Read Online A Diamond in the Rough (v1.1) by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrea Pickens
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are quite fortunate to have his help. I think we may trust his judgment in matters of golf.” Marquand fixed Derrien with an icy glare but remained silent. Her look of disdain was much more obvious, however a sign from Philp to bring over a bundle of unfinished clubs forestalled any further comment from her lips as well.
“And though you may chafe at the delay, my lord, a set of clubs tailored to your stance and height will greatly add to your chances of performing well. After all, you wouldn’t attempt to ride to the hounds in a pair of boots several sizes too large, or a saddle whose girth was too tight around your hunter, would you now?”
The Viscount acknowledged the sense of Philp’s words with a curt nod. “Your pardon, Mr. Philp. I did not mean to imply I doubted your expertise, and I shall try to refrain from questioning your methods,” he said rather stiffly.
“One of my men will finish up a number of these to your specifications by morning, sir,” continued Philp, picking out a selection of scrapers, middle spoons, and cuttys from Derrien’s arms. “In the meantime, if you return here this afternoon at two, I shall take you out back of the shop and we may begin working on the rudiments of the stance and swing.”
Despite the assurances he had just uttered, Marquand couldn’t refrain from another sharp question. “Why not out on the course? I am anxious to see what a real fairway—or whatever the deuce it is called—is like.”
Philp smiled. “In good time, my lord, in good time. When you see the sort of exercises I have in mind, you will not object in the least to our first lesson taking place in a more private venue.”
Marquand took his snugly tailored jacket back from Ellington and slipped it back over his fine linen shirt.
“Oh, and it would be best to wear a loose-fitting shirt, with only a Belcher neckerchief, as well as a shorter jacket, sir. You are going to be . . . exerting yourself more than you might think.”
“More likely he’s used to starched shirtpoints that come up past the ears and a cravat that requires half the Royal Navy to tie in a knot.” Derrien snickered from behind Philp’s back.
The Viscount pretended not to hear the remark, though in truth it took a concerted effort to stop himself from informing the impertinent little urchin that he had never in his life dressed as such a ridiculous poppinjay.
Ellington’s hand on his shoulder quickly propelled him toward the door, ensuring that he could have no second thoughts about remaining silent. “Er, thank you, Mr. Philp. I shall have his lordship back here promptly at two.”
It took a discreet elbow to Marquand’s ribs to elicit a civil good-bye from him as well. Once they had reached the street, he turned and regarded his friend with a look of bemused surprise. “What has got into you lately,
Adrian? I don’t believe I’ve seen you display your pique like that in all the years I’ve known you. Lord, you are usually the very picture of control, and not at all given to any show of emotion. But since we left London, I vow, you have been most unlike your regular self.”
“Sorry, I—”
“No, no, don’t apologize.” His lips quirked upward. “Actually, I’m not sure it’s a bad thing at all. You know, your work fairly blossoms with exuberance and life, and yet, if you don’t mind me saying, in public you choose to appear a . . . rather dry stick, though I know you are not.” Ellington hesitated for a moment and slanted a look of concern at his friend. “There is nothing wrong with allowing an occasional curse to shoot forth. A laugh or two might serve to lighten your spirits as well.”
Marquand clamped his curly-brimmed beaver more firmly on his dark locks. “Hmmph! It’s hardly a laughing matter. My entire future is riding on a damnable game of golf! Not to speak of the other undertaking I must finish while I am here.” He shook his head. “However you’re right about losing my temper
“And though you may chafe at the delay, my lord, a set of clubs tailored to your stance and height will greatly add to your chances of performing well. After all, you wouldn’t attempt to ride to the hounds in a pair of boots several sizes too large, or a saddle whose girth was too tight around your hunter, would you now?”
The Viscount acknowledged the sense of Philp’s words with a curt nod. “Your pardon, Mr. Philp. I did not mean to imply I doubted your expertise, and I shall try to refrain from questioning your methods,” he said rather stiffly.
“One of my men will finish up a number of these to your specifications by morning, sir,” continued Philp, picking out a selection of scrapers, middle spoons, and cuttys from Derrien’s arms. “In the meantime, if you return here this afternoon at two, I shall take you out back of the shop and we may begin working on the rudiments of the stance and swing.”
Despite the assurances he had just uttered, Marquand couldn’t refrain from another sharp question. “Why not out on the course? I am anxious to see what a real fairway—or whatever the deuce it is called—is like.”
Philp smiled. “In good time, my lord, in good time. When you see the sort of exercises I have in mind, you will not object in the least to our first lesson taking place in a more private venue.”
Marquand took his snugly tailored jacket back from Ellington and slipped it back over his fine linen shirt.
“Oh, and it would be best to wear a loose-fitting shirt, with only a Belcher neckerchief, as well as a shorter jacket, sir. You are going to be . . . exerting yourself more than you might think.”
“More likely he’s used to starched shirtpoints that come up past the ears and a cravat that requires half the Royal Navy to tie in a knot.” Derrien snickered from behind Philp’s back.
The Viscount pretended not to hear the remark, though in truth it took a concerted effort to stop himself from informing the impertinent little urchin that he had never in his life dressed as such a ridiculous poppinjay.
Ellington’s hand on his shoulder quickly propelled him toward the door, ensuring that he could have no second thoughts about remaining silent. “Er, thank you, Mr. Philp. I shall have his lordship back here promptly at two.”
It took a discreet elbow to Marquand’s ribs to elicit a civil good-bye from him as well. Once they had reached the street, he turned and regarded his friend with a look of bemused surprise. “What has got into you lately,
Adrian? I don’t believe I’ve seen you display your pique like that in all the years I’ve known you. Lord, you are usually the very picture of control, and not at all given to any show of emotion. But since we left London, I vow, you have been most unlike your regular self.”
“Sorry, I—”
“No, no, don’t apologize.” His lips quirked upward. “Actually, I’m not sure it’s a bad thing at all. You know, your work fairly blossoms with exuberance and life, and yet, if you don’t mind me saying, in public you choose to appear a . . . rather dry stick, though I know you are not.” Ellington hesitated for a moment and slanted a look of concern at his friend. “There is nothing wrong with allowing an occasional curse to shoot forth. A laugh or two might serve to lighten your spirits as well.”
Marquand clamped his curly-brimmed beaver more firmly on his dark locks. “Hmmph! It’s hardly a laughing matter. My entire future is riding on a damnable game of golf! Not to speak of the other undertaking I must finish while I am here.” He shook his head. “However you’re right about losing my temper
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