Maggie MacKeever Read Online Free PDF Page B

will not allow her to touch her dowry. He would not wish to short her husband, he says, in the unlikely event that she does wed. As to how it came about, our parents died within weeks of each other, and we were both underage. Sandor made himself responsible for us, though I cannot imagine why. Certainly not of generosity! And ever since he has contrived to see us reduced to such straits that we are brought to a standstill.”
    Such excess of emotion did not meet with the approval of Miss Choice-Pickerell. “His Grace has always been all that is polite, to me,” she said repressively.
    “Oh, Sandor can play the pretty, when it suits him.” Neal’s laughter was mirthless. “Take my word for it, Cressida, he’s the devil incarnate. And now there’s this Mannering chit, whom he will doubtless also somehow use to his advantage. A very pretty piece of business it is! I wish myself well shut of it.”
    So irate was Neal’s demeanor, so flushed his countenance, that it caused Cressida quite a fright. “Don’t put yourself in a taking,” she advised, rather unwisely. “Since you are so concerned with the duke’s opinion, you might reflect that he would hardly approve you making an exhibition of yourself.”
    Lieutenant Baskerville turned on his fiancée a countenance that was totally devoid of affection. “Moonshine!” he said roughly. “Don’t you go ringing a peal over me, Cressida; I have quite enough of that from Sandor. And so little do I care for the high-and-mighty duke that I would rejoice to see him dead!”
    “Well!” Cressida drew away and stared. “How dare you speak so to me! Never did I think that you would use me in this vulgar way.”
    Cressida’s notions of vulgarity did not march with Neal’s, but he did not demonstrate to her the difference. In truth, Neal was himself, shocked at the fervor of which he was guilty. Too, it was hardly prudent to voice a wish for the death of a man who had countless enemies. Were the duke to be found murdered some glorious morn—a not improbable event considering, for example, the enmity in which he was regarded by one Colonel Fortescue—Neal would likely find himself among the prime suspects.
    “My apologies.” Ruefully, he ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. “The truth is that I’m sadly out of curl. I would much rather spend my afternoon with you than set out on the trail of the Mannering chit. Say you will forgive my boorish behavior, my dear.”
    Cressida studied her gloved hands, of which she was very proud: small hands and feet were one of the first essentials of beauty required by the ton. Not for the first time, she lamented that a young lady of her innate gentility should be born into the world of commerce. She also lamented that her means of entree into the upper spheres should be a gentleman prone to hey-go-mad humors. “In view of your mood,” she responded severely, “it is perhaps for the best that our engagement for this afternoon is broken. You offer me a very poor sort of amusement, Neal.”
    What Neal was tempted to offer his fiancée was violence. Never had he realized so clearly that their sentiments were opposed. So far was Miss Choice-Pickerell from understanding his feelings regarding his overbearing cousin that she clearly thought him prone to brief fits of lunacy. “You leave me,” he said stiffly, “nothing more to say.”
    But Cressida was a clever girl, and she knew when she’d gone too far. She laid her dainty hand on Neal’s arm and gazed up at him beseechingly. “Now it is I who must offer apology,” she murmured. “I have spoken hastily, and out of turn—but it is concern for you that prompted me to be so mannerless. It makes me very unhappy to think that you and your cousin have grown so estranged. Knowles is a very influential man. I wish you would be more careful in your dealings with him. Why, if you displeased him sufficiently, he could probably even have you clapped in jail!”
    That this sudden