Read Online Suzanne Robinson by Just Before Midnight - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Just Before Midnight
Ads: Link
main room of the house in the eighteenth century.
At the end of the hall opposite the grand staircase was an ornate chimneypiece. Along the walls were arranged niches with rounded arches in which rested modern copies of Greek and Roman statuary. Beside the niches stood various works of art, including several gilded ceramic pedestal clocks as tall as Mattie was. She limped to the carpeted steps in front of the chimneypiece and sat down.
At least she hadn’t encountered Lord Geoffrey, Mr. Tennant, or whatever he called himself. No one had been able to give her a satisfactory reason why he insisted upon not using his title. She had caught sight of her nemesis across the ballroom at various times during the evening, always in conversation with people Mattie knew to be great talkers.
Having suspected that he might try to retaliate for her little trick, Mattie had kept an eye out for him. She was ashamed of herself for reverting to her old bad habits, but it had been so gratifying to watch his face as he sat down. With Tennant around, it was going to be even harder to remember to be genteel. If he tried to pay her back with some meanness of hisown, she wasn’t sure she could restrain herself. So far he’d danced only a couple of times and seemed intent on conversing the whole night. Which was fortunate, because Mattie wasn’t having a good time and having to spar with Cheyne Tennant/Lord Geoffrey would really foul her mood.
It seemed that every partner she’d had tonight was a bad egg. First there had been that condescending young earl who seemed to think all Americans lived in log cabins and fought Indians daily.
“Damn fool,” Mattie said to herself as she took off a slipper and rubbed her toes. She groaned as her corset bit into her ribs. She’d had to wear it because her dress was cut exactly to the proportions she assumed when encased in the uncomfortable contraption.
She was wearing one of the gowns she and Mama had ordered in Paris. It had an underdress of pale rose silk and an overdress of spangled net. Mama had wanted the spangles to be diamonds, but Mattie had balked at such a display of bad taste. The spangles were rhinestones. Mattie realized she was sitting on the train, got up and shoved it to the side. The darned dress required fourteen yards of silk.
Mattie kicked off her other slipper and sighed with relief. Soon she would have to go back to the ball. The dance card on her wrist was full for the rest of the evening. What a misery. She’d already put up with a young man who couldn’t follow the rhythm of a tune if someone held a gun on him. Then there had been that fellow who was sensitive to roses. A spray of pink buds nestled in her upswept hair. Herpartner had sneezed on her with every beat of the polka they were dancing, and they ended up stumbling off the dance floor while he wheezed and tried to draw a complete breath. As the attacks continued with the ferocity of a runaway train Mattie had felt like she was in one of those new Kinetoscope moving pictures in which a man sneezes the same sneeze over and over again. The poor man had finally thrown up his hands to ward off her concerned attentions. Everyone had stared at them.
Mattie turned as pink as the roses in her hair at the memory. People had stared at her and whispered when her feet got stomped and she yelped, then they stared at her during the sneezing spectacle. People were probably thinking she was a lunatic or, worse, gauche and unrefined. She’d failed yet again to be the charming young lady Papa had wanted her to be. If she continued in this manner she’d never attract the admiration of a duke’s heir.
Papa had worked so hard to get her here—to give her his dream. There had been times when she cried to see him so weary from ranch work that he could barely stand. Later, when they went east with his small savings, Papa had found himself a profitable business selling coke to the steel mills. That had been Papa’s big risk, and
At the end of the hall opposite the grand staircase was an ornate chimneypiece. Along the walls were arranged niches with rounded arches in which rested modern copies of Greek and Roman statuary. Beside the niches stood various works of art, including several gilded ceramic pedestal clocks as tall as Mattie was. She limped to the carpeted steps in front of the chimneypiece and sat down.
At least she hadn’t encountered Lord Geoffrey, Mr. Tennant, or whatever he called himself. No one had been able to give her a satisfactory reason why he insisted upon not using his title. She had caught sight of her nemesis across the ballroom at various times during the evening, always in conversation with people Mattie knew to be great talkers.
Having suspected that he might try to retaliate for her little trick, Mattie had kept an eye out for him. She was ashamed of herself for reverting to her old bad habits, but it had been so gratifying to watch his face as he sat down. With Tennant around, it was going to be even harder to remember to be genteel. If he tried to pay her back with some meanness of hisown, she wasn’t sure she could restrain herself. So far he’d danced only a couple of times and seemed intent on conversing the whole night. Which was fortunate, because Mattie wasn’t having a good time and having to spar with Cheyne Tennant/Lord Geoffrey would really foul her mood.
It seemed that every partner she’d had tonight was a bad egg. First there had been that condescending young earl who seemed to think all Americans lived in log cabins and fought Indians daily.
“Damn fool,” Mattie said to herself as she took off a slipper and rubbed her toes. She groaned as her corset bit into her ribs. She’d had to wear it because her dress was cut exactly to the proportions she assumed when encased in the uncomfortable contraption.
She was wearing one of the gowns she and Mama had ordered in Paris. It had an underdress of pale rose silk and an overdress of spangled net. Mama had wanted the spangles to be diamonds, but Mattie had balked at such a display of bad taste. The spangles were rhinestones. Mattie realized she was sitting on the train, got up and shoved it to the side. The darned dress required fourteen yards of silk.
Mattie kicked off her other slipper and sighed with relief. Soon she would have to go back to the ball. The dance card on her wrist was full for the rest of the evening. What a misery. She’d already put up with a young man who couldn’t follow the rhythm of a tune if someone held a gun on him. Then there had been that fellow who was sensitive to roses. A spray of pink buds nestled in her upswept hair. Herpartner had sneezed on her with every beat of the polka they were dancing, and they ended up stumbling off the dance floor while he wheezed and tried to draw a complete breath. As the attacks continued with the ferocity of a runaway train Mattie had felt like she was in one of those new Kinetoscope moving pictures in which a man sneezes the same sneeze over and over again. The poor man had finally thrown up his hands to ward off her concerned attentions. Everyone had stared at them.
Mattie turned as pink as the roses in her hair at the memory. People had stared at her and whispered when her feet got stomped and she yelped, then they stared at her during the sneezing spectacle. People were probably thinking she was a lunatic or, worse, gauche and unrefined. She’d failed yet again to be the charming young lady Papa had wanted her to be. If she continued in this manner she’d never attract the admiration of a duke’s heir.
Papa had worked so hard to get her here—to give her his dream. There had been times when she cried to see him so weary from ranch work that he could barely stand. Later, when they went east with his small savings, Papa had found himself a profitable business selling coke to the steel mills. That had been Papa’s big risk, and
Similar Books
