even more disreputable than hers. She flashed her dimples again and replied in perfect truth and some modesty: “I am one of Lord Bannister’s daughters.”
“Then, may I introduce myself, Miss Bannister? I am—”
“Oh no, Bannister is Papa’s title. The family name is Snodgrass.”
Lord Wingate blinked once but smoothly continued, “Miss Snodgrass, I—”
She interrupted again. “Only my sister Iselle gets to be Miss Snodgrass. She is the eldest, you see. I come after Inessa.”
“Wait, let me guess.” He cupped his chin in his hands and pretended to study her. “Ivy? Inez? Imogene?”
That determined little chin of hers raised a notch. “Irmagard,” she pronounced. “Miss Irmagard Snodgrass.”
Not even all those months at the Vienna negotiations could keep Lord Wingate’s lips from twitching, but the mainstay of the British diplomatic corps rose to the occasion: “No, I was right before. You are the Glory of Autumn, and so I shall call you.”
Thrilled down to her dusty boots, Irma still had to say, “Mama would not approve.”
“Nor of your being out here alone, I think. So I won’t tell her if you won’t, Glory. It suits you.”
Laughing, she admitted, “My sisters used to call me Irm the Worm.”
“And here I thought there was nothing more cruel than little boys. They used to call me Brig the Prig at school. That’s short for Brigham.”
“And were you? A prig, I mean.”
“I suppose. I was studious and hadn’t many friends. All I’d been taught till then was about duty and responsibilities.”
Irma giggled to think of anyone calling him serious now, with his clothes in disorder and the breeze ruffling his hair. He looked more like a dashing hero from one of Maria Edgeworth’s romances than any kind of scholar. She couldn’t help wondering where he was going, and if he would be at any of the parties during the hunt week. Mostly she worried that he might ride away and she’d never see him again. To delay the parting, she asked if he had seen a carriage go by. “Actually, more like a caravan, I’d guess, with baggage carts and outriders and crested coaches.”
“No, I came through the woods over that hill.” He indicated the opposite direction from the road. “I haven’t seen anyone in an hour. Is that what you were doing up here with a pistol, Glory, waiting for some wealthy nob to waylay on the king’s highway? And I thought you were painting.”
She laughed again at his teasing, and felt so comfortable with him that she confessed, “I did mean to stop that stiff-rumped viscount before he reached the Grange, but only to put a flea in his ear, not lighten his purse.”
Wingate couldn’t think of too many other viscounts, stiff-rumped or otherwise, who might be on their way to Bannister Grange. The chit was full of surprises, even if this one did wipe the smile off his face. Stiff-rumped, indeed. The child should be back in the schoolroom till she learned some manners. “Might I ask why you needed to stop the fellow here, rather than greet him at the front door, or would that be too commonplace? I am only asking out of curiosity, you know.” He pretended to wipe a speck of dust off his sleeve.
Irma took on a militant look, staring down at the roadway as if willing the carriage to arrive. “I am not ashamed of my motives. I need to speak to him before he sees my sister. Once he gets a glimpse of Iselle, it will be too late and he’ll ask for her hand no matter what I say. They all do.”
“And you don’t want this, ah, well-breeched viscount to offer for your sister? That doesn’t sound like any female of my ken.”
“What I want doesn’t matter. Iselle does not want Lord Wingate to offer because Papa will make her accept.”
“Is she committed to another, then?”
“That is not for me to say. She does not wish the connection, and so I shall tell his toplofty lordship, if he has not gone by already.”
Winn couldn’t help probing. “And what if he
“Then, may I introduce myself, Miss Bannister? I am—”
“Oh no, Bannister is Papa’s title. The family name is Snodgrass.”
Lord Wingate blinked once but smoothly continued, “Miss Snodgrass, I—”
She interrupted again. “Only my sister Iselle gets to be Miss Snodgrass. She is the eldest, you see. I come after Inessa.”
“Wait, let me guess.” He cupped his chin in his hands and pretended to study her. “Ivy? Inez? Imogene?”
That determined little chin of hers raised a notch. “Irmagard,” she pronounced. “Miss Irmagard Snodgrass.”
Not even all those months at the Vienna negotiations could keep Lord Wingate’s lips from twitching, but the mainstay of the British diplomatic corps rose to the occasion: “No, I was right before. You are the Glory of Autumn, and so I shall call you.”
Thrilled down to her dusty boots, Irma still had to say, “Mama would not approve.”
“Nor of your being out here alone, I think. So I won’t tell her if you won’t, Glory. It suits you.”
Laughing, she admitted, “My sisters used to call me Irm the Worm.”
“And here I thought there was nothing more cruel than little boys. They used to call me Brig the Prig at school. That’s short for Brigham.”
“And were you? A prig, I mean.”
“I suppose. I was studious and hadn’t many friends. All I’d been taught till then was about duty and responsibilities.”
Irma giggled to think of anyone calling him serious now, with his clothes in disorder and the breeze ruffling his hair. He looked more like a dashing hero from one of Maria Edgeworth’s romances than any kind of scholar. She couldn’t help wondering where he was going, and if he would be at any of the parties during the hunt week. Mostly she worried that he might ride away and she’d never see him again. To delay the parting, she asked if he had seen a carriage go by. “Actually, more like a caravan, I’d guess, with baggage carts and outriders and crested coaches.”
“No, I came through the woods over that hill.” He indicated the opposite direction from the road. “I haven’t seen anyone in an hour. Is that what you were doing up here with a pistol, Glory, waiting for some wealthy nob to waylay on the king’s highway? And I thought you were painting.”
She laughed again at his teasing, and felt so comfortable with him that she confessed, “I did mean to stop that stiff-rumped viscount before he reached the Grange, but only to put a flea in his ear, not lighten his purse.”
Wingate couldn’t think of too many other viscounts, stiff-rumped or otherwise, who might be on their way to Bannister Grange. The chit was full of surprises, even if this one did wipe the smile off his face. Stiff-rumped, indeed. The child should be back in the schoolroom till she learned some manners. “Might I ask why you needed to stop the fellow here, rather than greet him at the front door, or would that be too commonplace? I am only asking out of curiosity, you know.” He pretended to wipe a speck of dust off his sleeve.
Irma took on a militant look, staring down at the roadway as if willing the carriage to arrive. “I am not ashamed of my motives. I need to speak to him before he sees my sister. Once he gets a glimpse of Iselle, it will be too late and he’ll ask for her hand no matter what I say. They all do.”
“And you don’t want this, ah, well-breeched viscount to offer for your sister? That doesn’t sound like any female of my ken.”
“What I want doesn’t matter. Iselle does not want Lord Wingate to offer because Papa will make her accept.”
“Is she committed to another, then?”
“That is not for me to say. She does not wish the connection, and so I shall tell his toplofty lordship, if he has not gone by already.”
Winn couldn’t help probing. “And what if he
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