Read Online The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patricia Veryan
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Cranford thought, ‘Dear heaven, what a dragon!’ But he managed to gather his wits and say, “My deepest regrets if I have brought you grief, ma’am. I’ll go and leave you in—”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” She leaned forward, teeth bared and eyes glaring fury even as she wiped savagely at tears of frustration. “I do not hesitate to say I am appalled to find that a well-bred gentleman, such as you appear to be, would stoop to come here with so—so
despicable
a betrayal!
Appalled
, I say! And you may be sure the
ton
will sympathize with the shock and grief of a mother whose—whose precious child has been abandoned… Cast off like—like an unwanted—” She disappeared into her handkerchief once more, her words muffled.
The uproar had not gone unnoticed, and Cranford drew a breath of relief as the door was flung open and a young lady hurried in, followed by a maid and a footman. His hope that a rescue party had arrived was short-lived, however. The maid, clearly frightened, hurried to the side of her mistress; the footman paused just inside the door, eyeing Cranford truculently.
Turning from Mrs. Stansbury’s wilting form, the young lady demanded, “What has this—person—said to so upset you, Mama?”
Cranford thought numbly, ‘So this must be the shipwrecked spinster,’ and his heart sank. He had stayed at his club in London these past two days, avoiding his friends while struggling to decide whether to accede to his great-uncle’s demands. Having arrived at a most reluctant decision, it had been all he could do to summon the fortitude to act upon it. En routehere he had tried hard to be comforted by the knowledge that his self-sacrifice would rescue an unfortunate girl from social ruin, besides ensuring that Muse Manor would not be wrest from his family.
He’d not been sufficiently noble to be comforted, but he had thought himself prepared. Valerian had described his erstwhile fiancée as being “fat and spotty.” Not an inspiring picture, but preferable in his opinion to the young female who now faced him. She was not at all fat, being actually very slender, and in spite of the fact that she was taller than the height deemed desirable in a female, her extremely elaborate wig, of the latest French style, was very high. She wore a great deal of paint for so youthful a lady (perhaps to conceal the spots), and although her features were not unattractive, both mouth and eyelids drooped disdainfully and her expression was so haughty that he feared she must have inherited her mother’s disposition. All in all, Miss Cordelia Stansbury was a far cry from the shamed and humble girl he had expected to meet. She looked, in fact, more likely to strike him than to be grateful for the rescue he meant to offer. Considerably unnerved, he bowed, and said, “’Twas not my intent to upset—”
Mrs. Stansbury interrupted rudely, “Was it not, indeed! Then what
was
your intent, pray? Why are you here, Mr. Cranford?”
It was a home question. He glanced uneasily at the younger lady. “I had hoped to discuss the matter with you in private, ma’am.”
Miss Cordelia fluttered her fan and uttered a shrill laugh. “Fie, but you need not coat your words with sugar on my account, sir. I know well enough what people say of me.”
Her mother cast her an irritated glance, and having dismissed the servants, performed curt introductions.
Miss Cordelia selected a chaise and sat down; no mean feat considering that her pink velvet skirts were not worn over rounded hoops, English fashion, but were spread instead overthe great flattened panniers now in vogue in France.
“Mr. Cranford is cousin to Gervaise Valerian,” barked her mother. “You had best leave us, my love, for you will not like to hear what he has come to say.”
“I should very much like to hear what he has to say, if you please, Mama,” argued the girl. “Is it an apology, perhaps, for Mr. Valerian’s failure to call upon me?”
“More likely an
“Oh, no, you don’t!” She leaned forward, teeth bared and eyes glaring fury even as she wiped savagely at tears of frustration. “I do not hesitate to say I am appalled to find that a well-bred gentleman, such as you appear to be, would stoop to come here with so—so
despicable
a betrayal!
Appalled
, I say! And you may be sure the
ton
will sympathize with the shock and grief of a mother whose—whose precious child has been abandoned… Cast off like—like an unwanted—” She disappeared into her handkerchief once more, her words muffled.
The uproar had not gone unnoticed, and Cranford drew a breath of relief as the door was flung open and a young lady hurried in, followed by a maid and a footman. His hope that a rescue party had arrived was short-lived, however. The maid, clearly frightened, hurried to the side of her mistress; the footman paused just inside the door, eyeing Cranford truculently.
Turning from Mrs. Stansbury’s wilting form, the young lady demanded, “What has this—person—said to so upset you, Mama?”
Cranford thought numbly, ‘So this must be the shipwrecked spinster,’ and his heart sank. He had stayed at his club in London these past two days, avoiding his friends while struggling to decide whether to accede to his great-uncle’s demands. Having arrived at a most reluctant decision, it had been all he could do to summon the fortitude to act upon it. En routehere he had tried hard to be comforted by the knowledge that his self-sacrifice would rescue an unfortunate girl from social ruin, besides ensuring that Muse Manor would not be wrest from his family.
He’d not been sufficiently noble to be comforted, but he had thought himself prepared. Valerian had described his erstwhile fiancée as being “fat and spotty.” Not an inspiring picture, but preferable in his opinion to the young female who now faced him. She was not at all fat, being actually very slender, and in spite of the fact that she was taller than the height deemed desirable in a female, her extremely elaborate wig, of the latest French style, was very high. She wore a great deal of paint for so youthful a lady (perhaps to conceal the spots), and although her features were not unattractive, both mouth and eyelids drooped disdainfully and her expression was so haughty that he feared she must have inherited her mother’s disposition. All in all, Miss Cordelia Stansbury was a far cry from the shamed and humble girl he had expected to meet. She looked, in fact, more likely to strike him than to be grateful for the rescue he meant to offer. Considerably unnerved, he bowed, and said, “’Twas not my intent to upset—”
Mrs. Stansbury interrupted rudely, “Was it not, indeed! Then what
was
your intent, pray? Why are you here, Mr. Cranford?”
It was a home question. He glanced uneasily at the younger lady. “I had hoped to discuss the matter with you in private, ma’am.”
Miss Cordelia fluttered her fan and uttered a shrill laugh. “Fie, but you need not coat your words with sugar on my account, sir. I know well enough what people say of me.”
Her mother cast her an irritated glance, and having dismissed the servants, performed curt introductions.
Miss Cordelia selected a chaise and sat down; no mean feat considering that her pink velvet skirts were not worn over rounded hoops, English fashion, but were spread instead overthe great flattened panniers now in vogue in France.
“Mr. Cranford is cousin to Gervaise Valerian,” barked her mother. “You had best leave us, my love, for you will not like to hear what he has come to say.”
“I should very much like to hear what he has to say, if you please, Mama,” argued the girl. “Is it an apology, perhaps, for Mr. Valerian’s failure to call upon me?”
“More likely an
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