Read Online The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Veryan
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Undeterred, Mrs. Coffey drew a deep breath and fired off her next volley. “How splendid, my love! You will, I am assured, have explained matters to poor Gervaise, and all those unkind rumours about his crying off are—”
“So much jealously! Valerian
adores
my Cordelia, and knowing of her unswerving devotion, has uttered not a hint of drawing back.” (Which was no lie, she thought, since the graceless wretch had not had the common decency to call upon Cordelia since her return!)
“I am
so
glad! Then—may we look forward to bridals in the near future? I fancy Gervaise will be anxious to make Cordelia his own. Now she is so—ah—famous, she will have awoken the—um—the interest of other young rascals, I am very sure.”
“Much chance they will have. Cordelia is as loyal as she can stare, and nothing would induce her to settle for another!” Mrs. Stansbury sank her teeth into a macaroon and thought, ‘He had
better
wed the stupid chit, or he’ll rue the day!’
Mrs. Coffey was quite aware of the frustration simmering behind that awful travesty of a smile. Gratified, she soon took her leave, eager to advise her friends that poor Cordelia Stansbury was hopelessly on the shelf and that her mama might very well strangle her.
As she was leaving the entrance hall, another caller arrived. He bowed politely and stood aside to let her pass. A tall, good-looking young fellow with a hint of the military about his bearing. It was a simple matter to claim to have mislaid her glove, and while a lackey was searching about for it, she heard the newcomer answer the butler in a pleasant voice, “I am Piers Cranford. Would you be so good as to take my card up to Mrs. Stansbury and say I beg a private word with her?”
Mrs. Coffey’s ears tingled. “A
private
word!” It was a word she longed to overhear, but the glove having been discoveredwith irritating promptness under the credenza where she had kicked it, she was obliged to depart. Walking out to her waiting carriage, she was titillated by the knowledge that she had another fascinating
on-dit
to impart to her cronies. The name “Cranford” was familiar, though for the life of her she could not place it just now. Still, someone would know who he was, and all they’d have to learn then would be why he was calling on Regina Stansbury. Was it possible this young gallant cried friends with the dashing Valerian and had come to convey the rascal’s regrets and end the betrothal? She gave an involuntary little squeak of excitement. That was the root of it, no doubt. Poor dear Regina must have known it was inevitable. Still, she would be enraged, and, shrew that she was, one could only feel sorry for her unfortunate daughter.
“I am well aware of your connection to the Valerian family.” Mrs. Stansbury’s tone was acid.
Cranford, who tended to be shy in the presence of unknown females, felt transfixed by her piercing glare, and noting the two spots of colour high on her cheeks, dreaded lest this volatile lady fly into one of her famous rages and succumb to strong hysterics.
“I collect you are here in behalf of dear Gervaise,” she went on, “to arrange the terms of the marriage settlement.”
Her fierce stare dared him to deny this, but he said quietly, “No, ma’am. It was my understanding that you had been advised of the termination of the betrothal between Valerian and your—”
“What?”
Deafened by her screech, he shrank back in his chair.
In full cry, Mrs. Stansbury left no doubt as to her opinion of Gervaise Valerian, his ancestors and all his relations. Shrill sobs and wailings followed.
Desperate, Cranford sprang up and snatched for the bell-pull.
“Do not dare!” hissed the outraged matron.
“But—but you are clearly overset, ma’am. Surely, you will need your maid to—”
“Sit—
down!
”
The words were a snarl; almost, she crouched in her chair, the thin hands crooked as though preparatory to attacking him. Obeying,
Undeterred, Mrs. Coffey drew a deep breath and fired off her next volley. “How splendid, my love! You will, I am assured, have explained matters to poor Gervaise, and all those unkind rumours about his crying off are—”
“So much jealously! Valerian
adores
my Cordelia, and knowing of her unswerving devotion, has uttered not a hint of drawing back.” (Which was no lie, she thought, since the graceless wretch had not had the common decency to call upon Cordelia since her return!)
“I am
so
glad! Then—may we look forward to bridals in the near future? I fancy Gervaise will be anxious to make Cordelia his own. Now she is so—ah—famous, she will have awoken the—um—the interest of other young rascals, I am very sure.”
“Much chance they will have. Cordelia is as loyal as she can stare, and nothing would induce her to settle for another!” Mrs. Stansbury sank her teeth into a macaroon and thought, ‘He had
better
wed the stupid chit, or he’ll rue the day!’
Mrs. Coffey was quite aware of the frustration simmering behind that awful travesty of a smile. Gratified, she soon took her leave, eager to advise her friends that poor Cordelia Stansbury was hopelessly on the shelf and that her mama might very well strangle her.
As she was leaving the entrance hall, another caller arrived. He bowed politely and stood aside to let her pass. A tall, good-looking young fellow with a hint of the military about his bearing. It was a simple matter to claim to have mislaid her glove, and while a lackey was searching about for it, she heard the newcomer answer the butler in a pleasant voice, “I am Piers Cranford. Would you be so good as to take my card up to Mrs. Stansbury and say I beg a private word with her?”
Mrs. Coffey’s ears tingled. “A
private
word!” It was a word she longed to overhear, but the glove having been discoveredwith irritating promptness under the credenza where she had kicked it, she was obliged to depart. Walking out to her waiting carriage, she was titillated by the knowledge that she had another fascinating
on-dit
to impart to her cronies. The name “Cranford” was familiar, though for the life of her she could not place it just now. Still, someone would know who he was, and all they’d have to learn then would be why he was calling on Regina Stansbury. Was it possible this young gallant cried friends with the dashing Valerian and had come to convey the rascal’s regrets and end the betrothal? She gave an involuntary little squeak of excitement. That was the root of it, no doubt. Poor dear Regina must have known it was inevitable. Still, she would be enraged, and, shrew that she was, one could only feel sorry for her unfortunate daughter.
“I am well aware of your connection to the Valerian family.” Mrs. Stansbury’s tone was acid.
Cranford, who tended to be shy in the presence of unknown females, felt transfixed by her piercing glare, and noting the two spots of colour high on her cheeks, dreaded lest this volatile lady fly into one of her famous rages and succumb to strong hysterics.
“I collect you are here in behalf of dear Gervaise,” she went on, “to arrange the terms of the marriage settlement.”
Her fierce stare dared him to deny this, but he said quietly, “No, ma’am. It was my understanding that you had been advised of the termination of the betrothal between Valerian and your—”
“What?”
Deafened by her screech, he shrank back in his chair.
In full cry, Mrs. Stansbury left no doubt as to her opinion of Gervaise Valerian, his ancestors and all his relations. Shrill sobs and wailings followed.
Desperate, Cranford sprang up and snatched for the bell-pull.
“Do not dare!” hissed the outraged matron.
“But—but you are clearly overset, ma’am. Surely, you will need your maid to—”
“Sit—
down!
”
The words were a snarl; almost, she crouched in her chair, the thin hands crooked as though preparatory to attacking him. Obeying,
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