Read Online The Homecoming by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney - Free Book Online

about to say sharply that Mr. Bond should be able to cope with the matter himself when he noticed how nervous the young man was. “Mr. and Mrs. Walters,” said the duke, raising his voice. “Do you not recognize Mr. Bond? He is from your village.”
    “What?” The squire peered at Peter. Sarah continued to look out of the window where her wedding breakfast was taking place in marquees on the lawn. The duke in his wedding clothes was standing at her side. They were receiving the best wishes of the tenantry.
    “Oh, yes, Bond’s son,” said the squire. “Dead, ain’t he?”
    “Yes, Mr. Walters,” said Peter. “My father died just before I took up my post with His Grace.”
    “Glad you’re settled,” mumbled the squire. “Bond didn’t leave you anything.”
    “Miss Walters!” said the duke in a commanding voice.
    Sarah came back to earth and blinked at him. “Do you remember Mr. Bond?”
    Her eyes focused at last on Peter. “Why, of course,” she said. “You danced with me at the local assembly. How are you?”
    “Very well,” said Peter.
    There was a silence. Then Miss Trumble said, “I am sure you must have much to talk about. Mr. Bond, why do you not sit with Miss Walters for a little?”
    Celia Charter goggled at Miss Trumble and Verity said acidly, “Whether his secretary stays or not is a matter for the duke, not for a local governess.”
    “I will go,” said Peter wretchedly.
    “No, Mr. Bond, you must not let the bad manners of one of my guests drive you away. Pray be seated,” Said the duke.
    Lizzie looked at Verity, wondering how she was liking that set-down, but she heard Verity say to Celia, “I hope that puts that uppity governess in her place for once and for all. She
was
rude.”
    “Apart from us,” said Gerald cheerfully, “it’s apretty horrible guest-list. Only look how the squire glares at that young secretary.”
    Sarah was enjoying herself, talking about village matters. The fact that Peter was adoringly hanging on her every word went unnoticed by her.
    “How do you think our host plans to entertain us today?” Gerald went on. “Or will he bother? After tea, we will all repair to our rooms and rest from the rigours of raising a cup to our lips.”
    “I have no suggestions,” said Lizzie. “I am resolved to be correct.”
    Gerald’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
    “And what would you do were you not being correct?”
    “I would probably go out into the sunshine and walk about the gardens and look around all my favourite old haunts.”
    “Why do you not show them to me? Leave this fusty, musty tea-party?”
    “I think Miss Trumble would consider it proper to escort me.”
    “Surely not! In broad daylight, in the gardens, in full view of anyone who might care to see you?”
    “Nonetheless, I will ask her,” said Lizzie.
    She rose and crossed to Miss Trumble, who looked up inquiringly. “Mr. Parkes and I would like to take a turn around the gardens in the sunshine, Miss Trumble.”
    Miss Trumble hesitated only a second. She glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Parkes, who were smiling their approval.
    “Yes, by all means, Lizzie,” she said. “But do not stray too far from the house.”
    The duke saw them leave. He then turned away and looked at the window. But the sun was still shining. Odd. He could have sworn the room had become suddenly darker.
    “Oof! That’s better,” exclaimed Gerald as they emerged from the darkness of the hall and out into the sunlight. “I am not made for the social life.”
    Lizzie looked amused. “And what are you made for, Mr. Parkes?”
    “I am made for adventure, excitement. I think I shall join the army. Do you not get bored with all this social chit-chat among the teacups, Miss Lizzie?”
    “I usually lead a very quiet life, Mr. Parkes. I have not travelled. Only to London, and that does not count. So a visit to my old home and meeting new people is a welcome diversion.”
    “I like the sights and smells of foreign countries,”