politely, taking her hand.
Abigail began to stammer.
“Take your time,” he encouraged her. “I don’t mind the snow falling on me.”
She took a deep breath and expelled the words all at once. “You did say if I knew of anyone’s wanting a house.”
“But, surely you’re not Mrs. Spurgeon?” he said, startled.
“I’m traveling with Mrs. Spurgeon,” Abigail explained. She watched, fascinated, as a drop of blood trickled from Cary’s nose. It was rather like watching an archangel bleed.
Unaware he had sprung a leak, Cary looked into the coach and saw Paggles sleeping amongst the boxes. “Is that her?” he inquired in a low voice. “Why, she’s positively ancient.”
“She is my old nurse,” Abigail said, searching in her fox muff for a handkerchief. “Your nose is bleeding, sir.”
“I’m not a bit surprised,” he answered, taking out his own handkerchief to wipe his nose. “A carriage door banged into it quite recently.”
“Oh, no!” Abigail cried, unaware just how recently this mishap had occurred. “People ought to be more careful.”
“You’re quite right,” he agreed, holding his head back while applying pressure to his nose. “It was very careless of me to stand so close to the door.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you , sir!” Abigail said, mortified that he should have misunderstood her. “It’s entirely the fault of the person in the carriage. He ought to have looked out first, before he flung open the door.”
“ She , cousin.”
She fell silent, and when he brought his head down again, he noticed a telltale sheepishness in her eyes. “Does it hurt very much?” she asked, wincing in sympathy. “Really, I’m so dreadfully sorry. It’s just that I looked out the window and—and I saw the tree…”
“What tree?” he inquired politely, putting away his handkerchief. “I’ve a good few trees hanging about, in case you haven’t noticed. Was there one in particular that intrigued you?”
Abigail blinked at him in disbelief. “That tree, sir,” she said, pointing. “The elm.”
“Oh, that tree,” he said, indulging in what she thought a very odd sense of humor. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice it was an elm. I’m quite bored with elms at the moment. I’ve been hearing stories about them all day. People who wouldn’t know an elm if one fell on their houses have suddenly become quite garrulous on the subject.”
“But it has fallen on your house, sir,” she stammered. “And it is an elm.”
“Yes, of course, it’s fallen on my house. Did you expect it to remain rooted in one spot forever and ever? We had an ice storm overnight, and the tree—pardon me, the Elm —lost its balance. Fortunately, my house was there to break its fall. The prevailing opinion is that it’s my fault entirely.”
Abigail frowned. “How can it be your fault if it was an ice storm?”
“Thank you for taking my part,” he said. “Apparently, the Elm was dead, and ought to have been cut down a year ago. Anyone could see it was going to fall over at the first gust of wind. By ‘anyone’ I mean, of course, everyone except me.”
“What on earth are you going to do?” Abigail asked.
“I say we ignore it,” he said, tenderly feeling the end of his nose. “Perhaps it will get tired and go away if we pay it no attention. I’ve a great many trees on the estate, and the vast majority of them are immensely well-behaved. Let us pay attention to them instead.”
“But where are we to go?” asked Abigail.
He raised his eyebrows. “Go? Don’t you like Hertfordshire?”
“We can’t possibly stay in the house now,” said Abigail, unnerved by his apparent unconcern. Her father was the only man she had ever really known, and, while neither quiet nor morose, verbal capers were not in Red’s line. Cary was so different that he baffled her.
“Don’t you like trees?” he teased. “They are generally thought to be pleasant things. Not that tree, of course. That is a
Abigail began to stammer.
“Take your time,” he encouraged her. “I don’t mind the snow falling on me.”
She took a deep breath and expelled the words all at once. “You did say if I knew of anyone’s wanting a house.”
“But, surely you’re not Mrs. Spurgeon?” he said, startled.
“I’m traveling with Mrs. Spurgeon,” Abigail explained. She watched, fascinated, as a drop of blood trickled from Cary’s nose. It was rather like watching an archangel bleed.
Unaware he had sprung a leak, Cary looked into the coach and saw Paggles sleeping amongst the boxes. “Is that her?” he inquired in a low voice. “Why, she’s positively ancient.”
“She is my old nurse,” Abigail said, searching in her fox muff for a handkerchief. “Your nose is bleeding, sir.”
“I’m not a bit surprised,” he answered, taking out his own handkerchief to wipe his nose. “A carriage door banged into it quite recently.”
“Oh, no!” Abigail cried, unaware just how recently this mishap had occurred. “People ought to be more careful.”
“You’re quite right,” he agreed, holding his head back while applying pressure to his nose. “It was very careless of me to stand so close to the door.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you , sir!” Abigail said, mortified that he should have misunderstood her. “It’s entirely the fault of the person in the carriage. He ought to have looked out first, before he flung open the door.”
“ She , cousin.”
She fell silent, and when he brought his head down again, he noticed a telltale sheepishness in her eyes. “Does it hurt very much?” she asked, wincing in sympathy. “Really, I’m so dreadfully sorry. It’s just that I looked out the window and—and I saw the tree…”
“What tree?” he inquired politely, putting away his handkerchief. “I’ve a good few trees hanging about, in case you haven’t noticed. Was there one in particular that intrigued you?”
Abigail blinked at him in disbelief. “That tree, sir,” she said, pointing. “The elm.”
“Oh, that tree,” he said, indulging in what she thought a very odd sense of humor. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice it was an elm. I’m quite bored with elms at the moment. I’ve been hearing stories about them all day. People who wouldn’t know an elm if one fell on their houses have suddenly become quite garrulous on the subject.”
“But it has fallen on your house, sir,” she stammered. “And it is an elm.”
“Yes, of course, it’s fallen on my house. Did you expect it to remain rooted in one spot forever and ever? We had an ice storm overnight, and the tree—pardon me, the Elm —lost its balance. Fortunately, my house was there to break its fall. The prevailing opinion is that it’s my fault entirely.”
Abigail frowned. “How can it be your fault if it was an ice storm?”
“Thank you for taking my part,” he said. “Apparently, the Elm was dead, and ought to have been cut down a year ago. Anyone could see it was going to fall over at the first gust of wind. By ‘anyone’ I mean, of course, everyone except me.”
“What on earth are you going to do?” Abigail asked.
“I say we ignore it,” he said, tenderly feeling the end of his nose. “Perhaps it will get tired and go away if we pay it no attention. I’ve a great many trees on the estate, and the vast majority of them are immensely well-behaved. Let us pay attention to them instead.”
“But where are we to go?” asked Abigail.
He raised his eyebrows. “Go? Don’t you like Hertfordshire?”
“We can’t possibly stay in the house now,” said Abigail, unnerved by his apparent unconcern. Her father was the only man she had ever really known, and, while neither quiet nor morose, verbal capers were not in Red’s line. Cary was so different that he baffled her.
“Don’t you like trees?” he teased. “They are generally thought to be pleasant things. Not that tree, of course. That is a
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