Maggie MacKeever Read Online Free PDF

“doesn’t approve of anything. In this instance, I am to fetch Mannering’s daughter to town—she is to be Sandor’s ward. And I don’t think even her considerable fortune will make up to her for being under Sandor’s thumb. In fact, I think that if I explained to her the nature of her guardian, the child would much prefer to stay where she is!”
    Cressida did not accept the information that a wealthy damsel was to take up residence in His Grace’s house at all philosophically. “And where might it be that she is?” she inquired. “Surely it would be more fitting if the duke himself brought the girl to Brighton, perhaps in company with your sister? To be so abruptly thrown among strangers must be frightening to a child—you did say she is a child, Neal? Surely she would benefit from feminine company.”
    Neal contemplated the character of the child, as revealed in her highly dramatic letter, and then the prospect of Sandor and Binnie closeted together in a carriage. Reluctantly, he smiled. “Edwina goes with me, at Sandor’s decree. Lord, but it’s a cat-and-dog life my family leads. Cressida, why must we wait until spring? There is no impediment to our marriage, since Sandor approves.”
    This attitude, suggesting as it did that Neal regarded his upcoming nuptials as a matter of expedience, didn’t recommend itself to Miss Choice-Pickerell. Although she might look at her marriage in exactly that light, it was hardly flattering that her prospective bridegroom should do likewise. Nor did it augur well for her intention to rule the roost once they were wed.
    “Sandor this and Sandor that,” she said archly. “Sometimes I think, sir, that you wish to marry me merely to escape your cousin. I would dislike to be second fiddle of all things.”
    This remark, for it was no more than the truth, and consequently roused in its recipient a deep sense of guilt, caused Neal to stop dead in his tracks and look down upon Cressida’s lovely countenance. The gathering storm that he saw there did not soothe his conscience. “Cressida, you misunderstand,” he lied manfully. “I would rather forfeit my life than disturb your peace. It is merely that I fear Sandor will change his mind.”
    Had not Cressida suspected it would give Neal a disgust of her, she would have engaged in a tantrum. As it was, she did not think a mild display of wounded sensibility would be taken amiss. “Am I so ineligible for marriage with yourself?” she inquired wistfully. “Clearly you must think so or you would not be so concerned with what your cousin thinks. I begin to wonder, Neal, if you truly wish to marry me. For if you did, I cannot see what His Grace’s approval has to do with anything.”
    Nor was Neal flattered that his fiancée should accuse him of being a false accuser, but he sought to make amends. “This will never do!” said he. “My dear, you know I haven’t sixpence to scratch with. If I run counter to Sandor, it’s bellows to mend—and I’ve a very strong suspicion that Sandor is playing the concave. He’s a damned high stickler, and our marriage is the first thing during all the years I’ve been his ward of which he has approved.”
    Cressida pondered whether or not to take exception to the profanity that had sullied her ears and decided, this time, to let it pass. She wished to appear neither priggish nor commonplace. Furthermore, Neal gave every appearance of a young man about to fly off the hooks. Another of the traits that she lamented in him was a sad volatility. “You have never told me how you came to be his ward. Surely your sister is of an age to set up housekeeping on her own.”
    “Certainly she is, and I’m sure she would, could we but afford to. Binnie has even less liking for Sandor’s hospitality than I.” Neal turned away; they continued their idle stroll. “But no provision was made for her. I suppose our parents were sure she would marry. She is dowered, of course, but no more—and Sandor