Amanda McCabe Read Online Free PDF Page B

monkey with no idea of how to behave in a proper home.
    It was true, he grudgingly admitted, that on his first visit to the Seminary he had not been all he should have been. He had needled Mrs. Chase and her deep propriety. He had spent his entire adult life striving against just such rigid mores, such shallow emphasison conduct. And her stiff attitude had near driven him mad.
    But he was sorry for his previous behavior, his boorishness. Had he not apologized to her, tried to make up for it? It was Mrs. Chase’s home, and her guests had a duty to behave according to her—he winced to think the word—her
rules.
And he had mended his ways today, striving to behave within proper gentlemanly boundaries. Aside from his exuberant greeting of Violet, he had been everything that was proper. Even the Anonymous Lady who wrote
A Lady’s Rules
would have approved of him. He had even given Mrs. Chase a book of his poetry!
    What more could the woman want of him? What could ever erase the pinch of disapproval from her pretty—
too
pretty—lips?
    And why was he thinking of her as pretty, anyway? Her caps were an absolute fright, and her eyes were frozen. There was nothing behind that ice blue façade—nothing but manners.
    “Michael, why on earth are you driving so fast?” Violet cried, her voice edged with alarm.
    Only then did Michael realize the great speed he had urged his horses to. They practically barreled along the road, dashing past the other now-gawking travelers into Town. The wheels clacked and whirred as if he was in a race.
    He immediately drew back on the reins, slowing to a more moderate pace. “Sorry, Vi,” he said, and threw his sister an apologetic smile.
    She stared at him with wide, wary eyes. “Whatever were you thinking of? You looked a million miles away.”
    He sought quickly for a believable answer—anything but the truth. He could hardly tell her that he was thinking her teacher was a priss. “I was wondering which waistcoat I should wear to Lady Clarke’s rout on Friday.”
    “Hmph.” Violet folded her hands daintily in her lap, her mouth pursed. Michael saw that she had fastenedthe locket about her neck, the silver oval lying against the lace frill of her collar. He wondered if the gift from Mrs. Chase had somehow magically imparted some of that lady’s qualities into his sister. “I think you should keep your thoughts on the road when you are driving.”
    Michael just laughed at her prim attitude, and reached out to tweak one of her curls again. He had often done that when she was a child, and it had always made her giggle.
    Now she pushed him away, and said, “I also think you should keep both hands on the reins. Your horses look most unpredictable.”
    “Yes, Your Highness,” Michael answered, in a mock-obsequious tone, and returned his gaze again to the road. When had his giggling sister turned into an elderly duchess? “But I would have you know that Nicodemus and Beelzebub are perfectly well-trained, and as gentle as lambs.”
    “Of course they are, with names like that.” Violet turned her head away to study the passing landscape, so that all he could see of her was the brim of her white straw bonnet.
    Silenced, he too watched their surroundings. The green expanses of the countryside were giving way to the edges of London. The grass was sparse, turning to pavement and gravel, the trees more stunted, the air heavier. The peace of the Seminary’s grounds seemed a different world than that of the shouts and calls of the people—farmers going to market with their carts, racing aristocrats, workers on foot. On the road, they had been a trickle—now they became a flood. Michael had to slow the horses even further as they turned toward the rarefied air of Mayfair.
    “I wish it did not take such a short time to get here,” Violet murmured, so softly that Michael almost could not hear her. “I wish it took days and days. I wish the Seminary was in Scotland, or—or America.”
    She