Read Online The Spinster and the Rake by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Stuart
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than parties and such.”
Gillian surveyed him with tolerant affection. The first of a seemingly endless line of nieces and nephews, he now, at the advanced age of nineteen, considered himself a gentleman of town bronze. Gillian suspected he fell far short of the mark and had noticed his increasing abstraction over the past two weeks since he had been sent down in disgrace from Oxford. A tentative question here and there was always turned off with a hearty laugh, but the haunted look had stayed in his trusting brown eyes, and he had developed a tendency to bite his full lower lip when no one was looking. “And what is on your mind, dearest?” she questioned gently. “If there’s any way I can help, you have only to let me know.”
“As if I’d bother my favorite aunt with a few silly problems,” he scoffed, brushing a speck of imaginary lint from his coat. “A fine sort I’d be.”
“But what else are aunts for? Truly, Bertie, I’ve been around for a bit and am not a complete innocent. You won’t shock me, you know.”
“Doing it rather too brown, Gilly. You’re only eleven years older than I am, more like an older sister than an aunt. And one doesn’t tell one’s older sister everything.” He jumped out of the comfortable seat and began pacing restlessly about the room. “I just need a bit of time, and everything will come round right in the end.”
“Is it money, Bertie? Because if it is, I have a great deal, you know, and scarcely any use for it. You could have any amount . . .”
“I’d rather drown,” he said fiercely. “I appreciate the thought, Gilly, but I know in my bones that the luck will change. It can’t stay against me forever.”
These artless confidences instilled even greater dread in Gillian’s heart, and she was searching for a way to continue the discussion when Felicity floated into the room, a vision in pale pink muslin.
“Well, my aging aunt, you look positively terrible,” she announced with her usual forthrightness. “Are you never going to wear your new green dress instead of that wretched gray thing? One would think you were in mourning.”
“I am, darling,” she replied flippantly. “For my lost youth.”
An expression of absolute horror came over Felicity’s delicate countenance. “Your lost youth!” she echoed, aghast. “Oh, my heavens, it cannot be March twenty-sixth already!”
Now it was Gillian’s turn to blush. “I hadn’t meant to mention it,” she said apologetically. “It is extremely embarrassing for people when they forget.”
“Forget what?” Bertie questioned, mystified.
“Today is Gillian’s thirtieth birthday,” Felicity declaimed in tragic tones. “And no one remembered.”
“Why didn’t you remind us?” accused Bertie. “How do you expect us to remember things like that when the world’s in the state it’s in?”
“Well, actually, I did mention it,” Gillian ventured in a meek voice. “I said something about it last Friday, and then after church, and yesterday at breakfast.” She smiled mischievously. “You see, I wanted to be certain I received a great many presents, but obviously I was served by my just desserts.”
“Well, I’m not as wicked as I seem, Gilly,” Felicity said, tossing herself down by her aunt with her customary lack of decorum. “I did try to buy you a present. You remember that pretty locket we saw in the jeweler’s shop when Lord Marlowe walked us home? And the diamond ear-bobs you admired?”
“Felicity, dearest, they were both far too expensive!” Gillian protested.
“Well, I expected Papa would pay for them,” she admitted with disarming honesty. “But they were both gone when I went back there the next day. And knowing how disparate our tastes are, I didn’t dare choose something else for fear you’d hate it and feel you had to wear it all the time to please me. I did think of ordering the dress from Madame Racette’s, but that would have been too expensive, and Papa
Gillian surveyed him with tolerant affection. The first of a seemingly endless line of nieces and nephews, he now, at the advanced age of nineteen, considered himself a gentleman of town bronze. Gillian suspected he fell far short of the mark and had noticed his increasing abstraction over the past two weeks since he had been sent down in disgrace from Oxford. A tentative question here and there was always turned off with a hearty laugh, but the haunted look had stayed in his trusting brown eyes, and he had developed a tendency to bite his full lower lip when no one was looking. “And what is on your mind, dearest?” she questioned gently. “If there’s any way I can help, you have only to let me know.”
“As if I’d bother my favorite aunt with a few silly problems,” he scoffed, brushing a speck of imaginary lint from his coat. “A fine sort I’d be.”
“But what else are aunts for? Truly, Bertie, I’ve been around for a bit and am not a complete innocent. You won’t shock me, you know.”
“Doing it rather too brown, Gilly. You’re only eleven years older than I am, more like an older sister than an aunt. And one doesn’t tell one’s older sister everything.” He jumped out of the comfortable seat and began pacing restlessly about the room. “I just need a bit of time, and everything will come round right in the end.”
“Is it money, Bertie? Because if it is, I have a great deal, you know, and scarcely any use for it. You could have any amount . . .”
“I’d rather drown,” he said fiercely. “I appreciate the thought, Gilly, but I know in my bones that the luck will change. It can’t stay against me forever.”
These artless confidences instilled even greater dread in Gillian’s heart, and she was searching for a way to continue the discussion when Felicity floated into the room, a vision in pale pink muslin.
“Well, my aging aunt, you look positively terrible,” she announced with her usual forthrightness. “Are you never going to wear your new green dress instead of that wretched gray thing? One would think you were in mourning.”
“I am, darling,” she replied flippantly. “For my lost youth.”
An expression of absolute horror came over Felicity’s delicate countenance. “Your lost youth!” she echoed, aghast. “Oh, my heavens, it cannot be March twenty-sixth already!”
Now it was Gillian’s turn to blush. “I hadn’t meant to mention it,” she said apologetically. “It is extremely embarrassing for people when they forget.”
“Forget what?” Bertie questioned, mystified.
“Today is Gillian’s thirtieth birthday,” Felicity declaimed in tragic tones. “And no one remembered.”
“Why didn’t you remind us?” accused Bertie. “How do you expect us to remember things like that when the world’s in the state it’s in?”
“Well, actually, I did mention it,” Gillian ventured in a meek voice. “I said something about it last Friday, and then after church, and yesterday at breakfast.” She smiled mischievously. “You see, I wanted to be certain I received a great many presents, but obviously I was served by my just desserts.”
“Well, I’m not as wicked as I seem, Gilly,” Felicity said, tossing herself down by her aunt with her customary lack of decorum. “I did try to buy you a present. You remember that pretty locket we saw in the jeweler’s shop when Lord Marlowe walked us home? And the diamond ear-bobs you admired?”
“Felicity, dearest, they were both far too expensive!” Gillian protested.
“Well, I expected Papa would pay for them,” she admitted with disarming honesty. “But they were both gone when I went back there the next day. And knowing how disparate our tastes are, I didn’t dare choose something else for fear you’d hate it and feel you had to wear it all the time to please me. I did think of ordering the dress from Madame Racette’s, but that would have been too expensive, and Papa
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