that way. Vases stuffed full of them were scattered about the foyer.
“I am pleased to tell you that everyone lives, Your Grace, to my knowledge. Two of these arrangements are for Miss Olivia, and the other . . . three,” and the footman smiled fondly, “are for Miss Danforth. The mantels of the house can scarcely accommodate two such popular young ladies. How you do brighten up the house. We haven’t yet found places for all of them, and I thought Miss Danforth would like to see hers and decide where they should be placed.”
Tansy circled them with awe.
Three different admirers! After only just one ball! Her heart began to take up a steady beating. Dare she hope that one of them was from . . . ?
But it was a foolish hope.
She perused the cards. From two young lords and another young man she could scarcely recall, to her slight embarrassment. Boys. They were all boys.
The copy of Richard III seemed to glow like a little coal in her hand.
“And the table is set for luncheon if you ladies would care to go through,” the footman told them.
And when they did go through, Tansy found a small paper-wrapped, string-bound package next to her plate. She picked it up with delight and hefted it. “What could it be?”
She unwrapped it gleefully while everyone watched.
She laughed merrily and held her gift up to the assembled.
The Dancing Master , by John Playford.
She read aloud from the sheet of foolscap enclosed.
“ ‘Please don’t construe this as a criticism of your dancing, but I’ve an extensive library, and I could spare this one.’
“It’s from Landsdowne. How very thoughtful of him! He did so graciously tolerate my clumsiness the other night.”
“Yes,” Olivia said politely and very carefully. “He is generally very thoughtful.”
Her grip, Genevieve noted, was a bit white on her fork.
Chapter 9
S INCE HE WAS ALREADY dirty from working on the vicarage roof and was too late to join everyone for a meal, Ian visited Mrs. deWitt in the kitchen for a chunk of bread and cheese, and decided to clean his old musket, the very first one he’d ever owned, an activity he found meditative. He thought about what manner of weapons he ought to bring with him on his journey, and the kinds of women he might encounter, and the opportunities to make money and friends, and he had the thing taken apart and was busy with oil and rags when Genevieve wandered in.
“Good afternoon, sister of mine. What do you want?”
“How did you know I . . . Never mind. Ian . . . what do you think of Miss Danforth?”
He paused mid-wipe. “Are you asking because of that interesting conversation outside the vicarage? Or because you’re gauging whether I’m merely biding my time until I ravish her?”
“Conversation? The word ‘conversation’ implies I was included. And if you wanted to ravish her, you’d have to plow through a thicket of other men.”
Ian laughed. “Ahhhh, Genevieve. Are we jealous?”
“Hush. Of course not. It’s just . . . does she seem to you . . . well, a trifle too . . . effusive?” She’d chosen the word delicately, Ian could tell, which amused him.
“Are you worried because not one of those men gave you a second glance, Genevieve, when usually they go misty-eyed at the mere sight of you? You’ve already landed your duke.”
She gave him a playful push.
“I think she’s a bit awkward, Genevieve. And young. And American. They seem a bit louder and brasher, Americans. But yes, pretty. She’s just accustomed to attention, no doubt. And knows how to get it.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “We’re on the whole, simple creatures, men are, and some women discover this sooner rather than later.”
Genevieve gaped at him. “ Awkward? Are you mad? Are we discussing the same girl? She charmed Tingle at the bookshop—and you know what a skinflint he can be—into giving her two books for the price of one. I would wager poems celebrating her delicate grace and big eyes
“I am pleased to tell you that everyone lives, Your Grace, to my knowledge. Two of these arrangements are for Miss Olivia, and the other . . . three,” and the footman smiled fondly, “are for Miss Danforth. The mantels of the house can scarcely accommodate two such popular young ladies. How you do brighten up the house. We haven’t yet found places for all of them, and I thought Miss Danforth would like to see hers and decide where they should be placed.”
Tansy circled them with awe.
Three different admirers! After only just one ball! Her heart began to take up a steady beating. Dare she hope that one of them was from . . . ?
But it was a foolish hope.
She perused the cards. From two young lords and another young man she could scarcely recall, to her slight embarrassment. Boys. They were all boys.
The copy of Richard III seemed to glow like a little coal in her hand.
“And the table is set for luncheon if you ladies would care to go through,” the footman told them.
And when they did go through, Tansy found a small paper-wrapped, string-bound package next to her plate. She picked it up with delight and hefted it. “What could it be?”
She unwrapped it gleefully while everyone watched.
She laughed merrily and held her gift up to the assembled.
The Dancing Master , by John Playford.
She read aloud from the sheet of foolscap enclosed.
“ ‘Please don’t construe this as a criticism of your dancing, but I’ve an extensive library, and I could spare this one.’
“It’s from Landsdowne. How very thoughtful of him! He did so graciously tolerate my clumsiness the other night.”
“Yes,” Olivia said politely and very carefully. “He is generally very thoughtful.”
Her grip, Genevieve noted, was a bit white on her fork.
Chapter 9
S INCE HE WAS ALREADY dirty from working on the vicarage roof and was too late to join everyone for a meal, Ian visited Mrs. deWitt in the kitchen for a chunk of bread and cheese, and decided to clean his old musket, the very first one he’d ever owned, an activity he found meditative. He thought about what manner of weapons he ought to bring with him on his journey, and the kinds of women he might encounter, and the opportunities to make money and friends, and he had the thing taken apart and was busy with oil and rags when Genevieve wandered in.
“Good afternoon, sister of mine. What do you want?”
“How did you know I . . . Never mind. Ian . . . what do you think of Miss Danforth?”
He paused mid-wipe. “Are you asking because of that interesting conversation outside the vicarage? Or because you’re gauging whether I’m merely biding my time until I ravish her?”
“Conversation? The word ‘conversation’ implies I was included. And if you wanted to ravish her, you’d have to plow through a thicket of other men.”
Ian laughed. “Ahhhh, Genevieve. Are we jealous?”
“Hush. Of course not. It’s just . . . does she seem to you . . . well, a trifle too . . . effusive?” She’d chosen the word delicately, Ian could tell, which amused him.
“Are you worried because not one of those men gave you a second glance, Genevieve, when usually they go misty-eyed at the mere sight of you? You’ve already landed your duke.”
She gave him a playful push.
“I think she’s a bit awkward, Genevieve. And young. And American. They seem a bit louder and brasher, Americans. But yes, pretty. She’s just accustomed to attention, no doubt. And knows how to get it.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “We’re on the whole, simple creatures, men are, and some women discover this sooner rather than later.”
Genevieve gaped at him. “ Awkward? Are you mad? Are we discussing the same girl? She charmed Tingle at the bookshop—and you know what a skinflint he can be—into giving her two books for the price of one. I would wager poems celebrating her delicate grace and big eyes
Similar Books
