Maggie MacKeever Read Online Free PDF Page A

same time she detested her own meek and self-effacing servility. Moreover, she suffered the unhappy consequence of having inadvertently espied her reflection beside Jaisy in a looking glass. Lady Easterling had been absolutely stunning in an evening gown that could hardly have been more revealing, with traces of Ionic influence in the sleeves and palmetto border at her hemline. Beside her, Miss Valentine—dark hair drawn back in an unfashionable coil at the nape of her neck; the pleasing proportions of her slender person very adequately camouflaged by her simple muslin gown—had looked a dowd. As might have been expected, the dowager duchess required that her hired companion display no presumption, such as costume à la mode, even while enjoying a treat.
    Sara sighed. Now she supposed she would be chastised by her employer for escaping at the first opportunity into the garden, where Confucious had been banished, due to an annoyance exhibited by the Pekinese at the mass invasion of his domain. “Aren’t we a sorry pair?” inquired Miss Valentine of her companion in solitude. Possessing no more compassion than good nature, Confucious snarled.
    At that moment, the garden—a small area walled in with old red brick, in which daylight would reveal a circular pool bordered by annuals, and a single noble tree—was invaded by a third refugee from the revelries. “Well met, my precious!” said Jevon, as he disposed himself beside Sara on an oak bench in the shape of a seashell. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. A wretched crush inside, is it not? How wise of you to seek out fresh air and privacy—and how wise of me to seek you out, because now I may benefit also.” He paused; on his handsome features appeared a faint frown. “If you wish to be alone, my Sara, you need only say so; it is not at all necessary to growl!”
    “Not I, you wretch!” Sara laughed, as with considerable expenditure of energy she prevented Confucious from leaping at the newcomer’s throat.
    “No?” Jevon quirked a golden brow. “Do my ears play me false? I distinctly heard—in point of fact, I still do hear—”
    Parodying perplexity, he peered around Sara. On the far side of her slender, muslin-clad person, Confucious bared his remaining teeth. “Good girl!” said Jevon, with frank sincerity, as he hastily drew back. “I beg you will continue to restrain that misbegotten cur. I also beg that you will tell me what has driven you into the garden at this inappropriate hour.”
    Sara turned her head to study her companion, who had settled himself quite comfortably on his side of the bench. Perhaps better than any other of his vast acquaintance, including those ladies of a certain description with whom he had long enjoyed such heady success, Sara understood Jevon Rutherford. He was a cynic, albeit charming; indolent and disenchanted; lazy though well-bred. Accustomed to having females hurl themselves at him, it was to Jevon’s credit that he had not grown callous, merely blasé.
    Sara neither censured her old friend for his countless peccadilloes, nor the fair barques of frailty who encouraged his profligate way of life. Sara herself was not immune to Jevon’s charm, and supposed it a tribute to the quality of their friendship that he had never seriously tried to lead her into an affair of gallantry.
    But Jevon was waiting patiently for her response. “Inappropriate?” she echoed. “Why is that?”
    Jevon was not unaware that his friend was in the mopes; therefore he set himself to elevate her spirits. “Rather, I should have said,” he responded provocatively, “that trysts in moonlight gardens are not in your style.”
    “You should know, I imagine!” Miss Valentine retorted irritably. “Being an expert on the subject.”
    Certainly Jevon Rutherford possessed a good heart; he did not take objection to this slur. “Were you in the habit of moonlight trysts, I would know of it,” he continued serenely, “since I have been