lifted his paper up between them. If you need help maâam , he told her in his mind, Iâm the last man in the world whoâll offer it to you .
He knew he was not being gentlemanly, but she deserved no politeness from him. Miss Miranda Pardew was repugnant to him. When he was nineteen sheâd treated him with merciless contempt, and even if she was now past her bloom and looking dowdy and plain, he didnât care. He remembered reading somewhere that one might forgive injuries but no one ever forgave contempt. How true. How very true.
He turned to the window and noticed, to his chagrin, that the snow had begun to fall again. And if this were not enough to raise his ire, he had to listen to Augustus Woodleyâs revolting attempts to gain the interest of Miss Pardew. The fellow kept up a barrage of asinine comments which did nothing to endear him to the woman he was trying to impress. âMy, but you have tiny feet,â heâd remark. Or, âThose are very fine-looking gloves. What do you call their color?â
These ploys were greeted with only a stony silence.
âItâs getting a lot colder, maâam,â Woodley remarked several times. âLet me give you my muffler.â Once he actually tried to wind it about her neck. She had to fend him off.
Barnaby tried not to pay attention to the goings-on. But the ladyâs restraint surprised him. The girl heâd met at the ball would certainly not have kept her sharp tongue in check. Sheâd known quite well, back then, how to put a man in his place. Indeed, she seemed much changed in many ways. The slate-blue Kerseymere gown she was now wearing, with its prim white collar, straight skirt and simple gimp-cord trim, was a far cry from the clinging, enticing, soft green silk sheâd worn the night of the ball. And her bonnet sported no feathers or ornamentationâit was modest in height and brim and was tied under her chin with the plainest of bows. She neither looked, dressed nor behaved like a belle of the ton . He couldnât help wondering if, perhaps, some sort of tragedy had befallen her.
While he was thus studying her, he noticed that the obnoxiously persistent Augustus Woodley had moved his leg to rest against Miss Pardewâs thigh. The lady edged away. A few moments later, Mr. Woodley moved again. Miss Pardew edged away again. When the dunderpate moved a third time, and the lady, wedged tightly between him and the armrest, had no place to move, Barnaby had had enough. With an exclamation of disgust, he tossed his newspaper down, jumped to his feet and grabbed the fellow by the collar of his coat. âYou donât seem comfortable, Woodley,â he said, lifting the fellow bodily and throwing him over to the opposite seat. âI think youâll be happier sitting beside me .â And he re-seated himself, picked up the newspaper and opened it to his place.
âOh, I say !â Woodley cried in outrage when he regained his breath. âWhat do you think youâre about?â
âI know what Iâm about. And I know what youâre about. So take my advice, fellow. Stay put and hold your tongue. Weâve had enough of your buffoonery.â
Woodley opened his mouth to retort, caught a glimpse of Barnabyâs glower that had intimidated so many others, reddened and retreated to his corner.
The lady threw Barnaby a look of melting gratitude. âThank you, sir,â she said softly, the corners of her lips turning up in a suggestion of a smile.
Barnaby did not smile back. He merely fixed his glower on her and, with cold deliberation, lifted up the newspaper between them. He could deliver a set-down, too.
How the lady took his set-down he didnât know, for he kept his eyes fixed on his newspaper. The journey proceeded in absolute silence. The only sounds were those of the carriage wheels, the horsesâ hooves and the whistling wind.
That was why, later that afternoon, on a
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