The Scandalous Life of a True Lady by Bárbara Metzger Page B
Authors: Bárbara Metzger
Tags: Romance
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major asked about her ride with Mr. Stamfield, her new clothes, and if she’d heard from her brother recently, or if the headmaster had replied to the bank draft. He spoke of the news of the day and the latest books, which he promised to find for her in his library. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about horses for an elderly gentleman who appeared anything but an outdoors man. Simone should not have been surprised, recalling the quality of the gelding she’d ridden.
He complimented her gown and her new hair style. He cared, she felt, almost in an avuncular way. He looked like someone’s eccentric relation, too, a bit messy, shaggy, and old-fashioned.
As soon as the young footman left, leaving the several courses on the table for them to serve themselves, Simone said she had come to a decision.
“Later, my dear, later. Let us not ruin Mrs. Judd’s excellent meal with such weighty matters.”
She could not eat much, not with the difficult conversation looming ahead, but the major seemed unaffected. He also appeared a bit different now that she had time to notice, while he ate. Simone could have sworn his moustache had gone up at the ends when they first met. Now the ends went down like Mr. Harris’s, whose lips were always in a downward scowl anyway. The major had also limped more at Mrs. Burton’s, she thought, but perhaps the climb to the madam’s sitting room had been tiring. Or the weather that day had made him ache. Grandfather’s fingers used to swell before a rainstorm. This evening was dry and clear, for a change.
The major still leaned on his cane as they walked toward the drawing room after dinner. He’d gladly forgo his solitary smoke for her company, he told her.
She started to tell him of her decision but he held up one hand. “I may do without my cigarillo for the pleasure of your presence, my dear, but I do enjoy my port after dinner, especially after a trying day. Helps an old man’s digestion, also, you see.”
She saw he was not ready to speak yet. He told her to order tea for herself, which would have meant another delay. She chose to taste the port instead, breaking yet another law of ladylike decorum. The rule book had flown out the window days ago, and no one would know anyway, except the two of them and Miss White.
The cat wound herself around the major’s feet, then leaped into his lap, ignoring Simone altogether. Strangely enough, the big cat had hissed at Mr. Stamfield, arched her back at the delivery men, and ignored Jeremy altogether, yet she adored both the major and his assistant.
Simone was waiting for Major Harrison to notice the difference in his pet, how well-groomed she was, and lighter in weight, but he did not say anything, just sank back in his chair and sighed with contentment, one hand stroking the now smooth white fur, the other holding the glass.
Simone did not like her efforts being ignored, her speech put off, or the taste of the port. She walked to the door where Jeremy was waiting, to ask for a tea tray after all.
The cart was wheeled in, the tea was poured, and still the major sipped and sighed. The cat purred. Finally, almost reluctantly, the major set his glass aside.
“Now, my dear, we can have our discussion.”
“Thank you.” She tried to keep the “at last” under her breath. A man was entitled to relax in his own home, she supposed, although she felt as taut as a bow string. “I have come to a decision. I—”
He interrupted her. “I beg your pardon, but so have I. So I will save you the awkwardness of refusing my offer. I withdraw it.”
“I am going.”
“Yes, so you told Mr. Harris, quite forcefully, too. I understand your scruples and I admire you for them. Never fear I am angry, my dear. Recall, I was the one who suggested you take this time to decide on such drastic action, wasn’t I?”
“You do not understand. I am going with you to Lord Gorham’s party in Richmond.”
In his usual slow, deliberative way, he waited before
He complimented her gown and her new hair style. He cared, she felt, almost in an avuncular way. He looked like someone’s eccentric relation, too, a bit messy, shaggy, and old-fashioned.
As soon as the young footman left, leaving the several courses on the table for them to serve themselves, Simone said she had come to a decision.
“Later, my dear, later. Let us not ruin Mrs. Judd’s excellent meal with such weighty matters.”
She could not eat much, not with the difficult conversation looming ahead, but the major seemed unaffected. He also appeared a bit different now that she had time to notice, while he ate. Simone could have sworn his moustache had gone up at the ends when they first met. Now the ends went down like Mr. Harris’s, whose lips were always in a downward scowl anyway. The major had also limped more at Mrs. Burton’s, she thought, but perhaps the climb to the madam’s sitting room had been tiring. Or the weather that day had made him ache. Grandfather’s fingers used to swell before a rainstorm. This evening was dry and clear, for a change.
The major still leaned on his cane as they walked toward the drawing room after dinner. He’d gladly forgo his solitary smoke for her company, he told her.
She started to tell him of her decision but he held up one hand. “I may do without my cigarillo for the pleasure of your presence, my dear, but I do enjoy my port after dinner, especially after a trying day. Helps an old man’s digestion, also, you see.”
She saw he was not ready to speak yet. He told her to order tea for herself, which would have meant another delay. She chose to taste the port instead, breaking yet another law of ladylike decorum. The rule book had flown out the window days ago, and no one would know anyway, except the two of them and Miss White.
The cat wound herself around the major’s feet, then leaped into his lap, ignoring Simone altogether. Strangely enough, the big cat had hissed at Mr. Stamfield, arched her back at the delivery men, and ignored Jeremy altogether, yet she adored both the major and his assistant.
Simone was waiting for Major Harrison to notice the difference in his pet, how well-groomed she was, and lighter in weight, but he did not say anything, just sank back in his chair and sighed with contentment, one hand stroking the now smooth white fur, the other holding the glass.
Simone did not like her efforts being ignored, her speech put off, or the taste of the port. She walked to the door where Jeremy was waiting, to ask for a tea tray after all.
The cart was wheeled in, the tea was poured, and still the major sipped and sighed. The cat purred. Finally, almost reluctantly, the major set his glass aside.
“Now, my dear, we can have our discussion.”
“Thank you.” She tried to keep the “at last” under her breath. A man was entitled to relax in his own home, she supposed, although she felt as taut as a bow string. “I have come to a decision. I—”
He interrupted her. “I beg your pardon, but so have I. So I will save you the awkwardness of refusing my offer. I withdraw it.”
“I am going.”
“Yes, so you told Mr. Harris, quite forcefully, too. I understand your scruples and I admire you for them. Never fear I am angry, my dear. Recall, I was the one who suggested you take this time to decide on such drastic action, wasn’t I?”
“You do not understand. I am going with you to Lord Gorham’s party in Richmond.”
In his usual slow, deliberative way, he waited before
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