Read Online Enchanted Rendezvous: A Tangled Hearts Romance by Rebecca Ward - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca Ward
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but Montworthy stopped him. “I say, Brandon, I’ll admit you’ve got a fine brute in that stallion. Carries a good head, and his quarters are well let down. But I’ll lay you a monkey that he can’t take my Hannibal in a race.”
“Of course, dear boy, if you say so,” was the equable reply.
Montworthy blinked. In a somewhat dampened voice he queried, “But don’t you want to race him—prove which is faster?”
“You already said your animal was faster, didn’t you? Ton my honor, Montworthy, I wish you’d make up your mind. This ditherin’ about is fatiguin’.”
Slowly, like an accordion folding, Lord Brandon sank into a buttercup-yellow armchair. “Lady M., is it too much to ask that you ring for a small refreshment before luncheon? Gooseberry tarts, Mrs. Horris was bakin’ this mornin’. The smell alone transported me to the gates of heaven.”
He kissed his fingers, and Montworthy gave a disgusted snort. “All you can think of is food and clothes. There’s other things in the world, give you m’word.”
“Like smugglers, you mean?” drawled Lord Brandon.
“Mr. Montworthy is correct.” Like a child about to recite a lesson, Delinda sat up very straight in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It is well known that the Dorset coast is swarming with smugglers bringing in contraband. These wicked men are undermining the economy at a time when England needs to combat the colonials in America. Anyone caught smuggling or aiding the smugglers is worse than a lawbreaker. He is a traitor to the crown.”
“Well said!” Montworthy exclaimed.
Flushing, Delinda murmured, “Oh, Mr. Montworthy, you are so kind, actually, it was Papa whoturned the phrase—he feels so strongly that we should crush the colonials once and for all, that weak-kneed politicians are traitors. He has no use for peers like the Duke of Pershing, who counsels peace—”
She broke off, glanced at Lord Brandon, and turned a fiery crimson. “I am so sorry,” she murmured. “I should not have said—I beg your pardon. I must leave, now.”
She got to her feet so swiftly that she upset a small table and a porcelain figure of a yellow dog. In a soothing tone Lady Marcham said, “La, Delinda, do not refine on it. Differences of opinion are what make the world interesting. If you stuffed a pork roast with only one herb, would you have an interesting dish? No, indeed.”
“Pork roast—oh, Lord, I almost forgot.” James withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket. “It’s from the pater,” he said. “An invitation.”
Though he spoke to Lady Marcham, his eyes were on Cecily. Noting that Delinda’s eyes were sad, Cecily wondered if the Corinthian was completely insensitive or merely thick.
She concentrated on her grandaunt, who had slit the envelope and was reading the contents. “Sir Carolus has been kind enough to ask us to attend a dinner party at the end of this week,” Lady Marcham said. “He says here that he is anxious to try a new recipe: a pork roast in new milk.”
“There’ll be dancing, too.” Montworthy looked meaningfully at Cecily. “Not like London, but a country hop’s better than nothing.”
“I do love to dance,” Delinda said wistfully.
Montworthy did not hear her. He was saying smugly, “I’ll look forward to the honor of a waltz, Miss Vervain.”
Both thick
and
insufferable. But before Cecilycould think of a proper set-down for him, Lord Brandon lifted a hand. “Stop, Montworthy. What colors predominate in your drawin’ room?”
“My—how the devil should I know? Green, I suppose. Or blue. What do you want to know for?”
“By now you should know that I refuse to enter a room with which my costume would clash,” Lord Brandon replied gravely. “Blue or green is possible. Yellow is allowable. But should your walls and draperies be maroon—Well, well, Andrews will find out for me. He always does.”
Andrews reported that Sir Carolus’s drawing room was decorated in
“Of course, dear boy, if you say so,” was the equable reply.
Montworthy blinked. In a somewhat dampened voice he queried, “But don’t you want to race him—prove which is faster?”
“You already said your animal was faster, didn’t you? Ton my honor, Montworthy, I wish you’d make up your mind. This ditherin’ about is fatiguin’.”
Slowly, like an accordion folding, Lord Brandon sank into a buttercup-yellow armchair. “Lady M., is it too much to ask that you ring for a small refreshment before luncheon? Gooseberry tarts, Mrs. Horris was bakin’ this mornin’. The smell alone transported me to the gates of heaven.”
He kissed his fingers, and Montworthy gave a disgusted snort. “All you can think of is food and clothes. There’s other things in the world, give you m’word.”
“Like smugglers, you mean?” drawled Lord Brandon.
“Mr. Montworthy is correct.” Like a child about to recite a lesson, Delinda sat up very straight in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It is well known that the Dorset coast is swarming with smugglers bringing in contraband. These wicked men are undermining the economy at a time when England needs to combat the colonials in America. Anyone caught smuggling or aiding the smugglers is worse than a lawbreaker. He is a traitor to the crown.”
“Well said!” Montworthy exclaimed.
Flushing, Delinda murmured, “Oh, Mr. Montworthy, you are so kind, actually, it was Papa whoturned the phrase—he feels so strongly that we should crush the colonials once and for all, that weak-kneed politicians are traitors. He has no use for peers like the Duke of Pershing, who counsels peace—”
She broke off, glanced at Lord Brandon, and turned a fiery crimson. “I am so sorry,” she murmured. “I should not have said—I beg your pardon. I must leave, now.”
She got to her feet so swiftly that she upset a small table and a porcelain figure of a yellow dog. In a soothing tone Lady Marcham said, “La, Delinda, do not refine on it. Differences of opinion are what make the world interesting. If you stuffed a pork roast with only one herb, would you have an interesting dish? No, indeed.”
“Pork roast—oh, Lord, I almost forgot.” James withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket. “It’s from the pater,” he said. “An invitation.”
Though he spoke to Lady Marcham, his eyes were on Cecily. Noting that Delinda’s eyes were sad, Cecily wondered if the Corinthian was completely insensitive or merely thick.
She concentrated on her grandaunt, who had slit the envelope and was reading the contents. “Sir Carolus has been kind enough to ask us to attend a dinner party at the end of this week,” Lady Marcham said. “He says here that he is anxious to try a new recipe: a pork roast in new milk.”
“There’ll be dancing, too.” Montworthy looked meaningfully at Cecily. “Not like London, but a country hop’s better than nothing.”
“I do love to dance,” Delinda said wistfully.
Montworthy did not hear her. He was saying smugly, “I’ll look forward to the honor of a waltz, Miss Vervain.”
Both thick
and
insufferable. But before Cecilycould think of a proper set-down for him, Lord Brandon lifted a hand. “Stop, Montworthy. What colors predominate in your drawin’ room?”
“My—how the devil should I know? Green, I suppose. Or blue. What do you want to know for?”
“By now you should know that I refuse to enter a room with which my costume would clash,” Lord Brandon replied gravely. “Blue or green is possible. Yellow is allowable. But should your walls and draperies be maroon—Well, well, Andrews will find out for me. He always does.”
Andrews reported that Sir Carolus’s drawing room was decorated in
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