Read Online The Law and Miss Mary by Dorothy Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Clark
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home, Captain Benton?”
“Of course, Miss Stewart.” He glanced in their direction. “Good evening, Miss Randolph…Mr. Randolph.” He offered Miss Stewart his arm, then escorted her down the stairs and out to Market Street.
Mary stared after them a moment, then reached up and yanked undone the huge bow hiding her chin, cross with herself for allowing Miss Stewart’s beauty to upset her.
“Shall we go on with our exploring, Mary?”
She took a breath and retied the bow…smaller. “Yes, of course, James.” She forced a smile and tried not to think of how her heart had faltered when the captain’s gaze had met hers, or of how lovely Miss Stewart had looked beside the captain, as James took her elbow and they descended the steps together.
It was no use. Thoughts kept tumbling around in her head breaking her concentration. Mary sighed, put down her pen and lowered the wick in the oil lamp until the flame sputtered and died. She would finish the letter to her parents tomorrow.
The wood chair creaked softly as she rose from the writing desk. A slight breeze rippled the fabric of her dressing gown as she walked to the open window. At least it had finally cooled off a little. That would make sleeping more pleasant. If only she could sleep.
Faint sounds of St. Louis’s revelry drifting in the window were drowned out by the loud, persistent hum of a hungry mosquito hovering around her ear. She swatted the insect away and looked out into the moonlit night. Had Captain Benton spent the evening sitting on the mayor’s front porch wooing Miss Stewart? Was he there still?
Mary frowned, leaned against the window frame and let the night breeze flow over her. Why was she unable to erase the couple from her mind? She was not normally so weak-willed. It must be the strong resemblance Miss Stewart bore to Victoria Dearborn that had her so…so…agitated. That, and the look of admiration in Captain Benton’s eyes as he gazed down at the petite blonde. It was the same way Winston Blackstone had looked at Victoria.
Mary sighed, then shoved away from the window and walked to the four-poster bed. She longed to walk about, but the room was too small to pace. She sat on the edge of the bed, tugged a pillow from under the woven coverlet and reclined against it. The mosquito found her. Another joined it. She swatted them away, rose to her knees, yanked the gauzy bed hangings free of the bedposts and pulled them into place, making certain the edges lapped. That would keep the annoying insects away. If only there were a curtain she could pull across her mind to keep the unwelcome thoughts and images away.
She snorted and batted her eyelashes, dipped her head and looked up, ever so coyly, through them, as Miss Stewart had done while talking to the men. It was nauseating! Miss Stewart was an outrageous flirt, who was obviously dissatisfied lest she capture the admiration of every man she came in contact with. Why, Miss Stewart was flirting with James right under the captain’s eyes! Why were men blind to such machinations?
Mary fluffed her pillow and sank down against it. How would it feel to have a man look at you the way Winston looked at Victoria? The way Captain Benton looked at Miss Stewart? As if you were beautiful and delicate and precious? How would it feel to have a man love you?
The stars shining beyond the filmy fabric blurred. Mary swiped the tears from her cheeks, grabbed another pillow and flopped over onto her side, hugging the fluffy softness close against her constricted chest. This loneliness was her portion in life. God had not seen fit to make her beautiful in the eyes of men. There was no sense in wishing for things that would never be.
Chapter Seven
S am relaxed in the saddle, at ease with the powerful ripple and thrust of his horse’s muscles, the solid thud of hooves against the hard-packed earth. It was a nice day for a ride, and it had been a long time since he had been astride Attila. He did not get
“Of course, Miss Stewart.” He glanced in their direction. “Good evening, Miss Randolph…Mr. Randolph.” He offered Miss Stewart his arm, then escorted her down the stairs and out to Market Street.
Mary stared after them a moment, then reached up and yanked undone the huge bow hiding her chin, cross with herself for allowing Miss Stewart’s beauty to upset her.
“Shall we go on with our exploring, Mary?”
She took a breath and retied the bow…smaller. “Yes, of course, James.” She forced a smile and tried not to think of how her heart had faltered when the captain’s gaze had met hers, or of how lovely Miss Stewart had looked beside the captain, as James took her elbow and they descended the steps together.
It was no use. Thoughts kept tumbling around in her head breaking her concentration. Mary sighed, put down her pen and lowered the wick in the oil lamp until the flame sputtered and died. She would finish the letter to her parents tomorrow.
The wood chair creaked softly as she rose from the writing desk. A slight breeze rippled the fabric of her dressing gown as she walked to the open window. At least it had finally cooled off a little. That would make sleeping more pleasant. If only she could sleep.
Faint sounds of St. Louis’s revelry drifting in the window were drowned out by the loud, persistent hum of a hungry mosquito hovering around her ear. She swatted the insect away and looked out into the moonlit night. Had Captain Benton spent the evening sitting on the mayor’s front porch wooing Miss Stewart? Was he there still?
Mary frowned, leaned against the window frame and let the night breeze flow over her. Why was she unable to erase the couple from her mind? She was not normally so weak-willed. It must be the strong resemblance Miss Stewart bore to Victoria Dearborn that had her so…so…agitated. That, and the look of admiration in Captain Benton’s eyes as he gazed down at the petite blonde. It was the same way Winston Blackstone had looked at Victoria.
Mary sighed, then shoved away from the window and walked to the four-poster bed. She longed to walk about, but the room was too small to pace. She sat on the edge of the bed, tugged a pillow from under the woven coverlet and reclined against it. The mosquito found her. Another joined it. She swatted them away, rose to her knees, yanked the gauzy bed hangings free of the bedposts and pulled them into place, making certain the edges lapped. That would keep the annoying insects away. If only there were a curtain she could pull across her mind to keep the unwelcome thoughts and images away.
She snorted and batted her eyelashes, dipped her head and looked up, ever so coyly, through them, as Miss Stewart had done while talking to the men. It was nauseating! Miss Stewart was an outrageous flirt, who was obviously dissatisfied lest she capture the admiration of every man she came in contact with. Why, Miss Stewart was flirting with James right under the captain’s eyes! Why were men blind to such machinations?
Mary fluffed her pillow and sank down against it. How would it feel to have a man look at you the way Winston looked at Victoria? The way Captain Benton looked at Miss Stewart? As if you were beautiful and delicate and precious? How would it feel to have a man love you?
The stars shining beyond the filmy fabric blurred. Mary swiped the tears from her cheeks, grabbed another pillow and flopped over onto her side, hugging the fluffy softness close against her constricted chest. This loneliness was her portion in life. God had not seen fit to make her beautiful in the eyes of men. There was no sense in wishing for things that would never be.
Chapter Seven
S am relaxed in the saddle, at ease with the powerful ripple and thrust of his horse’s muscles, the solid thud of hooves against the hard-packed earth. It was a nice day for a ride, and it had been a long time since he had been astride Attila. He did not get
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