Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) Read Online Free PDF Page A

right to see a family resemblance for it was clear to her that the vicar did. She introduced Mr. Sinclair to them, and the vicar stared even harder, his face seeming to pale. But he was a studious man, more often than not within doors with his books, and so was naturally fair-skinned. She smiled at them, then sat down again.
    Diana shifted uneasily in her chair. She had liked Sir James when she first met him—he had arrived at Brisbane House a year ago after long journeys elsewhere, and he was very much a Corinthian. She approved of this far more than Mr. Southworthy’s occasional pious censure of her fondness for sport. She supposed Mr. Southworthy could not help it; he was the vicar, after all. Perhaps a vicar must disapprove of anything that might seem a threat to a virtuous woman, since the vulnerability of women to wickedness always seemed to be the point of the various religious tracts he gave her.
    Sir James, however . . . she squashed her feelings of discomfort. He was an amiable fellow, to be sure, and most ladies in the area seemed very much to find his intense vitality attractive. Further, it was silly to judge a man by the way he handled a horse. Sir James was a superb sportsman overall; it was not his fault if he could not handle horses as easily as she did. Indeed, even Vicar Southworthy was a better horseman, though Diana would never tell either man so, since her mother had said it was not at all politic to mention it to them.
    Diana allowed herself a small, rueful smile. Her mother once said that Diana judged people too harshly on their competence in sport, and it was true. She had tried very hard to rein in her judgments, but her sojourn in London during the Season had only reinforced her beliefs about people’s natures: that sporting people were much less prone to present a false face to society than those addicted to fashion. But Mrs. Carlyle was right, and Diana tried her best not to be so prejudiced.
    It was with a good grace, then, that she took yet another tract from Mr. Southworthy, and nodded to Sir. James. The vicar flicked another curious glance at the newcomer, but Mr. Sinclair did nothing but smile and nod as they passed him.
    Mr. Barrett went to the large table that had been set earlier near the library windows. The solicitor looked uneasy, and Diana felt a little sorry for him; he was a small, neat man, perhaps uncomfortable with what must be the most emotional and upsetting part of his duties. He took out a white pocket-handkerchief, and carefully polished his spectacles before putting them on his nose again, then drew out some papers from a small leather case. Slowly he spread them out, sighed, then looked at the black-clad company before him.
    “I regret I must be present at such a sad occasion,” he began, then cleared his throat. “But Lord Brisbane was meticulous and careful in all his estate matters, and of course it is my duty as his solicitor to carry out his wishes to the last detail.” He ran a hand over the papers—a nervous gesture. “Unpleasant. Most unpleasant,” he muttered. “I shall go through the smaller bequests first, and then we shall proceed to the, er, more important ones.”
    It took a long time. Diana was glad that she had ordered more tea, otherwise she would have fallen asleep at the tediousness of it all. She glanced at her mother, clearly abstracted and not paying attention to Mr. Barrett’s droning voice, and then at Mr. Sinclair. She could not tell if his sleepy look was his natural expression, or if he felt indeed as drowsy as she. Sir James’s usual intensity had an overlay of boredom, while Mr. Southworthy gazed dutifully at Mr. Barrett.
    The solicitor cleared his throat, catching Diana’s attention once again. “And to my niece, Miss Diana Carlyle, the best sportswoman I have had the good fortune to know, I bequeath my racing curricle, for I know she will take care of it to the best of her abilities.”
    Diana’s hand shook, spilling tea from