Read Online Miss Wonderful by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Loretta Chase
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agent. They wouldn't
dream of doing so themselves. You my father not only invited to meet
with him, but asked to dinner. He even tried to persuade you to stay
the night—though Papa is practically a recluse, who would
rather talk to plants than people. Sir Roger Tolbert and Captain
Hughes, who are more sociable, will call on you and invite you to
dine with them. Everyone will ask you to visit and invite you to
admire their pets, livestock, and children, especially their
daughters."
While
she talked, she was trying to roll and fold the maps, and was doing
as well as her maid had done with her hair. She wound the rolled ones
into cones and spirals and folded the others backwards and sideways
and every way but the correct one. By degrees she became lost in a
storm of swishing and crackling paper.
Alistair
advanced, extracted the maps from her taut grip, and one by one
closed them properly. Then he set the lot down on the table,
resisting the urge to keep one to swat her with.
She
frowned down at the maps. "I had no trouble open-ing them,"
she said. "But when it came time to shut them up, they developed
a life of their own. I suspect they dislike being closed, and it
wants a special knack to coax them."
"No,
it wants only simple logic," he said.
"It
must be a different form of logic than I ever learned," she
said. "But you're an Oxford man, I recall. If only I had gone to
university, I, too, should know how to fold a map."
"I
wish Oxford had taught me how to get a direct answer to a simple
question," he said.
She
bestowed upon him a brilliant smile, the one she'd favored him with
the previous day, before she'd learnt his errand. Since she'd treated
him to only a lesser and chillier variety of smiles since, he was
caught unprepared, and his brain reacted as though she'd hit him in
the head with a cricket bat.
"You
want me to tell you why Lord Gordmor's agent could win no support for
his canal," she said. She collected her coat and bonnet.
Alistair
collected his wits. "The agent told us no one was willing even
to discuss it. Everywhere he went, he was told no and shown the door.
Yes, I want you to tell me, Miss Oldridge, since you claim everyone
else will be too overawed by my consequence to tell me the truth."
She
flung on the cloak. "I most certainly will not tell you,"
she said. She jammed the bonnet on her head and quickly tied the
ribbons. "You have every possible advantage. Everyone will fawn
upon you. I do not see your encountering the smallest resistance. The
situation is hopeless enough without my giving up to you my single
piece of ammunition. Good day, Mr. Carsington."
She
snatched up the maps, and out she went, leaving a vexed and baffled
Alistair with nothing to do but watch her go, cloak crooked, bonnet
lopsided, and perfect backside swaying.
IT
might have comforted Mr. Carsington to know he was not the only one
who was vexed and baffled. Mirabel was disturbed enough to travel
another two miles, to Cromford, to seek her former governess's
calming presence.
At
present they sat in Mrs. Entwhistle's parlor, which was scrupulously
neat, attractively decorated, and comfortably upholstered, like its
mistress.
The
lady, who was ten years older, had married and moved to Cromford
shortly after her then-nineteen-year-old charge set out for London
and her first season. Mr. Ent-whistle had succumbed to a lung fever
three years ago. He had provided well enough for his widow, though,
to spare her having to return to her old occupation.
"If
only I did have a piece of ammunition," Mirabel was telling Mrs.
Entwhistle. "But Mr. Carsington will soon discover the main
objection. All the Longledge landowners believe the canal will cause
too much disruption for too little benefit. Otherwise we should have
built our own canal decades ago, when it would have cost far less."
"Men
who spend their lives in London cannot conceive of the impact these
schemes have on rural communities," Mrs. Entwhistle said. "Even
if anyone had
dream of doing so themselves. You my father not only invited to meet
with him, but asked to dinner. He even tried to persuade you to stay
the night—though Papa is practically a recluse, who would
rather talk to plants than people. Sir Roger Tolbert and Captain
Hughes, who are more sociable, will call on you and invite you to
dine with them. Everyone will ask you to visit and invite you to
admire their pets, livestock, and children, especially their
daughters."
While
she talked, she was trying to roll and fold the maps, and was doing
as well as her maid had done with her hair. She wound the rolled ones
into cones and spirals and folded the others backwards and sideways
and every way but the correct one. By degrees she became lost in a
storm of swishing and crackling paper.
Alistair
advanced, extracted the maps from her taut grip, and one by one
closed them properly. Then he set the lot down on the table,
resisting the urge to keep one to swat her with.
She
frowned down at the maps. "I had no trouble open-ing them,"
she said. "But when it came time to shut them up, they developed
a life of their own. I suspect they dislike being closed, and it
wants a special knack to coax them."
"No,
it wants only simple logic," he said.
"It
must be a different form of logic than I ever learned," she
said. "But you're an Oxford man, I recall. If only I had gone to
university, I, too, should know how to fold a map."
"I
wish Oxford had taught me how to get a direct answer to a simple
question," he said.
She
bestowed upon him a brilliant smile, the one she'd favored him with
the previous day, before she'd learnt his errand. Since she'd treated
him to only a lesser and chillier variety of smiles since, he was
caught unprepared, and his brain reacted as though she'd hit him in
the head with a cricket bat.
"You
want me to tell you why Lord Gordmor's agent could win no support for
his canal," she said. She collected her coat and bonnet.
Alistair
collected his wits. "The agent told us no one was willing even
to discuss it. Everywhere he went, he was told no and shown the door.
Yes, I want you to tell me, Miss Oldridge, since you claim everyone
else will be too overawed by my consequence to tell me the truth."
She
flung on the cloak. "I most certainly will not tell you,"
she said. She jammed the bonnet on her head and quickly tied the
ribbons. "You have every possible advantage. Everyone will fawn
upon you. I do not see your encountering the smallest resistance. The
situation is hopeless enough without my giving up to you my single
piece of ammunition. Good day, Mr. Carsington."
She
snatched up the maps, and out she went, leaving a vexed and baffled
Alistair with nothing to do but watch her go, cloak crooked, bonnet
lopsided, and perfect backside swaying.
IT
might have comforted Mr. Carsington to know he was not the only one
who was vexed and baffled. Mirabel was disturbed enough to travel
another two miles, to Cromford, to seek her former governess's
calming presence.
At
present they sat in Mrs. Entwhistle's parlor, which was scrupulously
neat, attractively decorated, and comfortably upholstered, like its
mistress.
The
lady, who was ten years older, had married and moved to Cromford
shortly after her then-nineteen-year-old charge set out for London
and her first season. Mr. Ent-whistle had succumbed to a lung fever
three years ago. He had provided well enough for his widow, though,
to spare her having to return to her old occupation.
"If
only I did have a piece of ammunition," Mirabel was telling Mrs.
Entwhistle. "But Mr. Carsington will soon discover the main
objection. All the Longledge landowners believe the canal will cause
too much disruption for too little benefit. Otherwise we should have
built our own canal decades ago, when it would have cost far less."
"Men
who spend their lives in London cannot conceive of the impact these
schemes have on rural communities," Mrs. Entwhistle said. "Even
if anyone had
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