Read Online Ask Me No Questions by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Veryan
Tags: georgian romance
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Brian.
"But," she went on hurriedly, "I have had all I could do to pay our creditors. I knew that my dear father would want that. He was always so—so moral a man, you see. And now, the house has been swallowed up, and—" She bit her lip and for a moment her voice was suspended.
Sir Brian rushed into the breach. "My poor child," he said, standing. "Rest assured I shall do whatever—" He blinked, shattered by the tragic despair in two lovely grey eyes framed by tear-wet black lashes. "Truly," he faltered, feeling the ultimate villain, "I wish I could—"
The door opened and the man who had looked in earlier started to enter, then hesitated. "Your pardon, sir," he said, eyeing Ruth curiously. "I had thought you were talking to the applicant for the restoration."
"Quite correct." Sir Brian gave an inward sigh of relief. "Miss Allington, allow me to present my son, Mr. Gordon Chandler."
Even as Ruth stood to make her curtsy, her heart sank. There was a kindness in Sir Brian. She had sensed it, and sensed also that he had been touched by her plight and that with a little more time she might have persuaded him. But now he was all cool control again.
Gordon Chandler's bow was perfunctory. He said in faintly incredulous amusement, "A
female
applicant? No, really, sir, I think you quiz me."
'Brute!' thought Ruth, and sinking into the chair again tore open her valise and thrust her sketchbook across the desk. "If you would but look at some of my work, Sir Brian."
"Oh, come now, Miss Allington." Chandler's grey eyes were suddenly alight with mirth. "This task will be arduous and is not for a lady. You cannot really expect that my father would consider such an arrangement."
"Surely, Mr. Chandler," she persisted, her soft voice at odds with her murderous thoughts, "Sir Brian will want to engage a person of skill and experience? I can offer him both."
His lips twitched. Clearly, he was struggling not to laugh out loud. In the manner of one addressing a tiresome child he said, "Yes, I've no doubt you can, but—"
Sir Brian, who had been sorting through the sketchbook exclaimed, "By Jove, but these
are
good! Gordie, only see how—"
The smile in his son's eyes faded. He said austerely, "If ever I heard of such a thing! 'Tis not to be thought of, Papa, and we must not be so unkind as to raise the lady's hopes. Now, if you've a moment I'd like your decision about the new steward."
Sir Brian said with a trace of petulance, "I was not displeased with Durwood."
"But—sir, I told you how his books were—"
"Yes, yes. I know you never liked the man."
"I'll own it. But that has nought to do with—"
"I am engaged at the moment, Gordon. We will discuss the other matter when I am free. You know, I believe that 'tis
never
my wish to be unkind."
Sir Brian's voice was silken, but suddenly the air was full of tension and Ruth held her breath. For a moment the two men looked at each other, then Chandler's eyes fell. "Of course, sir. My apologies."
"Very good. Now, spare me a moment from your busy schedule and look at this extraordinarily fine sketch. 'Tis of the Villa Albertini in Milan, as you can see. We were there in… forty-three, was it?"
"I have never been to Milan, sir."
Sir Brian's head jerked up.
His son said expressionlessly, "You took Quentin."
A look of infinite sadness chased the frown from the handsome features. There was the impression of a sigh restrained, then he nodded. "Ah, yes. Memory plays me false at times." He returned his attention to the sketch, but the enthusiasm had gone from his voice when he said, "Still, you must agree this shows a marked degree of skill."
Chandler glanced at the sketch. "Charming. Papa, it grows late. If Miss Allington is to catch the afternoon stagecoach…"
Sir Brian stood and began to gather the sketches together. "Quite so."
Ruth said imploringly, "But, sir. You like my work, and—"
"My father is tired, ma'am," said Chandler, the frigid tone forbidding further
"But," she went on hurriedly, "I have had all I could do to pay our creditors. I knew that my dear father would want that. He was always so—so moral a man, you see. And now, the house has been swallowed up, and—" She bit her lip and for a moment her voice was suspended.
Sir Brian rushed into the breach. "My poor child," he said, standing. "Rest assured I shall do whatever—" He blinked, shattered by the tragic despair in two lovely grey eyes framed by tear-wet black lashes. "Truly," he faltered, feeling the ultimate villain, "I wish I could—"
The door opened and the man who had looked in earlier started to enter, then hesitated. "Your pardon, sir," he said, eyeing Ruth curiously. "I had thought you were talking to the applicant for the restoration."
"Quite correct." Sir Brian gave an inward sigh of relief. "Miss Allington, allow me to present my son, Mr. Gordon Chandler."
Even as Ruth stood to make her curtsy, her heart sank. There was a kindness in Sir Brian. She had sensed it, and sensed also that he had been touched by her plight and that with a little more time she might have persuaded him. But now he was all cool control again.
Gordon Chandler's bow was perfunctory. He said in faintly incredulous amusement, "A
female
applicant? No, really, sir, I think you quiz me."
'Brute!' thought Ruth, and sinking into the chair again tore open her valise and thrust her sketchbook across the desk. "If you would but look at some of my work, Sir Brian."
"Oh, come now, Miss Allington." Chandler's grey eyes were suddenly alight with mirth. "This task will be arduous and is not for a lady. You cannot really expect that my father would consider such an arrangement."
"Surely, Mr. Chandler," she persisted, her soft voice at odds with her murderous thoughts, "Sir Brian will want to engage a person of skill and experience? I can offer him both."
His lips twitched. Clearly, he was struggling not to laugh out loud. In the manner of one addressing a tiresome child he said, "Yes, I've no doubt you can, but—"
Sir Brian, who had been sorting through the sketchbook exclaimed, "By Jove, but these
are
good! Gordie, only see how—"
The smile in his son's eyes faded. He said austerely, "If ever I heard of such a thing! 'Tis not to be thought of, Papa, and we must not be so unkind as to raise the lady's hopes. Now, if you've a moment I'd like your decision about the new steward."
Sir Brian said with a trace of petulance, "I was not displeased with Durwood."
"But—sir, I told you how his books were—"
"Yes, yes. I know you never liked the man."
"I'll own it. But that has nought to do with—"
"I am engaged at the moment, Gordon. We will discuss the other matter when I am free. You know, I believe that 'tis
never
my wish to be unkind."
Sir Brian's voice was silken, but suddenly the air was full of tension and Ruth held her breath. For a moment the two men looked at each other, then Chandler's eyes fell. "Of course, sir. My apologies."
"Very good. Now, spare me a moment from your busy schedule and look at this extraordinarily fine sketch. 'Tis of the Villa Albertini in Milan, as you can see. We were there in… forty-three, was it?"
"I have never been to Milan, sir."
Sir Brian's head jerked up.
His son said expressionlessly, "You took Quentin."
A look of infinite sadness chased the frown from the handsome features. There was the impression of a sigh restrained, then he nodded. "Ah, yes. Memory plays me false at times." He returned his attention to the sketch, but the enthusiasm had gone from his voice when he said, "Still, you must agree this shows a marked degree of skill."
Chandler glanced at the sketch. "Charming. Papa, it grows late. If Miss Allington is to catch the afternoon stagecoach…"
Sir Brian stood and began to gather the sketches together. "Quite so."
Ruth said imploringly, "But, sir. You like my work, and—"
"My father is tired, ma'am," said Chandler, the frigid tone forbidding further
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