Read Online Lauren Willig by The Seduction of the Crimson Rose - Free Book Online Page B

She shrugged in a way that proclaimed her French ancestry.
     
     
“But aren’t they always,” Henrietta finished for her, with a grin. It was clearly an old and well-established conversation. Whatever the rift between their menfolk, Lord Richard’s wife and younger sister were clearly on excellent terms. “Slow, that is. At least they are speaking now, even if it is mostly in grunts.”
     
     
“Someone ought to prepare a dictionary,” chimed in Letty, settling herself on the settee next to Lady Henrietta. Mary had known they were friends—the less popular girls did tend to band together—but she had never realized they were quite that cozy with one another. “It would vastly improve communications between the sexes.”
     
     
“Your disadvantage was in never having older brothers,” said Lady Henrietta smugly. “It does wonders for one’s fluency.”
     
     
“I do have one,” protested Amy. “What about Edouard?”
     
     
“But he’s French,” countered Henrietta, who had met him. “They can’t be trusted to make the right sorts of inarticulate noises.”
     
     
“The French are scarcely articulate at the best of times,” put in Mary, just to have something to say.
     
     
Instead of tittering the way they were supposed to, the other three women just looked at her, as though they had forgotten she was there and were less than pleased to have been reminded.
     
     
“I believe I’ll have some more of that duck,” said Henrietta, rising with more energy than grace from her perch on the settee. “Letty?”
     
     
“I shouldn’t.” Mary’s sister glanced ruefully down at her waist.
     
     
“But you will,” concluded Lady Henrietta cheerfully, threading her arm through Letty’s.
     
     
“You,” protested Letty laughingly, “are an evil influence.”
     
     
“I know,” said Lady Henrietta complacently. “It’s one of my more loveable attributes. Oh, look, there’s Penelope with Miss Gwen! I wonder what mischief she’s been getting into now?”
     
     
“Penelope or Miss Gwen?” demanded Amy, a dimple showing in one cheek.
     
     
“Either,” replied Lady Henrietta with relish.
     
     
Laughing, the group swept on ahead, leaving Mary standing like so much detritus in its wake.
     
     
Only Letty hung back. She tilted her head up at Mary with what Mary privately thought of as her country housewife expression, a militant gleam that presaged someone being washed, fed, or otherwise ordered about. “You are going to come eat, aren’t you? You didn’t have a thing at dinner.”
     
     
“I ate a whole jugged hare.” Perhaps it hadn’t been an entire jugged hare, but it had certainly been the better part of one. Including an ear Mary was quite sure wasn’t supposed to have been there.
     
     
Mary could tell Letty didn’t believe her. “Would you like some tea? Or coffee? Perhaps a lemonade? We still have some lemons left in the orangery—”
     
     
“No. Thank you.” Mary cut her off before that hideous we could grow and spawn, birthing a litter of ours . “I believe I can contrive to carry on without a beverage.”
     
     
Letty refused to be balked. “Are you comfortable? Are you quite sure you have everything you need?”
     
     
Except a husband, preferably titled. Mary managed a brittle smile. “Really, Letty, you needn’t fuss. I’m quite as comfortable as I can be.”
     
     
The words “under the circumstances” didn’t need to be voiced. They seeped out like smoke, poisoning the air and scorching a deep furrow between Letty’s brows. Guilt charred across every inch of her guileless face. Even her freckles looked guilty.
     
     
Mary bit back a wordless noise of annoyance. Why did Letty always have to be so earnest about everything? She was welcome to her dreary viscount, if only she would stop looking at her with that hangdog expression, the one that positively panted for expiation. What did Letty expect her to say? No, darling, I don’t mind in the