Read Online The Secret History of the Pink Carnation by Lauren Willig - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Willig
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at once.’
She looked as though she were ready to enforce her words with the point of her parasol. Richard judged it wise to move out of range. Who had ever heard of a parasol with a steel tip that sharp and pointy? They were supposed to be dainty, feminine things, not lethal weapons.
Rising from his chair, Richard sidestepped the gleaming parasol point and executed a small but elegant bow. ‘Forgive me, madam, I have been remiss in my social obligations. I am Lord Richard Selwick.’
The chaperone still looked like she would rather poke him than chat with him, but she obviously knew what was proper. With a bend of the knees that only just resembled a curtsy, she inclined her head and said, ‘I, my lord, am Miss Gwendolyn Meadows. Allow me to make known to you my two charges, Miss Jane Wooliston’ – a girl Richard had failed to notice moved out from the shadows behind Miss Meadows and made her curtsy – ‘and Miss Amy Balcourt.’
The quiet girl in blue subtly took Amy’s arm and tried to lead her away. Squeezing the other girl’s hand affectionately, Amy shook her head and stayed where she was. Richard was so caught up in this byplay that he completely lost track of what the chaperone was saying until the point of her parasol made another sortie at his waistcoat.
‘Sir! Have you been attending?’
As Richard had learnt from his youthful encounters with the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale, the best way to deal with irate ladies of a certain age was to be disarmingly honest.
‘No, madam, I fear I was not.’
‘Hmph. I said that now that the amenities have been served we would be pleased if you would take yourself off our boat.’
‘I was afraid that was what you might have said.’ Richard smiled winningly, while taking care to move himself out of the path of theparasol. ‘You see, I also paid the captain for the sole use of this ship.’
Miss Gwen’s face darkened alarmingly. Richard watched in some fascination as the flowers on her hat began to quiver with rage. Had she been a man, she would undoubtedly be indulging in strong language. As it was, given the ominous way she was swinging her parasol, it appeared that she was planning severe bodily harm to the captain, Richard, or both.
The quiet girl, Jane, moved forward to put a reassuring hand on the chaperone’s arm. ‘There must have been some mistake,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’m sure we can all reach an amiable conclusion.’
Miss Gwen looked about as amiable as Attila the Hun.
‘The only possible conclusion is for this gentleman to remove his person from our conveyance.’
Richard felt himself beginning to grow annoyed. Watching the chaperone bicker with her charge had been a mildly amusing diversion, but, blast it all, he had real work to do. Important work. War Office work. And, anyway, he had been here first.
That fact seemed like a particularly conclusive one to Richard, so he decided to point it out.
‘Who was here first, madam?’
That argument had failed the Saxons in 1066; it was equally ineffectual with Miss Gwen, who regarded Richard with all the imperiousness of William the Conqueror. ‘You, my lord, may have been here first, but we are ladies,’ Miss Gwen responded with a most unladylike scowl. ‘And there are more of us. Therefore, you should cede your place.’
‘Why don’t we all go to the inn for a nice glass of lemonade and talk it over?’ suggested Amy hopefully.
Neither of the combatants paid the least bit of attention to her.
Standing back with her arms folded across her chest – highly unladylike, but then, Miss Gwen wasn’t looking – Amy watched the debacle with the avid interest she would have accorded to a duel. As the two sparred, their barbed sentences ended with incongruous civilities, like protective tips on epees.
Lord Richard took a step closer to Miss Gwen, close enough that the chaperone had to tip her head back to see him. Miss Gwen was fairly tall for a woman, but Lord Richard Selwick
She looked as though she were ready to enforce her words with the point of her parasol. Richard judged it wise to move out of range. Who had ever heard of a parasol with a steel tip that sharp and pointy? They were supposed to be dainty, feminine things, not lethal weapons.
Rising from his chair, Richard sidestepped the gleaming parasol point and executed a small but elegant bow. ‘Forgive me, madam, I have been remiss in my social obligations. I am Lord Richard Selwick.’
The chaperone still looked like she would rather poke him than chat with him, but she obviously knew what was proper. With a bend of the knees that only just resembled a curtsy, she inclined her head and said, ‘I, my lord, am Miss Gwendolyn Meadows. Allow me to make known to you my two charges, Miss Jane Wooliston’ – a girl Richard had failed to notice moved out from the shadows behind Miss Meadows and made her curtsy – ‘and Miss Amy Balcourt.’
The quiet girl in blue subtly took Amy’s arm and tried to lead her away. Squeezing the other girl’s hand affectionately, Amy shook her head and stayed where she was. Richard was so caught up in this byplay that he completely lost track of what the chaperone was saying until the point of her parasol made another sortie at his waistcoat.
‘Sir! Have you been attending?’
As Richard had learnt from his youthful encounters with the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale, the best way to deal with irate ladies of a certain age was to be disarmingly honest.
‘No, madam, I fear I was not.’
‘Hmph. I said that now that the amenities have been served we would be pleased if you would take yourself off our boat.’
‘I was afraid that was what you might have said.’ Richard smiled winningly, while taking care to move himself out of the path of theparasol. ‘You see, I also paid the captain for the sole use of this ship.’
Miss Gwen’s face darkened alarmingly. Richard watched in some fascination as the flowers on her hat began to quiver with rage. Had she been a man, she would undoubtedly be indulging in strong language. As it was, given the ominous way she was swinging her parasol, it appeared that she was planning severe bodily harm to the captain, Richard, or both.
The quiet girl, Jane, moved forward to put a reassuring hand on the chaperone’s arm. ‘There must have been some mistake,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’m sure we can all reach an amiable conclusion.’
Miss Gwen looked about as amiable as Attila the Hun.
‘The only possible conclusion is for this gentleman to remove his person from our conveyance.’
Richard felt himself beginning to grow annoyed. Watching the chaperone bicker with her charge had been a mildly amusing diversion, but, blast it all, he had real work to do. Important work. War Office work. And, anyway, he had been here first.
That fact seemed like a particularly conclusive one to Richard, so he decided to point it out.
‘Who was here first, madam?’
That argument had failed the Saxons in 1066; it was equally ineffectual with Miss Gwen, who regarded Richard with all the imperiousness of William the Conqueror. ‘You, my lord, may have been here first, but we are ladies,’ Miss Gwen responded with a most unladylike scowl. ‘And there are more of us. Therefore, you should cede your place.’
‘Why don’t we all go to the inn for a nice glass of lemonade and talk it over?’ suggested Amy hopefully.
Neither of the combatants paid the least bit of attention to her.
Standing back with her arms folded across her chest – highly unladylike, but then, Miss Gwen wasn’t looking – Amy watched the debacle with the avid interest she would have accorded to a duel. As the two sparred, their barbed sentences ended with incongruous civilities, like protective tips on epees.
Lord Richard took a step closer to Miss Gwen, close enough that the chaperone had to tip her head back to see him. Miss Gwen was fairly tall for a woman, but Lord Richard Selwick
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