Grace Gibson Read Online Free PDF Page B

right, and I am much mistaken, for your looks are the very reverse of your constitution.”
    “If my wife were to ever accost me thus at the breakfast table,” he snarled, “I am afraid I would have to beat her.”
    His vicious set-down delighted her. “Well, she would deserve to be beaten if she were stupid enough to marry you and expect any levity at all.”
    He did not answer, and she, perceiving that she had teased the gentleman beyond his endurance, fell into a silence of her own. She felt a new sensation — she was uncomfortable. She put down her fork and lowered her head, admonishing herself for her lack of respect. Indeed, Mary Fanley would have apologized to the Marquis of Denley that very instant, had not Lord Eversham appeared, making private conversation impossible.
    “We will make a tour of Treehill today,” Eversham said, peremptorily, “and shall take with us a man Fanley has suggested as overseer. He may be suitable as your steward, but I shall let you be the judge.”
    Denley gave his uncle a faint, sarcastic bow. “Generous. Since you are in such a mood, I will ask your blessing to petition our host to bring Miss Fanley with us.” He bowed again, this time in Mary’s direction. “If she will favour us with her company.”
    Mary lifted her eyes from her coffee in a little alarm. “I am obliged, sir, but I cannot comprehend how I would contribute to such an expedition.”
    The Marquis of Denley let an acid smile curl his lips as he looked her over in a most unmannerly way. He filled his plate and took his place at the table. “I would like your opinion of the kitchens and the garden and of the servants’ quarters, you know, to establish if they would be suitable to modern housekeeping.”
    Eversham lifted a single brow and looked at Mary with something close to curiosity as she answered in a small voice, “In that case, I would be honoured to go.” She rose, made a lovely curtsey, and added with her eyes glittering and downcast, “I will see my father and tell him of your plan. I am sure he will be gratified by your condescension.”
    After she had gone, Eversham remarked blandly, “You are a savage, Robert. I could almost pity the girl.”
    “If you knew her, you would pity me.”

Chapter Nine
    Whatever sympathies his uncle had for her, the Marquis did not pity Mary Fanley. He rode to his estate alongside his uncle’s coach and four with the sprightly seat that particularly comes to the victorious. He had chosen to ride his chestnut stallion, Lucifer, a famously high-bred, bad-tempered beast that fidgeted and demanded a manly degree of discipline. The mastery his horse required supported his feelings of superiority and lessened the impression of Mary Fanley’s late domination over him.
    She had taken her set-down hard, he thought, and more quickly than he had anticipated. He had figured her to be a hardened sharp-tongue, in need of several brutal insults to take the hint, but she was now so subdued he amended his opinion. She had simply never been put in her place. Certainly, Mr. Fanley would never check her behaviour. So Denley had taken it upon himself to amend her manners, and now that he had done it, he expected her teasing ways to come to a proper end. He congratulated himself periodically during the ride to Treehill for having performed something like a good deed. He made a decided effort not to see Mary looking wide-eyed out the window of the coach, as if the poor girl had never gone anywhere in her life.
    Once at the estate, Mr. Fanley handed Mary out of the coach and asked her proudly — as if it were his very own property — “Well, what do you think Mary?”
    Her reply was breathless. “Oh, Papa!” She did not mean to let the others hear her, yet even Eversham seemed to linger at the coach steps for that purpose. “This is the most beautiful place…”
    The Marquis was perversely pleased by her reaction, but her father was astonished.
    “Beautiful? I declare, I do not