Read Online The Hermit's Daughter by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page B

games to help us wile away the evenings,”he tempted, but still she demurred.
    Finally convinced that Sally was adamant, he rose with a questioning look. “It seems we must rely on a recital of Mr. Heppleworth’s assorted ills for our evening’s entertainment, unless you can suggest something I pick up while there?”
    Sally had not a single suggestion to make.
    “You won’t be needing any fish—mutton?”he teased, trying to beguile her into a smile before leaving. He discerned a glitter in her green eyes and waited expectantly for her retort.
    “No, thank you,”she said calmly.
    No jibes, no sparks, no taunts. “I didn’t expect my advice to your mother would have this effect!”He scowled and finally left, alone.
    Sally was well satisfied with her fortitude. He had thought her temper so unstable that she would be betrayed into even worse behavior than usual, and had the barefaced audacity to say as much. That evening she would be even more polite, let him goad as he might. She was in good spirits for half an hour, till she began envisioning the trip she had missed, at which point she turned waspish.
    As afternoon advanced into evening, her spirits rose once more. Determined to be acceptable, she wore her least dashing gown and wished it were even less dashing. It was an elegant robe of deep mulberry that brought her ivory neck and shoulders into prominence without suggesting any impropriety. Around her throat she wore the small strand of diamonds Papa had given her on her seventeenth birthday, and had her hair dressed à la Grecque. To change it would suggest she cared for Monstuart’s opinion.
    Looking at her image in the mirror, Sally gurgled softly to herself to consider that this fashionable lady was about to play the role of Bath Miss. She hunched her impertinent shoulders and danced downstairs when she heard the knocker through her open door. The gentlemen being shown in by Rinkin caught only a glimpse of her laughing eyes. The minute she recognized Monstuart’s dark head and wide shoulders, she pokered up and advanced at a stately gait to make them welcome. Her curtsy was the stiffest curtsy ever performed by her lithe young body.
    The single glimpse he had seen of Sally’s habitual self had already put a smile on Monstuart’s saturnine face. He bowed, flickering a practiced eye over her toilette. “Enchanting,”he murmured.
    “Mulberry is still being worn in the provinces,”she replied, and led the guests into the Rose Saloon with a word tossed over her shoulder to Derwent to assure him Melanie would be down presently. Little tendrils of black curls fell below the Greek knot and nestled on her white neck, causing sufficient interest to Monstuart that he was still smiling when she showed him a seat.
    “Did you have a pleasant drive to Canterbury?”she inquired.
    “Not so pleasant as it would have been if you had accompanied me, but tolerable. I found a book I hope you will accept,”he said, and handed her a small volume bound in Russian leather.
    Surprised, she glanced at the title and saw it to be a play by Hannah More entitled The Fatal Falsehood. “A dramatic tragedy by your favorite author,”he said, his dark eyes laughing.
    Sally refused to recognize any significance in the title and thanked him calmly. “I look forward to reading it. This is one that hasn’t come my way before. I have just been dipping into her Thoughts on the Manners of the Great and found it most amusing,”she said, not betraying by an accent that she was retaliating for his daring to hint she had lied to say she was busy.
    “That’s Thoughts on the Importance of the Manners of the Great, ma’am, if I’m not mistaken,”Monstuart pointed out. “Not quite so apropos—from your point of view—but a very good riposte. I congratulate you.”
    Her raised brows and blank look were meant to imply she was lost at his rejoinder, but as some widening of her great green eyes accompanied the gesture, Monstuart failed to