Read Online Elizabeth Mansfield by Matched Pairs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matched Pairs
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social events already, so we may as well be optimistic.”
“Two events?”
“Yes. One to go riding tomorrow and another for a dinner party at Enders Hall on Saturday.” He smiled at her in triumph. “And you’ll be present at both!”
Julie shook her head dubiously. “I shall attend the party, of course,” she said, aware of a growing feeling of absolute terror, “but I don’t see how your riding appointment can possibly include me.”
“It’s quite simple. You’ll go out riding by yourself in the morning—something you’ve often done anyway—and you’ll ‘accidentally’ come upon us.”
Julie found the suggestion so revolting that it took Tris almost an hour of firm persuasion before she would agree.
When finally she did, he would not let well enough alone. “One more thing,” he ordered, reaching for a billiard cue, “you are not to wear your old shabby riding habit. Didn’t you say your mother had had a new one made for you?”
“Yes, but it’s much too elegant for riding in the country,” Julie said, her forehead still creased with worry about the scheme she’d so reluctantly agreed to. “It’s fit for a princess to wear when riding about on the grounds of Windsor Castle, not for a country girl to sport when frisking about on the south fields of Larchwood. I’m embarrassed to tell you, Tris, that it actually has satin lapels! And sleeves puffed out to here. And Mama insisted on buying me one of those silly cocked hats to wear with it, the kind the London ladies wear tilted over one eye when they ride in Hyde Park.”
“It sounds just the thing,” Tris said, chalking his cue.
“Tris! You can’t possibly expect me to bedeck myself in such a ridiculous rig. I won’t do it!”
He leaned on the cue, eyeing her in exasperation. “Yes, you will!”
“See here, Tris,” she snapped back, equally exasperated, “I’ve already let you ride roughshod over me by agreeing, despite my best instincts, to take my horse out for this ‘accidental’ meeting tomorrow. But ordering me to wear that ostentastious, immoderate, silly creation is pushing me too far.”
“No, my dear child, you see here! If we’re to succeed at this enterprise, you must put yourself completely in my hands. Completely. And that means following my orders on everything! I refer to such matters as clothes and hairstyles and conversation and flirtation and anything else I deem necessary. And unless you’re willing to agree to that one ruling principle here and now, I shall drop the entire matter, take myself back to London and leave you to face a London come-out without any assistance from me.”
She frowned at him in revulsion. “Indeed! I believe an ultimatum of that sort is called blackmail.”
“Call it what you like. But choose now. Yes, or no.”
She glared at him a moment more, considering the matter. This scheme of his would never work, she was sure of it. She could never win a man like Viscount Canfield, no matter how Tris dressed her up. He might try to bully her into acting like a flirt of the haute ton, but she was at bottom nothing but a mousy little country girl, and that was all she could ever be. No matter how she was disguised, her real nature would reveal itself before long and thus doom the whole enterprise. But there was one huge advantage in going along with Tris and his ridiculous scheme: it would cancel—or at least postpone—the dreadful prospect of a London come-out. That alone would make giving in to his demands worthwhile. “Oh, very well,” she murmured, her shoulders sagging in defeat, “have it your way. There isn’t much one can do against blackmail.”
“Good. Then be sure to come riding along the south bank of the river tomorrow morning at eight-thirty precisely. Wearing the new habit and that hat!” He glanced over to where she was standing, her head lowered and her body drooping, and he felt a momentary twinge of conscience. But he ignored it. He’d been hard on her,
“Two events?”
“Yes. One to go riding tomorrow and another for a dinner party at Enders Hall on Saturday.” He smiled at her in triumph. “And you’ll be present at both!”
Julie shook her head dubiously. “I shall attend the party, of course,” she said, aware of a growing feeling of absolute terror, “but I don’t see how your riding appointment can possibly include me.”
“It’s quite simple. You’ll go out riding by yourself in the morning—something you’ve often done anyway—and you’ll ‘accidentally’ come upon us.”
Julie found the suggestion so revolting that it took Tris almost an hour of firm persuasion before she would agree.
When finally she did, he would not let well enough alone. “One more thing,” he ordered, reaching for a billiard cue, “you are not to wear your old shabby riding habit. Didn’t you say your mother had had a new one made for you?”
“Yes, but it’s much too elegant for riding in the country,” Julie said, her forehead still creased with worry about the scheme she’d so reluctantly agreed to. “It’s fit for a princess to wear when riding about on the grounds of Windsor Castle, not for a country girl to sport when frisking about on the south fields of Larchwood. I’m embarrassed to tell you, Tris, that it actually has satin lapels! And sleeves puffed out to here. And Mama insisted on buying me one of those silly cocked hats to wear with it, the kind the London ladies wear tilted over one eye when they ride in Hyde Park.”
“It sounds just the thing,” Tris said, chalking his cue.
“Tris! You can’t possibly expect me to bedeck myself in such a ridiculous rig. I won’t do it!”
He leaned on the cue, eyeing her in exasperation. “Yes, you will!”
“See here, Tris,” she snapped back, equally exasperated, “I’ve already let you ride roughshod over me by agreeing, despite my best instincts, to take my horse out for this ‘accidental’ meeting tomorrow. But ordering me to wear that ostentastious, immoderate, silly creation is pushing me too far.”
“No, my dear child, you see here! If we’re to succeed at this enterprise, you must put yourself completely in my hands. Completely. And that means following my orders on everything! I refer to such matters as clothes and hairstyles and conversation and flirtation and anything else I deem necessary. And unless you’re willing to agree to that one ruling principle here and now, I shall drop the entire matter, take myself back to London and leave you to face a London come-out without any assistance from me.”
She frowned at him in revulsion. “Indeed! I believe an ultimatum of that sort is called blackmail.”
“Call it what you like. But choose now. Yes, or no.”
She glared at him a moment more, considering the matter. This scheme of his would never work, she was sure of it. She could never win a man like Viscount Canfield, no matter how Tris dressed her up. He might try to bully her into acting like a flirt of the haute ton, but she was at bottom nothing but a mousy little country girl, and that was all she could ever be. No matter how she was disguised, her real nature would reveal itself before long and thus doom the whole enterprise. But there was one huge advantage in going along with Tris and his ridiculous scheme: it would cancel—or at least postpone—the dreadful prospect of a London come-out. That alone would make giving in to his demands worthwhile. “Oh, very well,” she murmured, her shoulders sagging in defeat, “have it your way. There isn’t much one can do against blackmail.”
“Good. Then be sure to come riding along the south bank of the river tomorrow morning at eight-thirty precisely. Wearing the new habit and that hat!” He glanced over to where she was standing, her head lowered and her body drooping, and he felt a momentary twinge of conscience. But he ignored it. He’d been hard on her,
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