms. Lady Easterling might not have been the most perspicacious of beings, but even she could not help but recognize the revulsion directed at herself.
Why should Georgiana dislike her? Jaisy wondered, as she studied that hostile face. And, disliking her, why had Georgiana issued an invitation to London and provided her a Season? Not so many years before, the dowager had bluntly refused to stand the nonsense. Yet here was Jaisy, pampered guest in Blackwood House.
Perhaps Jaisy’s unconciliating manner had raised her aunt’s spleen. Generously, Jaisy set herself to make amends. To that end, she embarked upon an unexceptionable monologue upon the sights of London as revealed to her by Miss Valentine: the British Museum and its diverse treasures, ranging from stuffed giraffes and stag’s antlers to a bust of Hippocrates and the celebrated Portland vase; Mrs. Salmon’s Waxwork house in Fleet Street, and opposite it, the moving giants of St. Dunstan’s clock who struck the passing hours on a bell.
Still the dowager duchess appeared to be on the fidgets. “I know what it is!” said Lady Easterling, abruptly abandoning all attempts at tact. “You’re miffed
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