Read Online The Defiant Lady Pencavel by Diane Scott Lewis - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Scott Lewis
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feather mattress under its intricately carved rococo headboard.
“That be the gist of your melancholy, m’lady?” Clowenna hauled up the chamber pot from under the bed. She opened the closest window. “Are ‘ee that sad his lordship follows about an’ harasses, or that he said he left for Cornwall, an’ cannot harass ‘ee no more?”
Melwyn wrapped her flimsy nightgown around her, tucked her feet under her and tapped her cheek in thought. Torrid lips on hers invaded her memory, making her quiver. “You’ve come to the nucleus of the problem, I must admit.”
“Whatever ‘nucleus’ might mean.” Clowenna leaned out the window. “ Garde à l’eau!” she shouted before dumping the pot’s contents. “Oh, la, I might o’ hit the muckraker; but at least he’s there to tidy up.”
“I’m certain I’m only distracted by that cur of a lordship’s ruthlessness, nothing more. He only wants a doxy, which I am not.” Melwyn stood, fighting the sag of her heart. “Brush off my finest riding habit. I’m to ride a hired horse in Hyde Park, while Auntie and the duchess trundle along in a carriage, following me as killjoy chaperones.”
“I’m all agog at your finally goin’ out.” Clowenna opened the clothes press where garments were neatly folded. “Don’t embarrass them too much, m’lady. O’ course that be too much to ask.”
Along Rotten Row, through the stately oaks of the park, Melwyn sat awkwardly in the side saddle her aunt insisted she had to utilize. The broad bay mare undulated beneath her, clopping evenly, snorting occasionally, the scent of horse sweat sharp.
Red poppies and yellow buttercups sprinkled the stretch of lawn that surrounded the Serpentine pond where geese fluttered about like...geese in the April air. The flowers’ light fragrance mixed with the mossy smell of the park.
She squirmed on the saddle, the pummel digging into her draped-over leg. At home at Langoron House she rode astride like a boy, though never when her father watched. The groom didn’t mind allowing her this freedom. Still, it rankled her that she was so suppressed as a female she had to think of it as an allowed freedom, rather than her due as a person.
In Italy and Greece she’d pass herself off as a widow, since those women were given more leeway in their actions. She laughed softly. Every high-spirited young lady should pretend to have a dead husband.
She kicked the horse’s flank, and the mare cantered away from the following carriage, where Aunt Hedra and the Duchess of Dumfort prattled on about a subject that was far less than stimulating, Melwyn was assured.
She reveled in the motion of the horse, her own swaying hips and shoulders, the breeze caressing her face. The sun warmed her back. Birds squawked in the branches above her, but why did she search the area, the other riders, for the brooding form of Lord Lambrick? He should be well on his way back to Cornwall by now.
“Do wait up, Mellie, darling!” Aunt Hedra stuck her head out the window, her mound of hair barely moving in the wind, her hat flapping atop like a trapped bird. “I’m meeting my Royal Society friend over near Speakers’ Corner. You did want to be introduced, didn’t you?”
Melwyn reined in her horse, turned the mare around and joined the ladies. “You promised me at Vauxhall to meet this illustrious person. I wonder if you tease me, and made him up, Auntie dear.”
“Is this a ghost?” the duchess asked, her ringed fingers clicking together. “How delightful, I love ghosts. Yet no one has shown me an actual one, so that I might be convinced they are real. Regardless, they must be well-behaved spirits; no chain rattlings and the like.”
“No, no, your grace, he is very real; that is, he’s not a ghost.” Aunt Hedra tapped on the coach ceiling. “Head for Speakers’ Corner, please, driver.”
Melwyn followed the coach, still scanning the park for anyone who might be watching her, such as a certain
“That be the gist of your melancholy, m’lady?” Clowenna hauled up the chamber pot from under the bed. She opened the closest window. “Are ‘ee that sad his lordship follows about an’ harasses, or that he said he left for Cornwall, an’ cannot harass ‘ee no more?”
Melwyn wrapped her flimsy nightgown around her, tucked her feet under her and tapped her cheek in thought. Torrid lips on hers invaded her memory, making her quiver. “You’ve come to the nucleus of the problem, I must admit.”
“Whatever ‘nucleus’ might mean.” Clowenna leaned out the window. “ Garde à l’eau!” she shouted before dumping the pot’s contents. “Oh, la, I might o’ hit the muckraker; but at least he’s there to tidy up.”
“I’m certain I’m only distracted by that cur of a lordship’s ruthlessness, nothing more. He only wants a doxy, which I am not.” Melwyn stood, fighting the sag of her heart. “Brush off my finest riding habit. I’m to ride a hired horse in Hyde Park, while Auntie and the duchess trundle along in a carriage, following me as killjoy chaperones.”
“I’m all agog at your finally goin’ out.” Clowenna opened the clothes press where garments were neatly folded. “Don’t embarrass them too much, m’lady. O’ course that be too much to ask.”
Along Rotten Row, through the stately oaks of the park, Melwyn sat awkwardly in the side saddle her aunt insisted she had to utilize. The broad bay mare undulated beneath her, clopping evenly, snorting occasionally, the scent of horse sweat sharp.
Red poppies and yellow buttercups sprinkled the stretch of lawn that surrounded the Serpentine pond where geese fluttered about like...geese in the April air. The flowers’ light fragrance mixed with the mossy smell of the park.
She squirmed on the saddle, the pummel digging into her draped-over leg. At home at Langoron House she rode astride like a boy, though never when her father watched. The groom didn’t mind allowing her this freedom. Still, it rankled her that she was so suppressed as a female she had to think of it as an allowed freedom, rather than her due as a person.
In Italy and Greece she’d pass herself off as a widow, since those women were given more leeway in their actions. She laughed softly. Every high-spirited young lady should pretend to have a dead husband.
She kicked the horse’s flank, and the mare cantered away from the following carriage, where Aunt Hedra and the Duchess of Dumfort prattled on about a subject that was far less than stimulating, Melwyn was assured.
She reveled in the motion of the horse, her own swaying hips and shoulders, the breeze caressing her face. The sun warmed her back. Birds squawked in the branches above her, but why did she search the area, the other riders, for the brooding form of Lord Lambrick? He should be well on his way back to Cornwall by now.
“Do wait up, Mellie, darling!” Aunt Hedra stuck her head out the window, her mound of hair barely moving in the wind, her hat flapping atop like a trapped bird. “I’m meeting my Royal Society friend over near Speakers’ Corner. You did want to be introduced, didn’t you?”
Melwyn reined in her horse, turned the mare around and joined the ladies. “You promised me at Vauxhall to meet this illustrious person. I wonder if you tease me, and made him up, Auntie dear.”
“Is this a ghost?” the duchess asked, her ringed fingers clicking together. “How delightful, I love ghosts. Yet no one has shown me an actual one, so that I might be convinced they are real. Regardless, they must be well-behaved spirits; no chain rattlings and the like.”
“No, no, your grace, he is very real; that is, he’s not a ghost.” Aunt Hedra tapped on the coach ceiling. “Head for Speakers’ Corner, please, driver.”
Melwyn followed the coach, still scanning the park for anyone who might be watching her, such as a certain
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