Read Online Uncertain Magic by Laura Kinsale - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laura Kinsale
Ads: Link
there were no girls of Roddy's age in the neighborhood from whom she might have gleaned the proprieties. Her mother had chosen to ignore the situation. She was avoiding her daughter, as Roddy well knew. In one way that made things easier, but no tearful reproaches also meant no advice, and Roddy was left to choose her own line of conduct toward her new fiancé.
She met him alone in the small parlor the next morning. A smile was more than she could manage, but she held out her gloved hand politely. He did not take it. He stood in the doorway and looked at her, with a far steadier gaze than she herself could command.
"Good morning," she said, trying very hard not to look down before those frost-blue eyes. She forced her lips into an awkward curve. "I'm... glad to see you."
He raised his dark brows, and faint humor touched the firm line of his mouth. "Brave girl." He stepped forward and took her gloved hand, bowing over it with smooth grace. "Would you be so courageous as to drive out with me?"
She looked up into his face and realized with surprise that she really was glad to see him. She felt like a spooky colt let out for the first time alone—fascinated by new sights and sounds and liable to bolt at the merest shadow.
"I should like that," she said. "I'll go speak to Papa."
He let go of her hand. "Ah, yes. Papa."
She left him standing in the parlor. The interview with her father was brief, for Roddy was determined to block her parents' fears from her mind. She wasted no time in the hopeless task of convincing her father that Iveragh was not going to attack her the moment they were out of sight of the house, but simply stated firmly that she was going for a drive, and might not be back for luncheon. Her father took one look at the stubborn set of her chin and agreed. As Roddy exited he was making hasty plans to stay out of his wife's sight for the remainder of the day.
Lord Iveragh handed Roddy into the phaeton and took up the lines. The crisp morning air and the fresh eagerness of the horses raised her unsteady spirits to the point of inebriation. A bubble of giddy laughter escaped her as the whip tapped the back of the nearside gray and the carriage rolled into motion with a gentle jolt. Appalled, she popped her hand over her mouth and tried to make the giggle sound like a cough. The earl slanted a look toward her at the sound, but said only, "Which direction?"
She raised her parasol against the sun with a nervous snap. "Have you visited the East Riding before, my lord?"
"Never," he said. "My name is Faelan."
"Faelan." She tested the exotic sound of it on her tongue, the way he said it with an Irish lilt—
Feylin
. It called up thoughts of mist and mountains and wild places. "Faelan Savigar." She hesitated, and then said diffidently, "It's certainly fierce-sounding."
"Faelan is Gaelic for 'wolf.'"
"Oh."
He gazed solemnly out over the backs of the trotting horses. "Fortunately, my second name is Vachel."
"Oh?"
"That means 'little cow' in Old French."
"Oh."
"They balance each other out, you see."
Roddy looked down at her gloves. "Not exactly."
He turned his disturbing blue eyes upon her. "Some young ladies are afraid of wolves."
She fiddled with the cloudy-glass handle of her sunshade.
"Are you?" he asked gently.
Roddy stole a glance and found him watching her. "A little," she said, in a burst of honesty.
The phaeton drifted to a stop at the end of the driveway. He smiled. "Then I suggest you pick a direction in which we won't meet up with any. East or west?"
Roddy swallowed her confusion. It seemed that they were carrying on two conversations at once, and she was not at all sure if one was not entirely in her imagination. "East," she said, trying to sound brisk and unconcerned. "I'll show you a surprise."
The horses arched their fine necks and leaned against their traces, and the carriage wheeled out of the drive.
----
Chapter 4
Roddy spent the first quarter hour of the drive watching the
She met him alone in the small parlor the next morning. A smile was more than she could manage, but she held out her gloved hand politely. He did not take it. He stood in the doorway and looked at her, with a far steadier gaze than she herself could command.
"Good morning," she said, trying very hard not to look down before those frost-blue eyes. She forced her lips into an awkward curve. "I'm... glad to see you."
He raised his dark brows, and faint humor touched the firm line of his mouth. "Brave girl." He stepped forward and took her gloved hand, bowing over it with smooth grace. "Would you be so courageous as to drive out with me?"
She looked up into his face and realized with surprise that she really was glad to see him. She felt like a spooky colt let out for the first time alone—fascinated by new sights and sounds and liable to bolt at the merest shadow.
"I should like that," she said. "I'll go speak to Papa."
He let go of her hand. "Ah, yes. Papa."
She left him standing in the parlor. The interview with her father was brief, for Roddy was determined to block her parents' fears from her mind. She wasted no time in the hopeless task of convincing her father that Iveragh was not going to attack her the moment they were out of sight of the house, but simply stated firmly that she was going for a drive, and might not be back for luncheon. Her father took one look at the stubborn set of her chin and agreed. As Roddy exited he was making hasty plans to stay out of his wife's sight for the remainder of the day.
Lord Iveragh handed Roddy into the phaeton and took up the lines. The crisp morning air and the fresh eagerness of the horses raised her unsteady spirits to the point of inebriation. A bubble of giddy laughter escaped her as the whip tapped the back of the nearside gray and the carriage rolled into motion with a gentle jolt. Appalled, she popped her hand over her mouth and tried to make the giggle sound like a cough. The earl slanted a look toward her at the sound, but said only, "Which direction?"
She raised her parasol against the sun with a nervous snap. "Have you visited the East Riding before, my lord?"
"Never," he said. "My name is Faelan."
"Faelan." She tested the exotic sound of it on her tongue, the way he said it with an Irish lilt—
Feylin
. It called up thoughts of mist and mountains and wild places. "Faelan Savigar." She hesitated, and then said diffidently, "It's certainly fierce-sounding."
"Faelan is Gaelic for 'wolf.'"
"Oh."
He gazed solemnly out over the backs of the trotting horses. "Fortunately, my second name is Vachel."
"Oh?"
"That means 'little cow' in Old French."
"Oh."
"They balance each other out, you see."
Roddy looked down at her gloves. "Not exactly."
He turned his disturbing blue eyes upon her. "Some young ladies are afraid of wolves."
She fiddled with the cloudy-glass handle of her sunshade.
"Are you?" he asked gently.
Roddy stole a glance and found him watching her. "A little," she said, in a burst of honesty.
The phaeton drifted to a stop at the end of the driveway. He smiled. "Then I suggest you pick a direction in which we won't meet up with any. East or west?"
Roddy swallowed her confusion. It seemed that they were carrying on two conversations at once, and she was not at all sure if one was not entirely in her imagination. "East," she said, trying to sound brisk and unconcerned. "I'll show you a surprise."
The horses arched their fine necks and leaned against their traces, and the carriage wheeled out of the drive.
----
Chapter 4
Roddy spent the first quarter hour of the drive watching the
Similar Books
