Amanda Scott by Bath Charade Page A

was vexed, ma’am, but on your account and Puck’s, not his own. You see, he knows I deceived you both when I attempted to play a practical joke on him. I simply didn’t think, and so I must apologize to you both and hope you will not be incensed with me, though you have every reason to be.”
    “What practical joke?” Lady Skipton demanded. “I thought you must have outgrown such foolishness.”
    Making no attempt to insist that it had been a very long time since she had last done such a thing, Carolyn said earnestly, “You of all people must know how it is with me when someone says I must or I must not, and when Sydney insisted that his judgment of people was greater than my own and that I must always trust him to know best … Well, you can imagine how I reacted. ’Twas no more than a challenge to be met.”
    “I daresay,” the dowager said grimly.
    Miss Pucklington said, “We know how it is, my dear, but what is it that you did?”
    “The most dreadful thing, Puck. I’m afraid Count Salas is no foreigner. That is, he is, but he is not a count. Oh, dear,” she added ruefully, “I am making a mull of this. The plain fact is that he is an imposter. I introduced him to Sydney merely to prove that he would accept a man for what he appeared to be as easily as anyone else would. I had no intention of …”
    “Of fooling us as easily?” Miss Pucklington suggested. When Carolyn nodded apologetically, she said, “I am sorry to hear that the count was not what he appeared to be, for I quite enjoyed his conversation, you know, but I daresay Cousin Sydney was not deceived at all if the man was not genuine, so no doubt you have learned a valuable lesson, my dear.”
    This was not precisely the way Carolyn wished to view the matter, but she kept a still tongue in her head and glanced back at her godmother to see how that lady was taking the news that she had been duped. The signs were not good.
    The dowager was frowning heavily. “If Sydney was not deceived, why did he not say so at once?” she demanded.
    “I believe he did not wish to create a scene at your dinner table, ma’am. He hoped that Salas would do nothing to disgrace you, and he preferred that you discover the deception in a more private manner. I assure you, he thought only of your comfort.”
    “Very kind of him, I’m sure. ’Tis a pity you and your accomplices did not think of my comfort before you decided to amuse yourselves in such a fashion. Must I now expect to receive the condolences of my friends for falling victim to this deceit?”
    “Oh, no, ma’am. Neither Salas nor Brandon will tell anyone else, for Salas has gone away and once Brandon knows you are in possession of the facts, he will say nothing to anyone. I will see to it that he understands he must not.”
    “I see. Who is this Salas, if you please?”
    Carolyn swallowed. “He … I’m afraid he is a gypsy.”
    The explosion she anticipated did not materialize. To her surprise, the dowager nodded grimly as though she had expected no less. “Bad enough that he was foreign,” she said. “Of course, I knew him for a rogue the instant I laid eyes on him, but I did not like to say anything, not wishing to embarrass you or Mr. Manningford when you had said the man was his friend, but I did keep my eye upon the silver. Sydney can be very glad of that, and so I shall tell him if he mentions the matter to me.”
    Carolyn could think of nothing whatever to say to that, but as usual, there was no need since the dowager continued in this vein for some time, talking herself into a good humor by the time she was done simply by congratulating herself on what she viewed as her own shrewd perception, and since Miss Pucklington contributed only such comments as might be guaranteed to please, there was no one to contradict her. Carolyn made her escape twenty minutes later with a feeling of quite undeserved relief.
    Though she feared that word of what she had done would somehow leak out, her