gentlemen.”
Hmm, thought Alexandra nastily, it would seem our friend Nicholas is a master of understatement. A muddle, indeed. One cannot help but wonder how he would describe the war of 1812—as a “slight skirmish” perhaps? Her own mission shelved for the moment in the light of this newest development, she was content to sit back and watch the fun from the sidelines—throwing in little comments from time to time to keep things lively.
“It is true,” Mannering began, nodding in Mrs. Anselm’s direction, “that I was once engaged to wed your daughter. But is it not also true that it was Helene who called off the wedding?”
Mrs. Anselm waved away such nonsense with a dismissing sweep of one hand. “A momentary overset of sensibilities, not to be taken seriously,” she sniffed.
The Earl allowed one eloquent eyebrow to raise in astonishment. “Momentary, madam? More than five months have passed—surely more than a fair amount of time.”
“Time be damned!” Sir Alexander interrupted angrily. “It’s my granddaughter you’re to wed, Linton. I’ve had your word on it.”
The fair Helene, beginning to feel something just might be amiss, looked nervously in the Earl’s direction. “Is this true, Nicholas, dearest?” she lisped nervously.
Sir Alexander, not remarkable for his tact, answered Helene’s question by baldly announcing, “It’s fact all right. Compromised her, that’s what he did.”
Mrs. Anselm turned narrowed eyes on Alexandra. “How very enterprising of you, dear,” she cooed.
“Enterprising, my foot!” Alexandra burst out, jumping to her feet. “A case of damned bad luck is more like it. Besides, I have never given my agreement to the match.”
“ Aha! ” breathed Mrs. Anselm, her smile growing wide once more.
While most men would have been brought to a standstill by the formidable problem now facing Nicholas, he was somehow beginning to see a bit of ironic humor in the situation. Here he was, with one woman—who had earlier spurned him—trying to renew their engagement, and another woman—whom he had compromised not once but twice—fighting hammer and tongs to be shed of him. He didn’t know whether he should be flattered or insulted. Either way, he found it was not all that unenjoyable being fought over by two beautiful females (not to mention one matchmaking mama and one outraged grandfather). After a few moments of thought, Nicholas chose to be neither flattered nor insulted—he chose, rather, to just sit back and wait for further developments.
These were not long in coming. While in one corner of the room grandfather and granddaughter exchanged bitter words concerning just exactly who was in charge of that granddaughter’s future, Mama and offspring were conversing furiously in another, Mama doing the majority of the talking.
The more Mrs. Anselm talked, the smaller Helene appeared to grow, until finally she seemed almost to disappear entirely—which she did in fact presently do when she fainted dead away behind the brocade sofa.
“Oh my poor baby!” Mrs. Anselm shrieked theatrically, putting a quick period to the whispered argument at the opposite end of the room. Helene’s mother dropped to her knees beside her stricken daughter, chaffing at one limp hand while telling all who would listen that her daughter must be put to bed immediately as her tender constitution had been dealt a severe, if not a near mortal, blow.
Alexandra, from her position standing just behind Helene’s head, could not help noticing that the girl’s eyelids fluttered once or twice before Nicholas bent down to ungently hoist her slight form into his arms. She’s bamming, Alexandra deduced quickly—most probably on orders from her mother.
Unknown to Alexandra, Nicholas was thinking the same thing, but there was precious little he could do about it other than pinching Helene into giving herself away (which he owned he had given a bit of thought). As he trod up the staircase,
Hmm, thought Alexandra nastily, it would seem our friend Nicholas is a master of understatement. A muddle, indeed. One cannot help but wonder how he would describe the war of 1812—as a “slight skirmish” perhaps? Her own mission shelved for the moment in the light of this newest development, she was content to sit back and watch the fun from the sidelines—throwing in little comments from time to time to keep things lively.
“It is true,” Mannering began, nodding in Mrs. Anselm’s direction, “that I was once engaged to wed your daughter. But is it not also true that it was Helene who called off the wedding?”
Mrs. Anselm waved away such nonsense with a dismissing sweep of one hand. “A momentary overset of sensibilities, not to be taken seriously,” she sniffed.
The Earl allowed one eloquent eyebrow to raise in astonishment. “Momentary, madam? More than five months have passed—surely more than a fair amount of time.”
“Time be damned!” Sir Alexander interrupted angrily. “It’s my granddaughter you’re to wed, Linton. I’ve had your word on it.”
The fair Helene, beginning to feel something just might be amiss, looked nervously in the Earl’s direction. “Is this true, Nicholas, dearest?” she lisped nervously.
Sir Alexander, not remarkable for his tact, answered Helene’s question by baldly announcing, “It’s fact all right. Compromised her, that’s what he did.”
Mrs. Anselm turned narrowed eyes on Alexandra. “How very enterprising of you, dear,” she cooed.
“Enterprising, my foot!” Alexandra burst out, jumping to her feet. “A case of damned bad luck is more like it. Besides, I have never given my agreement to the match.”
“ Aha! ” breathed Mrs. Anselm, her smile growing wide once more.
While most men would have been brought to a standstill by the formidable problem now facing Nicholas, he was somehow beginning to see a bit of ironic humor in the situation. Here he was, with one woman—who had earlier spurned him—trying to renew their engagement, and another woman—whom he had compromised not once but twice—fighting hammer and tongs to be shed of him. He didn’t know whether he should be flattered or insulted. Either way, he found it was not all that unenjoyable being fought over by two beautiful females (not to mention one matchmaking mama and one outraged grandfather). After a few moments of thought, Nicholas chose to be neither flattered nor insulted—he chose, rather, to just sit back and wait for further developments.
These were not long in coming. While in one corner of the room grandfather and granddaughter exchanged bitter words concerning just exactly who was in charge of that granddaughter’s future, Mama and offspring were conversing furiously in another, Mama doing the majority of the talking.
The more Mrs. Anselm talked, the smaller Helene appeared to grow, until finally she seemed almost to disappear entirely—which she did in fact presently do when she fainted dead away behind the brocade sofa.
“Oh my poor baby!” Mrs. Anselm shrieked theatrically, putting a quick period to the whispered argument at the opposite end of the room. Helene’s mother dropped to her knees beside her stricken daughter, chaffing at one limp hand while telling all who would listen that her daughter must be put to bed immediately as her tender constitution had been dealt a severe, if not a near mortal, blow.
Alexandra, from her position standing just behind Helene’s head, could not help noticing that the girl’s eyelids fluttered once or twice before Nicholas bent down to ungently hoist her slight form into his arms. She’s bamming, Alexandra deduced quickly—most probably on orders from her mother.
Unknown to Alexandra, Nicholas was thinking the same thing, but there was precious little he could do about it other than pinching Helene into giving herself away (which he owned he had given a bit of thought). As he trod up the staircase,
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