Read Online Miss Wonderful by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Loretta Chase
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explained the problem to Lord Gordmor, he would
probably disregard it as provincial prejudice against change and
progress."
"I
cannot blame him entirely," Mirabel said. "We are at least
partly to blame. Had all the landowners made then-sentiments clear to
his agent, I doubt we should be in this predicament. But none of us
took any more notice of him than we have of the others."
The
agent's status and power was merely the dim reflection of his
employer's, and Lord Gordmor's prestige, as Mirabel had pointed out
to Mr. Carsington, was of a dim variety to begin with. To the
denizens of Longledge Hill, his representative was merely one in a
long line of agents constantly coming and going, trying to promote
one speculation or another.
The
gentry hereabouts were conservative folk, how-ever. Even at the
height of the canal mania, they had considered Mr. Arkwright's
Cromford Canal a dubious venture, and the Peak Forest Canal downright
risky. So far, events—at least from a financial standpoint—had
not proved them wrong. While these canals had greatly improved
transportation for the businesses along their routes, neither had yet
made substantial profits for the shareholders.
Beyond
question the waterways had radically altered both the landscape and
the communities through which they passed.
Reaction
was even more negative to Lord Gordmor's canal, which would amount to
a public highway through Mirabel's and her neighbors' own property.
"You
had no way of knowing Lord Gordmor would prove more persistent than
the others," Mrs. Entwhistle said.
"It
is not the persistence but his choice of representative that disturbs
me," Mirabel said. "I wish someone had warned me Mr.
Carsington was coming. He cannot have written to the other landowners
in advance, or everyone would have been talking about it. But I
cannot credit his applying only to Papa, the last man in the world to
take an interest in a canal—or anything else not possessing
roots."
"I
suspect Mr. Carsington and Lord Gordmor were not aware of your
father's preoccupations," Mrs. Entwhistle said. "They were
only aware of his owning the largest property."
"And
Papa has done nothing to enlighten them," Mirabel said. "Can
you credit his answering Mr. Carsing-ton's letter?"
Mrs.
Entwhistle shook her head and agreed it was inexplicable.
"If
even my father agreed to meet with Mr. Carsington, you can imagine
what the others will do," Mirabel said. "They will wine and
dine the famous Waterloo hero, and say yes to everything he proposes,
without question. They will accept whatever negligible financial
compensation he offers for use of the land, and nod happily to any
route he suggests. If anyone proves so bold as to ask for a bridge to
get the cows back from the meadows or a curve to take the canal
around a plantation instead of straight through it, I shall be much
amazed. Meanwhile, we can be sure they will push their daughters and
sisters at him, even though he is merely a younger son."
"I
imagine he is well-spoken and handsome," Mrs. Entwhistle said as
she refilled Mirabel's teacup.
"Exceedingly,"
Mirabel said grimly. "Tall and broad-shouldered, and you would
think, since he is so point-perfect in his dress, that he would be
stiff, but he is not. He has even accommodated his injury, and
contrives to make a limp both manly and graceful and somehow…
gallant."
"Gallant,"
Mrs. Entwhistle repeated.
"It
is dreadful." Mirabel scowled at her teacup. "He makes me
want to cry. In the next moment I want to throw something at him.
Besides which, he is impossibly idealistic—or else he is a
magnificent actor. I hardly had the heart to tell him no one cares
about his noble intentions."
"Dark
or fair?" Mrs. Entwhistle asked.
"His
hair is thick and brown, but when the light catches it, golden glints
appear," Mirabel said. "His eyes are a changeable light
brown. They are sleepy-looking," she added. "I could not
always be sure he was listening. Or perhaps he was merely bored. Or
perhaps
probably disregard it as provincial prejudice against change and
progress."
"I
cannot blame him entirely," Mirabel said. "We are at least
partly to blame. Had all the landowners made then-sentiments clear to
his agent, I doubt we should be in this predicament. But none of us
took any more notice of him than we have of the others."
The
agent's status and power was merely the dim reflection of his
employer's, and Lord Gordmor's prestige, as Mirabel had pointed out
to Mr. Carsington, was of a dim variety to begin with. To the
denizens of Longledge Hill, his representative was merely one in a
long line of agents constantly coming and going, trying to promote
one speculation or another.
The
gentry hereabouts were conservative folk, how-ever. Even at the
height of the canal mania, they had considered Mr. Arkwright's
Cromford Canal a dubious venture, and the Peak Forest Canal downright
risky. So far, events—at least from a financial standpoint—had
not proved them wrong. While these canals had greatly improved
transportation for the businesses along their routes, neither had yet
made substantial profits for the shareholders.
Beyond
question the waterways had radically altered both the landscape and
the communities through which they passed.
Reaction
was even more negative to Lord Gordmor's canal, which would amount to
a public highway through Mirabel's and her neighbors' own property.
"You
had no way of knowing Lord Gordmor would prove more persistent than
the others," Mrs. Entwhistle said.
"It
is not the persistence but his choice of representative that disturbs
me," Mirabel said. "I wish someone had warned me Mr.
Carsington was coming. He cannot have written to the other landowners
in advance, or everyone would have been talking about it. But I
cannot credit his applying only to Papa, the last man in the world to
take an interest in a canal—or anything else not possessing
roots."
"I
suspect Mr. Carsington and Lord Gordmor were not aware of your
father's preoccupations," Mrs. Entwhistle said. "They were
only aware of his owning the largest property."
"And
Papa has done nothing to enlighten them," Mirabel said. "Can
you credit his answering Mr. Carsing-ton's letter?"
Mrs.
Entwhistle shook her head and agreed it was inexplicable.
"If
even my father agreed to meet with Mr. Carsington, you can imagine
what the others will do," Mirabel said. "They will wine and
dine the famous Waterloo hero, and say yes to everything he proposes,
without question. They will accept whatever negligible financial
compensation he offers for use of the land, and nod happily to any
route he suggests. If anyone proves so bold as to ask for a bridge to
get the cows back from the meadows or a curve to take the canal
around a plantation instead of straight through it, I shall be much
amazed. Meanwhile, we can be sure they will push their daughters and
sisters at him, even though he is merely a younger son."
"I
imagine he is well-spoken and handsome," Mrs. Entwhistle said as
she refilled Mirabel's teacup.
"Exceedingly,"
Mirabel said grimly. "Tall and broad-shouldered, and you would
think, since he is so point-perfect in his dress, that he would be
stiff, but he is not. He has even accommodated his injury, and
contrives to make a limp both manly and graceful and somehow…
gallant."
"Gallant,"
Mrs. Entwhistle repeated.
"It
is dreadful." Mirabel scowled at her teacup. "He makes me
want to cry. In the next moment I want to throw something at him.
Besides which, he is impossibly idealistic—or else he is a
magnificent actor. I hardly had the heart to tell him no one cares
about his noble intentions."
"Dark
or fair?" Mrs. Entwhistle asked.
"His
hair is thick and brown, but when the light catches it, golden glints
appear," Mirabel said. "His eyes are a changeable light
brown. They are sleepy-looking," she added. "I could not
always be sure he was listening. Or perhaps he was merely bored. Or
perhaps
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