Enchanting Pleasures Read Online Free PDF Page B

a prolonged visit,” he observed.
“After you, Miss Jerningham,” Quill said in a tone ripe with suppressed irritation. He cast a lowering glance at Codswallop, who hastily backed away and disappeared into the servants’ quarters with their outer garments.
“Oh, goodness,” Gabby said faintly, as she walked into the room. “What—what a lovely chamber.”
Quill looked around. “My mother’s idea.”
Gabby walked rather tentatively over to a particularly monstrous table featuring a seated tiger as its pedestal.
Phoebe trotted after her and patted the animal’s head.
“Where did this piece of furniture come from?” Gabby asked, with some curiosity.
“My mother calls this the Indian Drawing Room, Miss Jerningham. Her fond hope was to establish herself as a leader of London fashion. Her designer assured her that Indian furnishings were going to be the next rage.”
He shrugged. “Unfortunately, it didn’t happen. But having spent so much money to become Indian, my father is unwilling to return to being merely English.”
Gabby looked at him sharply. Erskine Dewland’s face might not express much, but she could hear just the faintest hint of laughter in his tone.
She took it as an invitation and smiled back hugely. “How odd it is,” she remarked, her eyes dancing, “that we had no tiger tables in our household, given that I have lived in India my whole life. In fact, I do not remember ever seeing such…such lavishly tigerish furniture before.”
Quill did not smile, but his eyes laughed.
“I must beg you not to reveal such an unpleasant truth to my mama,” he said, leaning against the mantelpiece. “You see, having spent some twenty thousand pounds to achieve this Indian extravaganza, she would be devastated to find that most of her Indian treasures were produced in Southampton by a cabinetmaker named Fred Pinkle.”
“Fred Pinkle? You had the furniture investigated!” Gabby accused.
“I should hardly call it an investigation,” Quill remarked, moving over to lean against the back of a high-backed chair. “I used to own shares in the East India Company, so I have a reasonable familiarity with products one might actually buy in that country.”
Gabby’s mouth tightened. “You own part of the East India Company?”
Quill looked up, startled. It was the first time since he met her that Gabby had spoken sharply.
“Does that dismay you for some reason, Miss Jerningham?”
Gabby raised her chin and met his eyes calmly. “No, of course not. It is not my concern. But will you please call me Gabby, Mr. Dewland? We are to be family, after all.”
Quill pushed himself upright. He must have imagined the rebuke in Gabby’s tone. His leg was sending him brutal messages about the long carriage rides to and from Depford.
“Gabby,” he said. “Then you must address me as Quill.”
“Quill? Quill—what a lovely name!”
“Is that a truly lovely name, or something akin to the loveliness of this room?”
Gabby giggled, an enchanting low chuckle. “You have caught me out, Mr. Dewl—Quill.” She paused. “May I ask you a question?”
“Naturally.”
“Is your leg causing you pain?” She asked it rather hesitatingly, uncertain whether this question would be considered an outrageous impertinence.
Quill could have answered that. No well-bred young lady would ever ask such a personal question of a man, let alone of a relative stranger. His mouth quirked into an unwilling grin. Gabby was certainly going to wake up the staid Dewland household.
“I was in a riding accident some six years ago,” he explained. “And while I have been lucky enough to recover my ability to walk, I have difficulty standing for long periods of time.”
Gabby’s brown eyes were glowing with sympathy. “Well, then, why haven’t you sat down, you poor man?”
“Miss Gabby!” Phoebe, who had been wandering about inspecting the many groveling tigers and lions that adorned the viscountess’s furniture, was back at her side. “Mr.