daughters were entirely to blame for that kick-up! I had not expected Mirian to behave so abominably! But I shall say no more.” She paused expectantly but Clio placidly bit into a biscuit.
Mistress Clio was not being deliberately provocative; hers was a one-track mind, devoted usually to herself, and now engaged in schemes concerning her half-sister. It was not to be expected that she should also take upon herself the solving of the puzzle of why her mother had become alienated from the Bellamys. “I suppose,” barked Sapphira, “that your father knew the whole? I would like to hear the tale! Mirian behaved in the most disgraceful manner—though I suppose she would not admit it!”
“Papa?” Clio paused in honest confusion, the biscuit suspended in midair. “Knew what, ma’am? What would Mama not admit?”
“A country bumpkin, no doubt,” deduced Sapphira, with gleeful malice, “with no conversation and less curiosity. He’d think himself blessed to marry so far above his station and forbear to ask questions lest the answers prove unpalatable.”
“You mistake the matter, Maman!” Giles appeared, elegant in a single-breasted cloth coat, checked waistcoat, striped nankeen trousers, and pristine cravat; and took his place at the head of the table between Sapphira and his young cousin. “Clio’s father, as she apparently failed to inform you, was the Earl of Lansbury. A scholarly gentleman, I’m told, and a bit of a recluse.” He studied Clio. “She also failed to inform you that her journey here was enlivened by an encounter with highwaymen.”
“How,” demanded Clio, briefly forgetting her missish guise, “did you know of that? We agreed to say nothing of it, since no harm was done.”
Giles accepted a cup of coffee and leisurely sipped the steaming liquid. “It is my habit,” he explained, “to indulge in an early morning ride. I saw your carriage—it is most elegant, Maman; our Clio travels in style—and engaged in conversation with your coachman. A most informative man! It was he who told me of the attempted robbery.”
Clio was in a quandary; what else had the coachman said? She was full of admiration for the talent of Tess in this daring attempt to bamboozle the dowager duchess, which freakishness the countess explained as an attempt to avoid being herself presented in Society, where she would feel like a fish out of water; but Clio could also see that the deception might prove most difficult. Nor, if the truth be told, did Tess’s self-effacement please her sister, who had very different ends in mind.
Giles was speaking again; apparently the coachman had not given them away. “Imagine!” he said, as he helped himself to a slice of ham. “They were set upon, ambushed in broad daylight! That they escaped unscathed was due only to the pistols carried by Clio’s footmen, the skill of her coachman, and the excellence of her horseflesh. Miraculous! I trust you appreciate your people, cousin.”
“Oh, I do!” Clio replied fervently. She could only assume that Tess had somehow gotten word to the servants. Had Clio but known it, the coachman deserved more than praise, having had scant sleep the night before performing his superhuman feat, due to Sir Morgan’s request that he guard his mistress’s bedroom door.
“Shocking!” agreed Constant. His jowls wobbled as he shook his head. “I have often lamented the condition of the roads. But you are in looks today, Miss Clio! We must be grateful that so dreadful an experience did not overset your nerves. It would be usual, I believe, in most young girls.”
“ I, ” pointed out Clio, with commendable honesty, “am not like most young girls.” Oddly, she thought she heard Giles stifle a laugh.
Sapphira was speaking, and in stern tones. “It is considered rude,” she decreed, “for a young woman not to affect an air of being a little carried away by the gentleman she is conversing with! You will do well to remember that, if to get
Mistress Clio was not being deliberately provocative; hers was a one-track mind, devoted usually to herself, and now engaged in schemes concerning her half-sister. It was not to be expected that she should also take upon herself the solving of the puzzle of why her mother had become alienated from the Bellamys. “I suppose,” barked Sapphira, “that your father knew the whole? I would like to hear the tale! Mirian behaved in the most disgraceful manner—though I suppose she would not admit it!”
“Papa?” Clio paused in honest confusion, the biscuit suspended in midair. “Knew what, ma’am? What would Mama not admit?”
“A country bumpkin, no doubt,” deduced Sapphira, with gleeful malice, “with no conversation and less curiosity. He’d think himself blessed to marry so far above his station and forbear to ask questions lest the answers prove unpalatable.”
“You mistake the matter, Maman!” Giles appeared, elegant in a single-breasted cloth coat, checked waistcoat, striped nankeen trousers, and pristine cravat; and took his place at the head of the table between Sapphira and his young cousin. “Clio’s father, as she apparently failed to inform you, was the Earl of Lansbury. A scholarly gentleman, I’m told, and a bit of a recluse.” He studied Clio. “She also failed to inform you that her journey here was enlivened by an encounter with highwaymen.”
“How,” demanded Clio, briefly forgetting her missish guise, “did you know of that? We agreed to say nothing of it, since no harm was done.”
Giles accepted a cup of coffee and leisurely sipped the steaming liquid. “It is my habit,” he explained, “to indulge in an early morning ride. I saw your carriage—it is most elegant, Maman; our Clio travels in style—and engaged in conversation with your coachman. A most informative man! It was he who told me of the attempted robbery.”
Clio was in a quandary; what else had the coachman said? She was full of admiration for the talent of Tess in this daring attempt to bamboozle the dowager duchess, which freakishness the countess explained as an attempt to avoid being herself presented in Society, where she would feel like a fish out of water; but Clio could also see that the deception might prove most difficult. Nor, if the truth be told, did Tess’s self-effacement please her sister, who had very different ends in mind.
Giles was speaking again; apparently the coachman had not given them away. “Imagine!” he said, as he helped himself to a slice of ham. “They were set upon, ambushed in broad daylight! That they escaped unscathed was due only to the pistols carried by Clio’s footmen, the skill of her coachman, and the excellence of her horseflesh. Miraculous! I trust you appreciate your people, cousin.”
“Oh, I do!” Clio replied fervently. She could only assume that Tess had somehow gotten word to the servants. Had Clio but known it, the coachman deserved more than praise, having had scant sleep the night before performing his superhuman feat, due to Sir Morgan’s request that he guard his mistress’s bedroom door.
“Shocking!” agreed Constant. His jowls wobbled as he shook his head. “I have often lamented the condition of the roads. But you are in looks today, Miss Clio! We must be grateful that so dreadful an experience did not overset your nerves. It would be usual, I believe, in most young girls.”
“ I, ” pointed out Clio, with commendable honesty, “am not like most young girls.” Oddly, she thought she heard Giles stifle a laugh.
Sapphira was speaking, and in stern tones. “It is considered rude,” she decreed, “for a young woman not to affect an air of being a little carried away by the gentleman she is conversing with! You will do well to remember that, if to get
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