Read Online Escapade by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page A

unwonted vivacity from the Strayward ladies. There were exclamations of “indeed” and “how interesting,” but they were not so easily lured into expanding.
    “As you ladies have already seen my derelict tower, I expect you will want to ride this afternoon,” Clare said to Sherry and Belle.
    They both looked to their mothers for instructions as to what they would like to do. None were forthcoming as they hadn't the temerity to contradict a plan of Clare's. When Mr. Peters and Lord Harley began discussing what mounts they would recommend for the ladies, and which path they would take, it was too late to suggest they would prefer sketching, and so Lady Sara made off with Clare again.
    Ella was not without an escort, for Bippy joined their party, to station himself at her shoulder and pester her at every line she set to paper. No artist, she performed even worse than usual and was quite ashamed of the childish, blotched sketch Tredwell snatched out of her hands to show Clare before it was even quite finished.
    Clare frowned painfully and handed it back. “Very bad. Very bad indeed. In fact, I think it is actually the worst drawing of the tower I have ever seen. I can't recall having seen a worse—unless perhaps that abomination Sara is perpetrating..."
    “I was thinking of having it shown at Somerset House,” Sara joked lightly, but Ella began to think Clare was a very rude host. No matter about her own, Sara's picture was very good. She personally hated sketching and was only here because he, as her host, had not bothered his head to arrange any better sport. He ought to be glad they could amuse themselves, instead of belittling their efforts. And he was rude to the others, too, calling Miss Prentiss a redhead twice, and offending Lady Honor by asking her if she could walk. Or she should have been offended, if she had had any sensitivity at all. Half the town of London feared his tongue, but from long practice Miss Prattle felt she could acquit herself well enough, should it come to a verbal battle. He didn't care what he said or did, and Ella took the decision that henceforth she would not care either. She would no longer sink into herself if he asked her a question, raking her with his cold gray eyes.
    She said nothing, but in her mind's eye she was envisioning the words that would soon appear in the Observer .
    While 99% of the ton twiddles its thumbs in London awaiting the D—e C—e's return from his palace, his invited guests twiddle their thumbs and try as best they might to get in the tedious days. It is reported a picnic was planned, but did not take place. The Misses S—n and P—s are improving their walking skills, and L—y H—r and her mama are reported to have had a good night's repose.
    Her thoughts were broken into. “Did you find what you wanted in the library, Miss Fairmont?” Clare was saying. Perhaps not for the first time, as there was a certain edge to his voice. Ella knew herself to be deaf when she was preparing her column.
    “Yes, thank you. You seem to have everything, and Mr. Shane was very patient in explaining it all to me. I shall know just where to find things for myself from now on."
    “What sort of literature in particular are you interested in?"
    “English literature,” she said, not to be questioned about all those other languages she had seen. His steely eyes continued to regard her fixedly.
    “Yes?” It was an invitation, almost a command, to continue, but her reading was so scattered and diffuse that, though she did read a great deal, she was no specialist and could claim no superior knowledge in any field. Her resolve to face up to him vanished under the blast of those mocking eyes.
    “I see,” he said, and gave up, turning once again to Sara, who proceeded to regale him successfully with a rather dull tale of Herbert and his gout.
    He said not another word to Ella, and when the four returned to the house, it was to Lady Sara that he offered his arm. Miss Fairmont