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Authors: Laura Matthews
Tags: Regency Romance
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her act as a young lady should. I cannot imagine what it will be like if she is my only charge in the schoolroom next year. I shall be so distracted,” she moaned piteously.
“Mary could certainly be a handful,” Clayborne agreed. He flashed his most sympathetic smile at Miss Turnpeck and urged, “What was it Mary had learned about the young rascal?”
“Dear me, I am hard pressed to remember,” she demurred, only to continue in full flow, “but he seems to have wagered and drunk a lot, in London and in the neighborhood. Mary told us of a curricle race he had with a friend of his where he drove another carriage into a ditch and did not stop to help for fear of losing the race. Such a wicked thing to do, and ladies in the carriage, too, no doubt. Young men these days are certainly outrageous—not you, my lord, of course I did not mean that.” She became flustered again and dropped silent
“Yes, Thomas was forever up to some mischief,” Clayborne pronounced pontifically. “But I imagine such a scamp would seem fascinating to your four charges, off in the country at Farthington Hall.”
“Well, you know how it is with these girls—any new face. But no, I think they were just given to funning about him amongst themselves, for though I saw him in the neighborhood several times, he came to the house but rarely. Though, as I said, I did see him the day the dog went missing, and I have always had my suspicions,” she said nodding wisely, as she placed the last of the rhubarb tarts on the picnic rug.
“You think he took the dog? Why should he do that?” Clayborne asked curiously.
“Now there I cannot help you, for I cannot think of the least reason. But then, he seems to have done many things which don’t bear scrutiny, so why not take the dog? Though I cannot believe that he would do it when he knew that Rebecca was so fond of Rags, for Mr. Burns seemed rather taken with Rebecca. But then he soon wed little Sybil Caruthers, whose grandfather’s made a fortune in India. Such a sweet girl she is, shy and quiet-like, but ever so kind and thoughtful of others. She’s a neighborhood girl too, you know, though my young ladies didn’t see her so much, as she spent a great part of her early years with her grandfather. Only came back to Foxton when the old gentleman died. And imagine inheriting his entire fortune! It was the talk of the neighborhood for weeks, I assure you. But it did not affect her manner one bit, still the dearest girl.”
Miss Turnpeck gave Clayborne the impression that her life would have been a lot simpler if she had had the likes of Miss Caruthers to instruct in her schoolroom. “And now she is Mrs. Burns with a son. It does make one feel aged,” she remarked coyly.
“But it is just these young people who keep you looking so youthful yourself, Miss Turnpeck,” Clayborne responded gallantly.
Miss Turnpeck blushed happily, but disclaimed, “What a farradiddle, my lord. And there is Trudy about to set up her nursery, too, and who knows who next,” she said slyly, blinking up at him.
“Indeed, who knows?’ he responded calmly, if more coolly than she expected. “Shall we call the young ladies to luncheon? I fear there is a storm brewing,” he remarked, indicating that the fleecy white clouds they had started their drive with were now becoming ominously gray, while the heat had become oppressive.
When Miss Turnpeck summoned the sisters, who were loath to leave their sport, Meg whispered, “Just like Turnip to spoil our fun.”
“I have no doubt it was Jason’s doing,” Rebecca grumbled good-naturedly.
Overhearing this sally, Clayborne explained, “There is a storm brewing, Rebecca.”
“I have no doubt of it, my lord,” she responded saucily, and accepted his offer of assistance to seat her. She and Meg did justice to the extensive selection of cold meats, bread, fruit, wine and tarts while Miss Turnpeck kept up a rambling discourse on the vagaries of the weather, the
“Mary could certainly be a handful,” Clayborne agreed. He flashed his most sympathetic smile at Miss Turnpeck and urged, “What was it Mary had learned about the young rascal?”
“Dear me, I am hard pressed to remember,” she demurred, only to continue in full flow, “but he seems to have wagered and drunk a lot, in London and in the neighborhood. Mary told us of a curricle race he had with a friend of his where he drove another carriage into a ditch and did not stop to help for fear of losing the race. Such a wicked thing to do, and ladies in the carriage, too, no doubt. Young men these days are certainly outrageous—not you, my lord, of course I did not mean that.” She became flustered again and dropped silent
“Yes, Thomas was forever up to some mischief,” Clayborne pronounced pontifically. “But I imagine such a scamp would seem fascinating to your four charges, off in the country at Farthington Hall.”
“Well, you know how it is with these girls—any new face. But no, I think they were just given to funning about him amongst themselves, for though I saw him in the neighborhood several times, he came to the house but rarely. Though, as I said, I did see him the day the dog went missing, and I have always had my suspicions,” she said nodding wisely, as she placed the last of the rhubarb tarts on the picnic rug.
“You think he took the dog? Why should he do that?” Clayborne asked curiously.
“Now there I cannot help you, for I cannot think of the least reason. But then, he seems to have done many things which don’t bear scrutiny, so why not take the dog? Though I cannot believe that he would do it when he knew that Rebecca was so fond of Rags, for Mr. Burns seemed rather taken with Rebecca. But then he soon wed little Sybil Caruthers, whose grandfather’s made a fortune in India. Such a sweet girl she is, shy and quiet-like, but ever so kind and thoughtful of others. She’s a neighborhood girl too, you know, though my young ladies didn’t see her so much, as she spent a great part of her early years with her grandfather. Only came back to Foxton when the old gentleman died. And imagine inheriting his entire fortune! It was the talk of the neighborhood for weeks, I assure you. But it did not affect her manner one bit, still the dearest girl.”
Miss Turnpeck gave Clayborne the impression that her life would have been a lot simpler if she had had the likes of Miss Caruthers to instruct in her schoolroom. “And now she is Mrs. Burns with a son. It does make one feel aged,” she remarked coyly.
“But it is just these young people who keep you looking so youthful yourself, Miss Turnpeck,” Clayborne responded gallantly.
Miss Turnpeck blushed happily, but disclaimed, “What a farradiddle, my lord. And there is Trudy about to set up her nursery, too, and who knows who next,” she said slyly, blinking up at him.
“Indeed, who knows?’ he responded calmly, if more coolly than she expected. “Shall we call the young ladies to luncheon? I fear there is a storm brewing,” he remarked, indicating that the fleecy white clouds they had started their drive with were now becoming ominously gray, while the heat had become oppressive.
When Miss Turnpeck summoned the sisters, who were loath to leave their sport, Meg whispered, “Just like Turnip to spoil our fun.”
“I have no doubt it was Jason’s doing,” Rebecca grumbled good-naturedly.
Overhearing this sally, Clayborne explained, “There is a storm brewing, Rebecca.”
“I have no doubt of it, my lord,” she responded saucily, and accepted his offer of assistance to seat her. She and Meg did justice to the extensive selection of cold meats, bread, fruit, wine and tarts while Miss Turnpeck kept up a rambling discourse on the vagaries of the weather, the
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