Read Online The Savage Miss Saxon by Kasey Michaels - Free Book Online
Authors: Kasey Michaels
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flaming muckworm of a son—a total milksop, girl, I tell you—and my second the most ungrateful puppy ever whelped. I wanted him to have it all—nothing’s entailed you see—but would Charles hear of it? No, he wouldn’t do that to his older brother—as if that bluestocking would have cared, for such a bookworm twit you’ve yet to meet.”
Sir Alexander had downed a half-goblet of Geneva in one angry gulp. “And what did all my generosity get me, I ask you? The muckworm turns up his toes—walked straight into the roadway reading a flaming book and got knocked into horsetails by a carter’s wagon, you know—and the runaway sends me a female keeper ! Oh, I’ve been paid out in full, I have. Nutter! Bring me more Heart’s Ease!”
At least Alexandra now knew the real reason Chas had bolted. He didn’t want to usurp his brother at Saxon Hall. It sounded very noble, she mused, until one thought about how totally unsuited Chas would have been to becoming lord of the manor. With his hey-go-mad schemes and bizarre interests, he would have had Saxon Hall mortgaged all the way up to the top of its battlements within a fortnight—if he hadn’t turned the whole place into a home for a passel of wayward young females, that is.
But no matter how Sir Alexander fussed and fumed, and no matter how uncomfortable she was under his roof, Alexandra had made a promise to Chas and she was darned well going to keep it. Twenty-four hours after setting foot inside Saxon Hall she had begun a one-woman campaign to bring some semblance of order into her grandfather’s household.
Sir Alexander had admitted that the place “could do with a wash and a brush-up,” as Nutter and the rest were getting “a bit beyond it.”
Sniffing disdainfully, Alexandra had replied, “A wash and brush-up? Hummph , I should just about think so. And as for your ‘vassals’ as you call them, Nutter is two years older than the flood, and he’s naught but a boy beside the rest. What do you do with them at night, Grandfather—roll them up like the ancient pieces of parchment they are and stack them on shelves in the dungeon? In round words, Grandfather, your vassals are a shag-bag lot and your castle is an uninhabitable mess. But it’s not to worry, I promise to set it to rights.”
For six days Alexandra had done just that—working her fingers to the bone all the day long just trying to make a small dent in the grime that had taken decades to accumulate over every surface in the Great Hall and adjoining rooms. The servants helped as much as they could, Nutter being the best of the bunch, but between their creaking joints and poor eyesight they were more of a hindrance than a help.
Yet already she had turned out the solar—Sir Alexander’s private hideaway—as well as a small chamber that was located behind it. Today had seen the completion of her work in the Great Hall itself, except for the small room cut right into the thickness of the wall of the Hall, a vaultlike room called the treasury, and this she would tackle first thing in the morning. So thinking, she closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep.
When she awoke, it was to see the dawn of what seemed to be another damp, rainy English day. Sorely tempted to tug the covers back up over her head, she nevertheless rose from her comfortable haven and began plaiting her hair into a long ebony rope that would keep it out of her way as she cleaned. “No sense glooming all day in my chamber,” she told her distorted reflection in the rusted, and spotty slice of metal that served as her mirror, before she made her way first to the hated garderobe and then on to the Great Hall.
“Oh ho! There she is, Nutter,” her grandfather exclaimed when he caught sight of her. “All right, girl, give over,” he demanded, advancing on her, his great expanse of belly swinging before him with every step. “Where is it? By Jupiter, girl, I’ll not be having this. I want it—give it back, I
Sir Alexander had downed a half-goblet of Geneva in one angry gulp. “And what did all my generosity get me, I ask you? The muckworm turns up his toes—walked straight into the roadway reading a flaming book and got knocked into horsetails by a carter’s wagon, you know—and the runaway sends me a female keeper ! Oh, I’ve been paid out in full, I have. Nutter! Bring me more Heart’s Ease!”
At least Alexandra now knew the real reason Chas had bolted. He didn’t want to usurp his brother at Saxon Hall. It sounded very noble, she mused, until one thought about how totally unsuited Chas would have been to becoming lord of the manor. With his hey-go-mad schemes and bizarre interests, he would have had Saxon Hall mortgaged all the way up to the top of its battlements within a fortnight—if he hadn’t turned the whole place into a home for a passel of wayward young females, that is.
But no matter how Sir Alexander fussed and fumed, and no matter how uncomfortable she was under his roof, Alexandra had made a promise to Chas and she was darned well going to keep it. Twenty-four hours after setting foot inside Saxon Hall she had begun a one-woman campaign to bring some semblance of order into her grandfather’s household.
Sir Alexander had admitted that the place “could do with a wash and a brush-up,” as Nutter and the rest were getting “a bit beyond it.”
Sniffing disdainfully, Alexandra had replied, “A wash and brush-up? Hummph , I should just about think so. And as for your ‘vassals’ as you call them, Nutter is two years older than the flood, and he’s naught but a boy beside the rest. What do you do with them at night, Grandfather—roll them up like the ancient pieces of parchment they are and stack them on shelves in the dungeon? In round words, Grandfather, your vassals are a shag-bag lot and your castle is an uninhabitable mess. But it’s not to worry, I promise to set it to rights.”
For six days Alexandra had done just that—working her fingers to the bone all the day long just trying to make a small dent in the grime that had taken decades to accumulate over every surface in the Great Hall and adjoining rooms. The servants helped as much as they could, Nutter being the best of the bunch, but between their creaking joints and poor eyesight they were more of a hindrance than a help.
Yet already she had turned out the solar—Sir Alexander’s private hideaway—as well as a small chamber that was located behind it. Today had seen the completion of her work in the Great Hall itself, except for the small room cut right into the thickness of the wall of the Hall, a vaultlike room called the treasury, and this she would tackle first thing in the morning. So thinking, she closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep.
When she awoke, it was to see the dawn of what seemed to be another damp, rainy English day. Sorely tempted to tug the covers back up over her head, she nevertheless rose from her comfortable haven and began plaiting her hair into a long ebony rope that would keep it out of her way as she cleaned. “No sense glooming all day in my chamber,” she told her distorted reflection in the rusted, and spotty slice of metal that served as her mirror, before she made her way first to the hated garderobe and then on to the Great Hall.
“Oh ho! There she is, Nutter,” her grandfather exclaimed when he caught sight of her. “All right, girl, give over,” he demanded, advancing on her, his great expanse of belly swinging before him with every step. “Where is it? By Jupiter, girl, I’ll not be having this. I want it—give it back, I
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