Read Online The Price of Indiscretion by Cathy Maxwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Cathy Maxwell
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Lewis confided in a low voice.
“What are they saying?” Miranda asked.
“They’ve referred to you as Senhorina do Ouro.”
“Of gold? Why?”
“It’s your hair. It will always attract attention,” the captain answered. “However, let me warn now, the ladies are not so pleased they flatter you.”
“And I’ll make certain the men can’t come close to you,” Sir William said, apparently thinking he was being gallant.
The last thing Miranda wanted was for him to be by her side all evening. He was too overbearing and would steal some of her pleasure in the evening—another good reason not to marry him.
She had never been to a dance before. Her father had not let his daughters go anyplace near the gatherings around Fort Jenkins where people danced, but she liked music. She was anxious to try the steps Lady Overstreet had drilled into her.
Even though it was half past eight and the sun was just beginning to set, Senhor Esteves’s home was ablaze with torches and candles. Bright red, gold, and green paper lanterns decorated the terrace that circled the house. As Diego drove them to the front step, Senhor Esteves broke off from the conversation he was having with two stately dowagers and hurried down the step to greet them.
“Welcome, Dona Overstreet and Senhorina Cameron,” he said grandly, apparently unaware that he’d walked off from one of the dowagers when she was in mid-sentence. Miranda tried not to notice how offended they were or how they glared as if blaming her for his rudeness.
“How fine you look, senhor,” Lady Overstreet said, adjusting her lace shawl just so over her shoulders.
He did look fine. He was dressed in white knee breeches, kid slippers, and a black cutaway coat. Across his chest was a red ribbon denoting some sort of honor he held. He preened under the compliment, the ends of his mustache rising with his smile. “I had to look my best. After all, this is a very special evening.”
“Why is that?” Miranda asked, lightly resting her gloved fingers on the arm he offered.
“Because you are here.”
It was a gallant, charming thing to say, and she couldn’t help but smile, even as she overheard Sir William snort his opinion. Well, she liked compliments. She’d not had many in her life, and it was very pleasant to hear them.
She gave Sir William an arch look over her shoulder. “You do not believe I am important enough, sir?”
“I believe you are worthy of London,” Sir William announced smoothly in a statement that was calculated for Miranda to see exactly what he offered.
“Bah,” Senhor Esteves said as he led them though his house. The ceilings were high and the rooms flowed from one to the other, each with doors that opened out onto the stone terrace. Candlelight gleamed off the polished brick red floor tiles and the mahogany of the heavy, ornate furniture. “Who needs England when one can have the beauty of the Azores?”
He said these words just as they reached the rear of the house where the party had been set up to take advantage of the wide back terrace and lush beauty of the garden. Torches encircled the area, while more paper lanterns decorated the overhanging branches of dogwood trees. The guests milled around in front of tables laden with food and huge bowls of wine punch.
At the arrival of their host, the musicians—a small band of guitars and a pianoforte in a gazebo—stopped playing. The hum of conversation died as those present turned to satisfy their curiosity about the guest of honor. Every woman present looked Miranda up and down with the scrutiny of a hen sizing up a worm. Miranda was thankful she was wearing the ivory lace. It was trimmed in a matching ivory ribbon that crisscrossed around her waist and emphasized her figure. She’d styled her hair herself in loose curls, and Lady Overstreet had paid her the rare compliment that not even her own girl could have done it so well.
She looked her best and was now very thankful for
“What are they saying?” Miranda asked.
“They’ve referred to you as Senhorina do Ouro.”
“Of gold? Why?”
“It’s your hair. It will always attract attention,” the captain answered. “However, let me warn now, the ladies are not so pleased they flatter you.”
“And I’ll make certain the men can’t come close to you,” Sir William said, apparently thinking he was being gallant.
The last thing Miranda wanted was for him to be by her side all evening. He was too overbearing and would steal some of her pleasure in the evening—another good reason not to marry him.
She had never been to a dance before. Her father had not let his daughters go anyplace near the gatherings around Fort Jenkins where people danced, but she liked music. She was anxious to try the steps Lady Overstreet had drilled into her.
Even though it was half past eight and the sun was just beginning to set, Senhor Esteves’s home was ablaze with torches and candles. Bright red, gold, and green paper lanterns decorated the terrace that circled the house. As Diego drove them to the front step, Senhor Esteves broke off from the conversation he was having with two stately dowagers and hurried down the step to greet them.
“Welcome, Dona Overstreet and Senhorina Cameron,” he said grandly, apparently unaware that he’d walked off from one of the dowagers when she was in mid-sentence. Miranda tried not to notice how offended they were or how they glared as if blaming her for his rudeness.
“How fine you look, senhor,” Lady Overstreet said, adjusting her lace shawl just so over her shoulders.
He did look fine. He was dressed in white knee breeches, kid slippers, and a black cutaway coat. Across his chest was a red ribbon denoting some sort of honor he held. He preened under the compliment, the ends of his mustache rising with his smile. “I had to look my best. After all, this is a very special evening.”
“Why is that?” Miranda asked, lightly resting her gloved fingers on the arm he offered.
“Because you are here.”
It was a gallant, charming thing to say, and she couldn’t help but smile, even as she overheard Sir William snort his opinion. Well, she liked compliments. She’d not had many in her life, and it was very pleasant to hear them.
She gave Sir William an arch look over her shoulder. “You do not believe I am important enough, sir?”
“I believe you are worthy of London,” Sir William announced smoothly in a statement that was calculated for Miranda to see exactly what he offered.
“Bah,” Senhor Esteves said as he led them though his house. The ceilings were high and the rooms flowed from one to the other, each with doors that opened out onto the stone terrace. Candlelight gleamed off the polished brick red floor tiles and the mahogany of the heavy, ornate furniture. “Who needs England when one can have the beauty of the Azores?”
He said these words just as they reached the rear of the house where the party had been set up to take advantage of the wide back terrace and lush beauty of the garden. Torches encircled the area, while more paper lanterns decorated the overhanging branches of dogwood trees. The guests milled around in front of tables laden with food and huge bowls of wine punch.
At the arrival of their host, the musicians—a small band of guitars and a pianoforte in a gazebo—stopped playing. The hum of conversation died as those present turned to satisfy their curiosity about the guest of honor. Every woman present looked Miranda up and down with the scrutiny of a hen sizing up a worm. Miranda was thankful she was wearing the ivory lace. It was trimmed in a matching ivory ribbon that crisscrossed around her waist and emphasized her figure. She’d styled her hair herself in loose curls, and Lady Overstreet had paid her the rare compliment that not even her own girl could have done it so well.
She looked her best and was now very thankful for
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