A Banbury Tale Read Online Free PDF

too, will change your mind. You must, in fact. It’s unthinkable that you should leave no direct heir. I do not consider your demise imminent, but one must be prepared, and these things are known to take time.” This matter disposed of to her satisfaction, she returned to an earlier subject, a distinct twinkle in her eyes. “I’ll stake my reputation Mathilda will marry again before the year is out.”
    “Done!” Micah said promptly. “Although I leave it to you to choose more conventional stakes.” Agatha smiled. “And I accept the wager in spite of whatever schemes you have in your head. You will urge Tilda to marry, and I shall trust in her own good sense to dissuade her.”
    “We will see which proves more influential. I foresee that Mathilda is going to have a most interesting year.” The Duchess studied her escort. “You’re mighty unconcerned with the fate of a girl you’ve known ever since you were a scruffy brat, and for whom you’ve always had a decided partiality.”
    “Unjust!” Micah raised his brows. “I’ve a wager of undetermined stakes to win. Timothy is not to be considered, I assume?”
    “Decidedly, no.” The Duchess wondered if her godson bore his one-time fiancée a grudge, but her preoccupation with Tilda’s future was interrupted by a distressed tableau. She paid scant heed to the plainly garbed female who stood by the disabled vehicle; it was the second luckless traveler, a young beauty obviously of the Quality, who attracted Agatha’s interest.
    “Unfortunate,” she murmured, and signaled her driver to stop. Micah regarded his godmother suspiciously, for her lively interest in people, coupled with a sincere pity for the unfortunate, had landed her in many a scrape. With a seraphic smile, the Duchess leaned across him to open the carriage door.
    * * * *
    Unrepentant, her tail wagging, Trixie dropped a squirming puppy into Tilda’s lap. “Graceless wretch!” scolded her mistress, but there was laughter in the husky voice. She smiled at her companion. “You see how well obeyed I am?”
    Sir Timothy Rockingham rested one booted foot upon the marble bench where Tilda sat. It was a beautiful summer’s morning, and Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson had chosen to sip her chocolate out of doors, where she might simultaneously avoid Eunice’s aimless chatter and sniff the crisp, exhilarating air. “I see,” he murmured, “further evidence of your kind heart.” Timothy blessed his good fortune, for he was not often granted an opportunity to speak with Tilda privately, although Trixie’s golden stare caused him an unpleasant suspicion that the setter had appointed herself chaperon in this uncommon absence of Tilda’s usual retinue.
    “Pooh!” said Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, unmoved by his compliment. “Why do you insist on endowing me with virtues I don’t possess? It is wishful thinking, you know. I am utterly selfish, care only for my own pleasures, and am shockingly indolent.”
    She made a charming picture, seated in the shadow of a gnarled and venerable oak tree. Sunlight sparked her breeze-tossed curls into a radiant aureole. “You are magnificent.”
    “I know what it is!” Tilda exclaimed, gazing, with disgust upon her gown of white lawn, a pristine confection that had led one ladies’ magazine to wax eloquent upon a bedgowny appearance in morning dress. “I shall never wear white again. It is obvious, Timothy, that this wretched dress has inspired you with thoughts of godliness and purity. And I tell you, my friend, that such is not my style!”
    Timothy smiled. He found nothing amusing in this frank speech, but knew it useless to beg Tilda to guard her wayward tongue. “I am told Micah has been in the neighborhood,” he remarked. “Can it be he has at last taken an interest in his estate?”
    “Unfair,” Tilda replied, with relief at the change of subject. She had not cared to have her brief peace disturbed, and was in no mood for declarations of devotion and pretty