Read Online Carola Dunn by Mayhemand Miranda - Free Book Online Page A

affairs,” she said hesitantly.
    “And not sure you ought to tell me what you know. But if you fail to warn me off, you will be as responsible as I for any subsequent hardship.”
    “I don’t know how much she proposes to give you.”
    “Nor I, but she spoke of a small allowance.” Mr. Daviot grinned. “If that will not break the bank, then at least advise me whether I am to look at Tatt’s for a handsome bit of blood and bone or a broken-winded nag.”
    “Tattersall’s does not deal in broken-winded nags.” She smiled. “So long as you don’t spring for a race horse, I daresay there is no need to go to the opposite extreme and purchase a slug.”
    “That’s a relief! The Admiral cut up warm, I collect?”
    “He added a good deal of prize money to various family inheritances, I believe. He left his entire fortune to his wife, with full use of the income. As to the capital, it is held in trust but she may bequeath it where she will. For all her charities, Lady Wiston is not purse-pinched, nor like to be.”
    “Then, much as I regret adding to your poor opinion of me, I shall accept her largesse.”
    “You mistake me, sir,” Miranda cried in some agitation. The truth was, she still found herself quite unable to make up her mind about him.
    The indecorous circumstances of their original meeting, together with his willingness to sponge on his aunt, had created an unfortunate first impression. Since then, he had indulged Lady Wiston’s peculiarities with every appearance of sympathy; he was an amiable and amusing companion; and he had made a serious start on his book. On the other hand, his perseverance and his sincerity remained to be proved.
    Miranda could not help liking him, but she was far from ready to trust him. Unwilling to tell him so, she said lamely, “It would be muttonheaded to refuse an allowance your aunt can well afford. Besides, it would distress her.”
    “And the last thing the admirable Miss Carmichael will permit is that anyone should distress Lady Wiston.”
    Mr. Daviot’s jaunty tone made Miranda suspect he was quizzing her. She wished his face were better illuminated.
    She took refuge in primness. “That is surely my chief duty in this household. It is only to spare her embarrassment that I allowed her to prevail upon me to...to mention to you....” She simply could not think of a tactful way to find fault with his apparel.
    “Yes, Miss Carmichael? What is the distasteful matter you are to mention to me?” There was light enough to see his teasing smile. The wretch was enjoying her discomfort!
    “Your rags,” she said, abandoning tact. “Her ladyship wishes you to fig yourself out decently and have the bills sent to her.”
    “Most willingly,” he consented with a rueful laugh. “It will be a pleasure not to have Twitchell wince every time he cannot avoid setting eyes on me. There, that was not so difficult, was it? Did you fear a high dudgeon?”
    “Well, it was scarcely courteous to notice your...disarray.”
    “Rags, Miss Carmichael, rags. It’s too late to mince words! No dudgeon. I cannot afford to be at outs with you when I’m so desperately in need of your help.”
    Miranda was glad to change the subject. “With your book?” She crossed to the desk. “What is the trouble?”
    Before he answered, Mr. Daviot pulled out the desk chair for her. She sat down, scanning the scattered sheets.
    “Just look,” he said plaintively. “ Primo , I write fast because the ideas are bubbling over in my head. Therefore my scrawl is illegible.”
    “Oh no, I can make out the odd word here and there,” Miranda teased, then consoled him, “Doubtless publishers are used to deciphering a poor hand.”
    “I daresay, but there’s worse. Secundo , I write a page or two, and then I think of something I left out, so I write it on a new page with asterisks and daggers and numbers to indicate where it belongs. And then I reread what I have written, and I cross out a bit here, write