Read Online The Luck of the Devil by Bárbara Metzger - Free Book Online
Authors: Bárbara Metzger
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more loudly or more colorfully, with shattering punctuation. Luckily Carey had never been fond of his stepmama's grouping of china shepherdesses along the mantel. He sat at his ease while Mrs. Reardon stormed on, concentrating on turning the snuffbox in his left hand's fingers. When the dramatics wound down, Carey smiled and in a tone of voice bespeaking reason and firm resolve asked, "How much?"
The French might think love was the universal language; the British knew better. Mrs. Reardon licked her ruby lips and smiled back. "St. Dillon assured me a year's employment; I have only been paid for the quarter."
Carey waved his hand. "A contract is a contract."
"And I had to give up the lease on the cottage. A new place would cost dearly."
Carey studied the snuffbox. "I should think you might find a change of neighborhood to your liking."
"But I quite like it here. Of course, if I could afford London prices, I might consider moving away from my dear friends."
"I think you'll enjoy London. All the new sights and entertainments." Damn if he couldn't almost flip it open with his left hand.
"Do you think your cousin will be in London soon?"
So St. Dillon had stirred another pie. Carey shrugged, toting another debt in Harry's column.
Mrs. Reardon sighed. "I am not as young as I once was. Making new, ah, friends will not be so easy."
Carey gallantly stepped into the breech, as she knew he would: "Exquisite women like yourself only ripen with time, like fine wine. The Town Beaux are true connoisseurs, but I would naturally not expect a rare sherry to go for lowest price at auction."
"Might you consider bidding yourself, to see such a precious bottle protected?"
Carey picked a speck of lint off his jacket sleeve. "I regret that it was my father who was interested in keeping the cellars stocked, not myself."
Mrs. Reardon regretted it too; the handsome captain would have suited her to the nines, as generous as he was being. She had one more arrow in her quiver. No, she had two, counting the one reserved for bigger game. She patted her stomach. "You know, my lord, your father did not die quietly in his bed as we gave out."
Carey raised one eyebrow in question. "You begin to interest me, ma'am."
If that was a slur, Mrs. Reardon ignored it. "Well, he died in bed. I sent for his man and we brought him back here with no one the wiser."
"I owe you for that, ma'am."
"I rather thought you did. A woman needs a carriage of her own, to get around in London."
The coach and four was reduced to a chaise and pair, and the final price for Mrs. Reardon's departure and silence was ultimately agreed upon. Her leaving was not as quiet as Carey had hoped, once he insisted on getting the topaz necklace back, despite the fact that Suzannah was much too young for jewels and Emonda would have no use for it, being in mourning. Another tirade ensued when Mrs. Reardon saw her bags being carried out and loaded in a waiting carriage, without even time to change her gown. Only a particularly ugly vase on a hall table suffered the lady's ire as Captain Delverson escorted her to the coach by means of an iron-hard grip on her upper arm.
Carey wiped his brow, winked at the gaping footman in the hall, and asked if his sister and Miss Selcroft could attend him in the library.
Emonda slunk in, clutching an already-damp handkerchief. Hell, Carey thought, and poured himself a brandy. Emonda's eyes widened, almost as if she feared he would overindulge, lose control, and go on a ravening rampage after her virtue. "Oh, sit down, Emmy. I am not about to eat you." She took the seat as far from him as possible and perched on the edge of her chair, ready to run. Carey went on. "I am deuced sorry about this hobble. How did you let such a thing happen?"
"How did I let it happen?" She gazed at him as if he'd sprouted another head. "You ordered me to stay here to see about Suzannah, and you told St. Dillon to find a woman to keep us company. I tried to tell Harry, but
The French might think love was the universal language; the British knew better. Mrs. Reardon licked her ruby lips and smiled back. "St. Dillon assured me a year's employment; I have only been paid for the quarter."
Carey waved his hand. "A contract is a contract."
"And I had to give up the lease on the cottage. A new place would cost dearly."
Carey studied the snuffbox. "I should think you might find a change of neighborhood to your liking."
"But I quite like it here. Of course, if I could afford London prices, I might consider moving away from my dear friends."
"I think you'll enjoy London. All the new sights and entertainments." Damn if he couldn't almost flip it open with his left hand.
"Do you think your cousin will be in London soon?"
So St. Dillon had stirred another pie. Carey shrugged, toting another debt in Harry's column.
Mrs. Reardon sighed. "I am not as young as I once was. Making new, ah, friends will not be so easy."
Carey gallantly stepped into the breech, as she knew he would: "Exquisite women like yourself only ripen with time, like fine wine. The Town Beaux are true connoisseurs, but I would naturally not expect a rare sherry to go for lowest price at auction."
"Might you consider bidding yourself, to see such a precious bottle protected?"
Carey picked a speck of lint off his jacket sleeve. "I regret that it was my father who was interested in keeping the cellars stocked, not myself."
Mrs. Reardon regretted it too; the handsome captain would have suited her to the nines, as generous as he was being. She had one more arrow in her quiver. No, she had two, counting the one reserved for bigger game. She patted her stomach. "You know, my lord, your father did not die quietly in his bed as we gave out."
Carey raised one eyebrow in question. "You begin to interest me, ma'am."
If that was a slur, Mrs. Reardon ignored it. "Well, he died in bed. I sent for his man and we brought him back here with no one the wiser."
"I owe you for that, ma'am."
"I rather thought you did. A woman needs a carriage of her own, to get around in London."
The coach and four was reduced to a chaise and pair, and the final price for Mrs. Reardon's departure and silence was ultimately agreed upon. Her leaving was not as quiet as Carey had hoped, once he insisted on getting the topaz necklace back, despite the fact that Suzannah was much too young for jewels and Emonda would have no use for it, being in mourning. Another tirade ensued when Mrs. Reardon saw her bags being carried out and loaded in a waiting carriage, without even time to change her gown. Only a particularly ugly vase on a hall table suffered the lady's ire as Captain Delverson escorted her to the coach by means of an iron-hard grip on her upper arm.
Carey wiped his brow, winked at the gaping footman in the hall, and asked if his sister and Miss Selcroft could attend him in the library.
Emonda slunk in, clutching an already-damp handkerchief. Hell, Carey thought, and poured himself a brandy. Emonda's eyes widened, almost as if she feared he would overindulge, lose control, and go on a ravening rampage after her virtue. "Oh, sit down, Emmy. I am not about to eat you." She took the seat as far from him as possible and perched on the edge of her chair, ready to run. Carey went on. "I am deuced sorry about this hobble. How did you let such a thing happen?"
"How did I let it happen?" She gazed at him as if he'd sprouted another head. "You ordered me to stay here to see about Suzannah, and you told St. Dillon to find a woman to keep us company. I tried to tell Harry, but
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