like a jackal’s head!”
Lord Pennymount exhibited slight enthusiasm in these marvels. Naturally he must be wholly occupied with keeping his nervous horses under control, Lady Camilla decided generously. Hyde Park was exceptionally crowded this afternoon. Still, a polite inquiry into her comfort and enjoyment would not have come amiss. On the other hand, Lord Pennymount might reasonably expect that anyone would not only be made very comfortable in his high-perch phaeton, but also gratified at being taken up therein, a singular privilege even for his fiancée. In proof of her lack of resentment, Lady Camilla launched into an amiable discussion of wedding gifts, most remarkable among them a gilt sauce-tureen with realistic twined serpents for handles, the bowl resting atop elephants; and a stirrup cup shaped as a fox’s head.
As Lady Camilla had noted, Hyde Park was exceptionally crowded at this hour. Long a favorite spot—in time long past the haunt of wolves and wild boars, then in the days of William and Mary highly regarded by highwaymen; James I had ridden there with his favorite hounds, and many other members of royalty had shot the deer, until at last Charles I had thrown open the park to the public—Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five was now the promenade of the beau monde and demimondaine. Across the green and undulating surf they swarmed, down the pretty pathways and under the leafy trees; clad in the highest kick of fashion, riding in elegantly appointed carriages or mounted on spirited steeds.
Lady Camilla broke off smack in the midst of a discussion of urns japanned in shades of vermillion, tortoise shell, and green, which she thought might liven up Pennymount Place’s venerable hall. “Armorial decorations and angels leering from the rafters are not precisely what I can like,” she gaily explained, and paused. No assurance that her preferences must weigh above all other considerations was forthcoming from her escort, nor promise that her wish was his command. Indeed, despite her efforts to amuse him, Lord Pennymount had very much the aspect of someone whose thoughts were elsewhere. Still, he was a handsome devil in his brass-buttoned coat and buff-colored waistcoat, buckskin breeches, and top boots. “I do not mean to complain,” remarked Lady Camilla, and to insure his attention gave her escort a gentle nudge, “but though I do not care a straw for gossip, it seems to me you do, in which case you might try to look a little less liverish, before people start to wonder if you’ve eaten some bad fish.”
In response to this pretty concern, Lord Pennymount turned on his bride-to-be an expression no less liverish. “ What are you blathering about?” said he.
“I’ll be dashed if I understand you, Pennymount!” the young lady bluntly replied. “You don’t give at all the appearance of a gentleman whose affections have become fixed—not that I care a button for that, because I wouldn’t have accepted your offer otherwise, as I told you then! Romantical high flights and transports of passion are very fine in their place, but I have always thought it revolting to see a husband dangle at his wife’s slipper strings.”
Lord Pennymount’s acquaintance with slipper-strings had naught to do with groveling. In his dark cheek, a muscle began to twitch. “Rest assured, ma’am; I shan’t!”
“I make no doubt of that. We shan’t live in one another’s pockets!” Lady Camilla remembered then that she was supposed to be a biddable female. “You must not mind my plain-speaking. It is just that I have begun to wonder why you so suddenly decided to settle again in matrimony, and with a wretched little nobody like me. Not that I am truly wretched or a nobody, but only in comparison with your toplofty family. Your first countess was of noble blood, was she not?”
Reference to his previous marriage made Lord Pennymount’s jaw clench. “That is none of your concern!” he snapped.
None
Lord Pennymount exhibited slight enthusiasm in these marvels. Naturally he must be wholly occupied with keeping his nervous horses under control, Lady Camilla decided generously. Hyde Park was exceptionally crowded this afternoon. Still, a polite inquiry into her comfort and enjoyment would not have come amiss. On the other hand, Lord Pennymount might reasonably expect that anyone would not only be made very comfortable in his high-perch phaeton, but also gratified at being taken up therein, a singular privilege even for his fiancée. In proof of her lack of resentment, Lady Camilla launched into an amiable discussion of wedding gifts, most remarkable among them a gilt sauce-tureen with realistic twined serpents for handles, the bowl resting atop elephants; and a stirrup cup shaped as a fox’s head.
As Lady Camilla had noted, Hyde Park was exceptionally crowded at this hour. Long a favorite spot—in time long past the haunt of wolves and wild boars, then in the days of William and Mary highly regarded by highwaymen; James I had ridden there with his favorite hounds, and many other members of royalty had shot the deer, until at last Charles I had thrown open the park to the public—Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five was now the promenade of the beau monde and demimondaine. Across the green and undulating surf they swarmed, down the pretty pathways and under the leafy trees; clad in the highest kick of fashion, riding in elegantly appointed carriages or mounted on spirited steeds.
Lady Camilla broke off smack in the midst of a discussion of urns japanned in shades of vermillion, tortoise shell, and green, which she thought might liven up Pennymount Place’s venerable hall. “Armorial decorations and angels leering from the rafters are not precisely what I can like,” she gaily explained, and paused. No assurance that her preferences must weigh above all other considerations was forthcoming from her escort, nor promise that her wish was his command. Indeed, despite her efforts to amuse him, Lord Pennymount had very much the aspect of someone whose thoughts were elsewhere. Still, he was a handsome devil in his brass-buttoned coat and buff-colored waistcoat, buckskin breeches, and top boots. “I do not mean to complain,” remarked Lady Camilla, and to insure his attention gave her escort a gentle nudge, “but though I do not care a straw for gossip, it seems to me you do, in which case you might try to look a little less liverish, before people start to wonder if you’ve eaten some bad fish.”
In response to this pretty concern, Lord Pennymount turned on his bride-to-be an expression no less liverish. “ What are you blathering about?” said he.
“I’ll be dashed if I understand you, Pennymount!” the young lady bluntly replied. “You don’t give at all the appearance of a gentleman whose affections have become fixed—not that I care a button for that, because I wouldn’t have accepted your offer otherwise, as I told you then! Romantical high flights and transports of passion are very fine in their place, but I have always thought it revolting to see a husband dangle at his wife’s slipper strings.”
Lord Pennymount’s acquaintance with slipper-strings had naught to do with groveling. In his dark cheek, a muscle began to twitch. “Rest assured, ma’am; I shan’t!”
“I make no doubt of that. We shan’t live in one another’s pockets!” Lady Camilla remembered then that she was supposed to be a biddable female. “You must not mind my plain-speaking. It is just that I have begun to wonder why you so suddenly decided to settle again in matrimony, and with a wretched little nobody like me. Not that I am truly wretched or a nobody, but only in comparison with your toplofty family. Your first countess was of noble blood, was she not?”
Reference to his previous marriage made Lord Pennymount’s jaw clench. “That is none of your concern!” he snapped.
None
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