man she had no liking for?
Surely not for financial gain? Her clothing, her confidence, all spoke of a sophisticated London Season, and she was a ravishing young woman who must have had her pick …
It just didn’t make sense—she didn’t make sense.
She certainly was overly lax regarding the proprieties, but then young women were beginning to write about the need of freedom, weren’t they?
He had taken her into his arms … and what did she do? Good Lord! For a young, inexperienced maid who had every reason to hold her host in disgust for his purposely rude behavior until and including that moment, Myriah’s response was prodigiously friendly—how was he to know she was naught but a virgin?
Yet, he knew that women were ‘breaking out’ of their shells.
Myriah’s sauciness was all her own. He smiled to himself as a picture of her face came to his mind.
Are you a fool? he asked himself with asperity. Are you falling in love with a fashionable courtesan or a misguided and spoiled maid? Which is it?
The heart does strange things to its companion, the mind. It sends it messages of need—needs the mind cannot supply. Lacking an answer, the mind retaliates on its poor friend. The sad victim of such horrendous goings-on is offered much violence and has but one outlet: sleep.
* * *
Myriah awoke early. The sun was hiding its spring glory behind clouds of white foam, and only an unrelenting glare met Myriah’s searching eyes. With a sigh, she washed and dressed in the only other gown she had packed, an ivory silk with a low, scooped neckline trimmed in ivory lace.
She stood at the mirror and brushed her long red hair into shining billows that she caught at the top of her head with the brown ribbon she had found lodged from another trip in her bag. Her red curls cascaded around her heart-shaped countenance and created a look of mischievous mystery, and she smiled, well pleased with the results.
She pulled on her boots of brown kid and hurried downstairs. She had a plan of action to institute and did not wish to encounter his lordship.
Myriah closed the library door behind her and rushed across to the writing desk. She took up the quill and dipped into the ink. She then scratched out a hasty note and sealed it in a plain envelope.
A few moments later Myriah was crossing the drive and making for the stables. It was a marvelous spring day, in spite of the fact that the sun had clothed itself in froth. The sweet morning breeze enveloped Myriah, greeting her as one of nature’s treasures, and she was conscious of its soothing effect.
It was past eight, and Myriah glanced back at the house worriedly. She did not want to be seen just yet. Tabby was walking his roan out of the stables, and Myriah put up her hand to call his attention. He awaited her approach, wondering what new fetch his mistress had dreamed up this time.
“Good morning, Tabby,” she said, coming up to face him and handing him the white envelope.
He looked down at it and then at her. “I dessay this be for yer grandfather,” he said, his face expressionless.
“Yes, Tabby, for he will have had a visit from Father by now, and I don’t want him worrying about me. However, you will not give it to him in person, for you know as well as I that you would then be forced to give him my whereabouts — and I don’t want to be found just yet!”
“Now, Lady Myriah, ’tis time ye went home and faced the—”
“Tabby, you will hand this note to the gatekeeper and have him take it to Grandpapa, and then you will return straight back here,” she said firmly.
“Yes, m’lady.”
“Oh, Tabby, don’t pull a face. It will all turn out just fine … you’ll see. Now … have you eaten?”
“Yes, m’lady. I served yer mother, I did, and will go on serving ye till I don’t have breath … but this … this time …”
She touched his arm. “I know, Tabby … but this letter will make some of all of this right. At least they shan’t
Surely not for financial gain? Her clothing, her confidence, all spoke of a sophisticated London Season, and she was a ravishing young woman who must have had her pick …
It just didn’t make sense—she didn’t make sense.
She certainly was overly lax regarding the proprieties, but then young women were beginning to write about the need of freedom, weren’t they?
He had taken her into his arms … and what did she do? Good Lord! For a young, inexperienced maid who had every reason to hold her host in disgust for his purposely rude behavior until and including that moment, Myriah’s response was prodigiously friendly—how was he to know she was naught but a virgin?
Yet, he knew that women were ‘breaking out’ of their shells.
Myriah’s sauciness was all her own. He smiled to himself as a picture of her face came to his mind.
Are you a fool? he asked himself with asperity. Are you falling in love with a fashionable courtesan or a misguided and spoiled maid? Which is it?
The heart does strange things to its companion, the mind. It sends it messages of need—needs the mind cannot supply. Lacking an answer, the mind retaliates on its poor friend. The sad victim of such horrendous goings-on is offered much violence and has but one outlet: sleep.
* * *
Myriah awoke early. The sun was hiding its spring glory behind clouds of white foam, and only an unrelenting glare met Myriah’s searching eyes. With a sigh, she washed and dressed in the only other gown she had packed, an ivory silk with a low, scooped neckline trimmed in ivory lace.
She stood at the mirror and brushed her long red hair into shining billows that she caught at the top of her head with the brown ribbon she had found lodged from another trip in her bag. Her red curls cascaded around her heart-shaped countenance and created a look of mischievous mystery, and she smiled, well pleased with the results.
She pulled on her boots of brown kid and hurried downstairs. She had a plan of action to institute and did not wish to encounter his lordship.
Myriah closed the library door behind her and rushed across to the writing desk. She took up the quill and dipped into the ink. She then scratched out a hasty note and sealed it in a plain envelope.
A few moments later Myriah was crossing the drive and making for the stables. It was a marvelous spring day, in spite of the fact that the sun had clothed itself in froth. The sweet morning breeze enveloped Myriah, greeting her as one of nature’s treasures, and she was conscious of its soothing effect.
It was past eight, and Myriah glanced back at the house worriedly. She did not want to be seen just yet. Tabby was walking his roan out of the stables, and Myriah put up her hand to call his attention. He awaited her approach, wondering what new fetch his mistress had dreamed up this time.
“Good morning, Tabby,” she said, coming up to face him and handing him the white envelope.
He looked down at it and then at her. “I dessay this be for yer grandfather,” he said, his face expressionless.
“Yes, Tabby, for he will have had a visit from Father by now, and I don’t want him worrying about me. However, you will not give it to him in person, for you know as well as I that you would then be forced to give him my whereabouts — and I don’t want to be found just yet!”
“Now, Lady Myriah, ’tis time ye went home and faced the—”
“Tabby, you will hand this note to the gatekeeper and have him take it to Grandpapa, and then you will return straight back here,” she said firmly.
“Yes, m’lady.”
“Oh, Tabby, don’t pull a face. It will all turn out just fine … you’ll see. Now … have you eaten?”
“Yes, m’lady. I served yer mother, I did, and will go on serving ye till I don’t have breath … but this … this time …”
She touched his arm. “I know, Tabby … but this letter will make some of all of this right. At least they shan’t
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