Read Online The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Veryan
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offer of recompense for—what do those sly solicitors call it nowadays?—breach of promise?” Mrs. Stansbury tucked in her chin and added malevolently, “It had best be a
large
amount! He can certainly afford it!”
Astonished by such vulgar presumption, Cranford glanced again at the notorious spinster. She sat very still and did not comment, and with the windows behind her it was difficult for him to see her expression. “Scarcely, madam,” he responded drily.
“Indeed
, sir?
Indeed?”
Mrs. Stansbury’s enraged screech made him wince. “And how will he justify such stark cruelty to a stricken and innocent maiden, I should like to know? I wonder Lord Nugent Cranford allows any kinsman of his to display such a rampant lack of honour and responsibility! Well, all Society will hear of it, I promise you, sir! And your name will be—”
Cranford stood and lifted one hand. This loud-voiced, hard-eyed woman appalled him but he managed to gather his courage, and in a cold voice that cut off the tirade, he said, “Have done, madam! I am indeed sorry that Miss Stansbury has suffered such a sad—accident. But you know as well as I why Valerian has drawn back. And—No! Pray hear me out. You know also that while the
ton
may not approve of his action, neither would they condemn it. However—” He had to raise his voice to override her spluttering indignation. “However, my great-uncle is indeed aware of our family responsibility, and I am here today, ma’am, to ask if I might be permitted to—to call upon your daughter. In my own behalf.”
It was done. The die was cast and his fate sealed. He couldfeel perspiration starting on his brow and had to restrain the impulse to wipe it away.
After a breathless pause, Mrs. Stansbury said incredulously,
“You?
But, but—We don’t even know you! Or,” she added in a rush, “what your prospects may be.”
“I can furnish you with any information you may wish, ma’am. I am not a rich man, but I have no need to apologize for my name or my home. If I may be permitted to call and take Miss Stansbury for a drive tomorrow, perhaps we can learn more about one another, and—” He stopped, staring.
The ruined and disgraced young spinster was laughing hilariously.
“Unkind!” Miss Laura Finchley pulled away from the strong arm that held her close against a muscular chest and turned fiercely on the man she loved. “You use too gentle a term, Florian! I hold it to be nothing less than disgraceful! Cordelia is a living, breathing, lovely human being, yet is being placed on the auction block just as if she were a—a cow or a sheep! Much her mama cares whether she knows or even likes the man she will wed! Her only concern is that he must be rich!”
At nineteen, Laura Finchley was a quiet damsel whose only claim to beauty was a pale complexion that appeared almost translucent and was the envy of her friends. Slightly below average height, she did not indulge herself at table, but no amount of tugging and lacing could create a satisfactory waistline, and her bosom was too slight to compensate for this defect. The velvet gown she wore on this windy day, although of the latest fashion, did not become her, the pale green giving her a washed-out appearance. Her hair, of an indeterminate brown, was inclined to frizz, her face was more square than the oval she so admired, and she described her looks, ruefully, as “humdrum.” The sweetness of her nature was evidenced by the kindness in her soft brown eyes and gentle voice, but despiteher timidity, she had a firm chin and on occasion would exhibit a determination that startled her relatives. On this chill afternoon, when she was believed to be reading in the luxurious parlour of her suite, she was instead deep in her father’s woods, sitting on a fallen tree-trunk improperly close to her most “unsuitable” suitor, Mr. Florian Consett.
Florian lost no time in replacing his arm. Smiling fondly into his lady’s flashing eyes,
large
amount! He can certainly afford it!”
Astonished by such vulgar presumption, Cranford glanced again at the notorious spinster. She sat very still and did not comment, and with the windows behind her it was difficult for him to see her expression. “Scarcely, madam,” he responded drily.
“Indeed
, sir?
Indeed?”
Mrs. Stansbury’s enraged screech made him wince. “And how will he justify such stark cruelty to a stricken and innocent maiden, I should like to know? I wonder Lord Nugent Cranford allows any kinsman of his to display such a rampant lack of honour and responsibility! Well, all Society will hear of it, I promise you, sir! And your name will be—”
Cranford stood and lifted one hand. This loud-voiced, hard-eyed woman appalled him but he managed to gather his courage, and in a cold voice that cut off the tirade, he said, “Have done, madam! I am indeed sorry that Miss Stansbury has suffered such a sad—accident. But you know as well as I why Valerian has drawn back. And—No! Pray hear me out. You know also that while the
ton
may not approve of his action, neither would they condemn it. However—” He had to raise his voice to override her spluttering indignation. “However, my great-uncle is indeed aware of our family responsibility, and I am here today, ma’am, to ask if I might be permitted to—to call upon your daughter. In my own behalf.”
It was done. The die was cast and his fate sealed. He couldfeel perspiration starting on his brow and had to restrain the impulse to wipe it away.
After a breathless pause, Mrs. Stansbury said incredulously,
“You?
But, but—We don’t even know you! Or,” she added in a rush, “what your prospects may be.”
“I can furnish you with any information you may wish, ma’am. I am not a rich man, but I have no need to apologize for my name or my home. If I may be permitted to call and take Miss Stansbury for a drive tomorrow, perhaps we can learn more about one another, and—” He stopped, staring.
The ruined and disgraced young spinster was laughing hilariously.
“Unkind!” Miss Laura Finchley pulled away from the strong arm that held her close against a muscular chest and turned fiercely on the man she loved. “You use too gentle a term, Florian! I hold it to be nothing less than disgraceful! Cordelia is a living, breathing, lovely human being, yet is being placed on the auction block just as if she were a—a cow or a sheep! Much her mama cares whether she knows or even likes the man she will wed! Her only concern is that he must be rich!”
At nineteen, Laura Finchley was a quiet damsel whose only claim to beauty was a pale complexion that appeared almost translucent and was the envy of her friends. Slightly below average height, she did not indulge herself at table, but no amount of tugging and lacing could create a satisfactory waistline, and her bosom was too slight to compensate for this defect. The velvet gown she wore on this windy day, although of the latest fashion, did not become her, the pale green giving her a washed-out appearance. Her hair, of an indeterminate brown, was inclined to frizz, her face was more square than the oval she so admired, and she described her looks, ruefully, as “humdrum.” The sweetness of her nature was evidenced by the kindness in her soft brown eyes and gentle voice, but despiteher timidity, she had a firm chin and on occasion would exhibit a determination that startled her relatives. On this chill afternoon, when she was believed to be reading in the luxurious parlour of her suite, she was instead deep in her father’s woods, sitting on a fallen tree-trunk improperly close to her most “unsuitable” suitor, Mr. Florian Consett.
Florian lost no time in replacing his arm. Smiling fondly into his lady’s flashing eyes,
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