Black Sheep by Georgette Heyer Page A

won’t you? If Mrs Grayshott doesn’t perform that office, would you wager a groat on the chance that Lady Weaverham won’t?”
    “No—or on the chance that you wouldn’t instantly tell my sister of our previous meetings!” said Abby, with considerable bitterness. “Without a blush!”
    “Very likely,” he agreed.
    Unable to think of any suitable rejoinder, she walked on in silence.
    “And I promise you I won’t blush,” he added reassuringly.
    She choked, but managed to retort with tolerable gravity: “I shouldn’t suppose that you know how to!”
    “No, I don’t think I do,” he said, subjecting the matter to consideration. “At my age, it is rather too late to acquire the accomplishment, don’t you think?”

“Mr Calverleigh!” she said, turning her head to look up at him, “let us be a little serious! It is true that I haven’t yet met your nephew, but you have met my niece! You don’t want for sense; you are not a green youth, but a—a man of the world; and you loved Fanny’s mother! I don’t doubt that, or that seeing Fanny must have given you a—a pang—brought it all back to you!”
    “You know, the odd thing is that it didn’t,” he interrupted. “Is she so like Celia?”
    Astonished, she gasped: “Her image!”
    “No, is she indeed? What tricks memory plays one! I had thought that Celia had brown eyes.”
    “Do you mean to say that you have forgotten? ”demanded Abby, wholly taken aback.
    “Well, it all happened more than twenty years ago,” he said apologetically.
    “And no doubt your memory has confused her with some other lady!”
    “Yes, that’s very possible,” he acknowledged.
    Miss Abigail Wendover decided, while she struggled with her emotions, that one of the worst features of Mr Miles Calverleigh’s! character was his obnoxious ability to throw her into giggles at quite the wrong moment. Being a woman of strong resolution, she mastered herself, and said: “But you do remember that you once loved her, and I don’t think you would wish her daughter to—to become the victim of a fortune-hunter—even if he is your nephew!”
    “No. Not that I’ve considered the matter, but I don’t wish anybody to become the victim of a fortune-hunter. Or, now I come to think of it, of any other predacious person. But I am of the opinion that you may be wronging my foolish nephew: he may well have tumbled into love with her, you know. Undoubtedly a piece of perfection!”
    She looked up quickly, kindling to this praise of her darling. “She is very pretty, isn’t she?”
    “Oh, past price! Which leads me to suspect that perhaps the poor fellow is in love with her!”
    She frowned over this for moment or two, before saying decidedly: “It’s of no consequence if he is: he is not a proper person for her! Besides, she’s by far too young. Surely you must know that!”
    “No, I don’t. Her mother was about seventeen when she married Rowland.”
    “Which proves she is too young!”
    He grinned appreciatively, but said: “You may be right, but you can’t expect me to agree with you. After all, I tried to marry Celia myself!”
    “Yes, but you were only a boy then. You must be wiser now!”
    “Much! Too wise to meddle in what doesn’t concern me!”
    “Mr Calverleigh, it should concern you!”
    “Miss Wendover, it don’t!”
    “Then, if you’ve no interest in your nephew, why do you mean to linger in Bath? Why do you hope he means to return here?”
    “I didn’t say I had no interest in him. I own, I didn’t think I had, but that was before I knew he was making up to your niece. You can’t deny that that provides a very interesting situation!”
    “Excessively diverting, too!”
    “Yes, that’s what I think.”
    She said despairingly: “ I see that I might as well address myself to a gate-post!”
    “What very odd things you seem to talk to!” he remarked. “Do you find gate-posts less responsive than eels?”
    She could not help smiling, but she said