Read Online Miss Prestwick's Crusade by Anne Barbour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Barbour
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wonder he was spitting nails. Well—too bad. Stamford's amour propre was the last of Edward's concerns at the moment.
He smiled at Helen.
"My uncle has been working on the pieces for some time, and I'm sure he is making excellent progress—but he is merely a, ah, gifted amateur. We have needed an expert on the premises for some time."
Helen cast a glance at the by now almost apoplectic gentleman and sent a look of apology. Dear heaven, would she be making a dreadful mistake in alienating the senior-most member of the Camberwell family?
"I would welcome your assistance, Mr. Welladay,” she concluded mendaciously. The last thing she wanted was the interference of a well-meaning but inexpert dabbler. However, this was a time for conciliation. She bestowed on him her most brilliant smile before turning back to Mr. Beresford.
"I have brought my equipment with me, but I shall have to send to London for supplies—a bleaching solution, perhaps, for damage."
"It shall be done, my d—Miss Prestwick. Just give me a list."
Silence fell on the table then, as each of the family mulled over this new turn of events. Mr. Welladay appeared ready to explode, and it was evident that neither Lady Camberwell nor her daughter was pleased, but they could think of no good reason to dispute Mr. Beresford's decision.
"Does William have any teeth?” Artemis asked abruptly. “I couldn't tell when we were upstairs."
Helen laughed, relieved at the change of topic. “Yes, he has four now, and another two ready to sprout."
The dowager returned to the subject she had been pursuing earlier. “Lady Castlering had occasion to visit Portugal a few years ago, shortly after Wellington had secured the country. She reported meeting Christopher's commanding officer, Colonel Foster, I believe his name was. You say that your father and the colonel were friends at one time?” She bent a dubious stare on Helen.
Helen's heart drummed unpleasantly, but she replied calmly. “Oh, yes. I recall Lady Castlering quite well. She dined with us a few times.” Helen noted with some satisfaction Lady Camberwell's expression of surprise. “And yes, the colonel and my father were very good friends, until— oh, about two years ago—they quarreled and have not spoken since.” She twisted abruptly in her chair. “Oh, my, is that a Constable? I am pleased at the opportunity to view his work, for I have had little opportunity to do so on the Continent. Do—?"
"What was the quarrel about?” asked Lady Camberwell, undeterred.
Helen curled fingers into her damp palms. “They—they disagreed about a painting in the colonel's possession."
Across the table, Edward glanced at Miss Prestwick in some curiosity. To be sure, the disagreement between her father and an old friend must have been painful for her, but her distress seemed out of proportion to Aunt Emily's question. He felt unexpectedly protective toward her and knew an immediate urge to dissipate her unhappiness.
Really, he admonished himself the next moment. He must stop behaving like a fatuous schoolboy with a crush on the vicar's wife. Miss Prestwick was a lovely, eminently desirable woman, with an open, intelligent countenance. That did not necessarily mean she was being truthful in her dealings with him, no matter how much he wished to believe so. Still ...
He spooned up the last of his lemon curd and, seeing that the others had finished their meal as well, rose from his chair. He turned to Miss Prestwick. “Perhaps this would be a good time for a tour of the house. It's rather large and sprawling. If you are not to get lost every time you set out from your bedchamber, you must be provided with an orientation."
"Oh! I had planned to return to William's chambers. But—yes, I would enjoy seeing the house. As would Barney, I'm sure.” She gestured to Miss Barnstaple, who nodded silently.
"Yes, of course.” Edward felt himself flushing. “I meant Miss Barnstaple, too—of course."
Their exit from
He smiled at Helen.
"My uncle has been working on the pieces for some time, and I'm sure he is making excellent progress—but he is merely a, ah, gifted amateur. We have needed an expert on the premises for some time."
Helen cast a glance at the by now almost apoplectic gentleman and sent a look of apology. Dear heaven, would she be making a dreadful mistake in alienating the senior-most member of the Camberwell family?
"I would welcome your assistance, Mr. Welladay,” she concluded mendaciously. The last thing she wanted was the interference of a well-meaning but inexpert dabbler. However, this was a time for conciliation. She bestowed on him her most brilliant smile before turning back to Mr. Beresford.
"I have brought my equipment with me, but I shall have to send to London for supplies—a bleaching solution, perhaps, for damage."
"It shall be done, my d—Miss Prestwick. Just give me a list."
Silence fell on the table then, as each of the family mulled over this new turn of events. Mr. Welladay appeared ready to explode, and it was evident that neither Lady Camberwell nor her daughter was pleased, but they could think of no good reason to dispute Mr. Beresford's decision.
"Does William have any teeth?” Artemis asked abruptly. “I couldn't tell when we were upstairs."
Helen laughed, relieved at the change of topic. “Yes, he has four now, and another two ready to sprout."
The dowager returned to the subject she had been pursuing earlier. “Lady Castlering had occasion to visit Portugal a few years ago, shortly after Wellington had secured the country. She reported meeting Christopher's commanding officer, Colonel Foster, I believe his name was. You say that your father and the colonel were friends at one time?” She bent a dubious stare on Helen.
Helen's heart drummed unpleasantly, but she replied calmly. “Oh, yes. I recall Lady Castlering quite well. She dined with us a few times.” Helen noted with some satisfaction Lady Camberwell's expression of surprise. “And yes, the colonel and my father were very good friends, until— oh, about two years ago—they quarreled and have not spoken since.” She twisted abruptly in her chair. “Oh, my, is that a Constable? I am pleased at the opportunity to view his work, for I have had little opportunity to do so on the Continent. Do—?"
"What was the quarrel about?” asked Lady Camberwell, undeterred.
Helen curled fingers into her damp palms. “They—they disagreed about a painting in the colonel's possession."
Across the table, Edward glanced at Miss Prestwick in some curiosity. To be sure, the disagreement between her father and an old friend must have been painful for her, but her distress seemed out of proportion to Aunt Emily's question. He felt unexpectedly protective toward her and knew an immediate urge to dissipate her unhappiness.
Really, he admonished himself the next moment. He must stop behaving like a fatuous schoolboy with a crush on the vicar's wife. Miss Prestwick was a lovely, eminently desirable woman, with an open, intelligent countenance. That did not necessarily mean she was being truthful in her dealings with him, no matter how much he wished to believe so. Still ...
He spooned up the last of his lemon curd and, seeing that the others had finished their meal as well, rose from his chair. He turned to Miss Prestwick. “Perhaps this would be a good time for a tour of the house. It's rather large and sprawling. If you are not to get lost every time you set out from your bedchamber, you must be provided with an orientation."
"Oh! I had planned to return to William's chambers. But—yes, I would enjoy seeing the house. As would Barney, I'm sure.” She gestured to Miss Barnstaple, who nodded silently.
"Yes, of course.” Edward felt himself flushing. “I meant Miss Barnstaple, too—of course."
Their exit from
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