Read Online A Diamond in the Rough (v1.1) by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrea Pickens
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was hard to remain blue-deviled in light of his friend’s banter.
He allowed himself to be further coaxed out of his sullens by a running commentary on the sights leading into town. “Look,” cried Ellington, craning his neck to peer out of the rain-streaked glass. “You can just make out St. Rule’s Tower if you bend your head just so. It was partially destroyed during the Reformation of 1559—” “Then I imagine it will survive another quarter of an hour, until I may alight from these cramped quarters and take a proper peek,” he said dryly.
A chuckle sounded from his friend. “Since I have been forced by the lack of congenial conversation to immerse myself in a history—a rather thick history, I may add— of the town, you might at least indulge me for a bit and listen to my prattle about the famous landmarks and such.”
“Very well. What else should I know?”
Ellington thought for a moment. “Since this is your first visit across the border, you should be aware that the Scots are a wee bit different from those of us used to the ways of London. They can be quite reserved—some may even go so far as to consider them dour. And they have little tolerance for frivolous behavior—”
“Then it sounds as if I shall have no trouble fitting in,” broke in Marquand.
His friend fell tactfully silent.
The coach bounced around a bend in the road. “What do you suppose they are hunting?” asked the Viscount, indicating two men on hands and knees in the middle of a broad swath of cropped grass. From a distance, they appeared to be poking about in a thick patch of willow herb and whin with several long, thin sticks. “Surely with the amount of racket they are making, any rabbit will have long since gone to ground.”
There was a hoot of laughter. “They are hunting a golf ball. That, my dear Adrian, is the hallowed links of St. Andrews.”
“Hmmph.” Marquand crossed his arms. “Not much to look at. Why, there’s hardly a tree in sight. What’s all this nonsense about hazards and strategy? Looks to me like there’s precious little to prevent you from simply standing up and giving the ball a sound whack straight ahead and straight back.”
“Indeed?” murmured Ellington with a wicked grin. “I shall remind you of those words in a week’s time.” “Hmmph.”
A short while later they rolled through the West Port arch and down South Street, past several intersections before turning right onto a snug street lined with linden trees. On both sides were a row of pleasant town houses, their weathered granite facades still wet from a passing shower. Modest in scale, the residences looked to have a solid, if not spectacular, comfort. Ellington consulted a piece of paper he had drawn from his coat pocket, then glanced again out the window.
“There it is up ahead, Number Eighteen.” He pointed to one with a large brass knocker in the shape of a thistle that distinguished it from its neighbors. “The housekeeper comes highly recommended and has already hired a staff suitable for our needs. Bowmont has also written to several of his acquaintances in town of our arrival so that we may expect to dine out several nights a week.” “Hmmph.” Marquand knew he should muster more enthusiasm than that. Tony had gone to a great deal of effort to secure decent lodgings and staff for their extended stay while he had been occupied with arranging his affairs for such a long absence. But the fact of the matter was, he was feeling even less sanguine about the prospects of this whole endeavor now that they had arrived. The task which had seemed daunting enough in London now appeared, in light of countless hours of rumination on the way north, to be a fool’s errand.
“Of course, August is hardly the height of the Season, and such entertainment as it is, especially here in Scotland, will hardly match the sort to which we are accustomed to in London. But Bowmont has assured me that he means to see us introduced to
He allowed himself to be further coaxed out of his sullens by a running commentary on the sights leading into town. “Look,” cried Ellington, craning his neck to peer out of the rain-streaked glass. “You can just make out St. Rule’s Tower if you bend your head just so. It was partially destroyed during the Reformation of 1559—” “Then I imagine it will survive another quarter of an hour, until I may alight from these cramped quarters and take a proper peek,” he said dryly.
A chuckle sounded from his friend. “Since I have been forced by the lack of congenial conversation to immerse myself in a history—a rather thick history, I may add— of the town, you might at least indulge me for a bit and listen to my prattle about the famous landmarks and such.”
“Very well. What else should I know?”
Ellington thought for a moment. “Since this is your first visit across the border, you should be aware that the Scots are a wee bit different from those of us used to the ways of London. They can be quite reserved—some may even go so far as to consider them dour. And they have little tolerance for frivolous behavior—”
“Then it sounds as if I shall have no trouble fitting in,” broke in Marquand.
His friend fell tactfully silent.
The coach bounced around a bend in the road. “What do you suppose they are hunting?” asked the Viscount, indicating two men on hands and knees in the middle of a broad swath of cropped grass. From a distance, they appeared to be poking about in a thick patch of willow herb and whin with several long, thin sticks. “Surely with the amount of racket they are making, any rabbit will have long since gone to ground.”
There was a hoot of laughter. “They are hunting a golf ball. That, my dear Adrian, is the hallowed links of St. Andrews.”
“Hmmph.” Marquand crossed his arms. “Not much to look at. Why, there’s hardly a tree in sight. What’s all this nonsense about hazards and strategy? Looks to me like there’s precious little to prevent you from simply standing up and giving the ball a sound whack straight ahead and straight back.”
“Indeed?” murmured Ellington with a wicked grin. “I shall remind you of those words in a week’s time.” “Hmmph.”
A short while later they rolled through the West Port arch and down South Street, past several intersections before turning right onto a snug street lined with linden trees. On both sides were a row of pleasant town houses, their weathered granite facades still wet from a passing shower. Modest in scale, the residences looked to have a solid, if not spectacular, comfort. Ellington consulted a piece of paper he had drawn from his coat pocket, then glanced again out the window.
“There it is up ahead, Number Eighteen.” He pointed to one with a large brass knocker in the shape of a thistle that distinguished it from its neighbors. “The housekeeper comes highly recommended and has already hired a staff suitable for our needs. Bowmont has also written to several of his acquaintances in town of our arrival so that we may expect to dine out several nights a week.” “Hmmph.” Marquand knew he should muster more enthusiasm than that. Tony had gone to a great deal of effort to secure decent lodgings and staff for their extended stay while he had been occupied with arranging his affairs for such a long absence. But the fact of the matter was, he was feeling even less sanguine about the prospects of this whole endeavor now that they had arrived. The task which had seemed daunting enough in London now appeared, in light of countless hours of rumination on the way north, to be a fool’s errand.
“Of course, August is hardly the height of the Season, and such entertainment as it is, especially here in Scotland, will hardly match the sort to which we are accustomed to in London. But Bowmont has assured me that he means to see us introduced to
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