Romantic Rebel Read Online Free PDF Page B

sherry.
    We chatted a moment more about Ireland, then I said, “Did you know Paton, from the Quarterly Review, is interviewing Mrs. Speers? He was just shown in.”
    “You mean Lord Paton,” he corrected me.
    I felt a happy ringing in my ears. A lord! This was flying very high indeed. Annie and I exchanged a look of delight.
    “I knew she was expecting him,” Pepper continued. “I hope she is not—feeling poorly,” he said. This suggested her problem was a chronic one. Pepper looked flustered, Annie looked curious, and I looked knowing.
    “Not too badly,” I assured him.
    “It’s the gin,” he explained with an apologetic glance at Annie. “She never has a drop till she has finished her day’s writing, but from three or four on, she tipples rather heavily, I’m afraid. She says her greatest story inspiration comes after a few drinks. She promised to hold off today because of her party. The poor creature has seen all of life. She used to be pretty. Now she looks ridiculous, mutton dressed as lamb.” He smiled appreciatively at Annie’s accoutrements of grief. “But she can still write up a storm.”
    “I trust you won’t have to resort to the bottle, Emma,” Annie joked. Her joking about such a matter showed me she was enjoying herself, and I was glad, since I still had to tell her we were moving to Lampards Street.
    “I understand it is her life of Madame de Stael that Paton is interested in,” I continued. My real aim was to turn the conversation back to Paton, with hopes of garnering a review myself.
    “Oh, certainly. The Quarterly would never condescend to do a critique of my magazine or writers,” Pepper said. “They hold themselves too high for that.”
    Disappointment lent an edge to my voice. “That sounds grossly unfair to me!”
    Pepper replied with a certain heat, “I wish you would tell Paton so!”
    We stayed talking for perhaps ten minutes, during which time Pepper did not suggest introducing any of the guests to us, nor did any of them approach our corner except Mr. Bellows, the proofreader. The others were content to stare in an ill-bred way. It seemed a strangely uncivilized way to carry on at a party, but I was not in the least eager to rub elbows with any of them. The miscellany of accents heard and the frightful appearance of the gathering was enough to make a lady blush to be caught in their company.
    I kept a sharp eye on the hallway, and soon spotted Mrs. Speers showing a wooden-faced Paton to the front door. He did not intend to mix with the hoi polloi then. I thought he had probably made short shrift of Mrs. Speers once he got a smell of her breath. I felt a little stab of disappointment. He was the only respectable person there, and now he was leaving. Across the room, I got a good, long look at him as he said a few words to Mrs. Speers.
    He was not startlingly handsome by any means, but there was a quiet elegance about the man. His hair under the hall lights was the color of dry hay in the sun, a pale gold tinged with a glint very like silver. It was an uncommon shade, not unattractive. He wore it short, smooth to his well-shaped head. I could see his eyes were very dark, but their exact color escaped me at that distance. His face overall looked intelligent and rather pale. The man was no Corinthian. His height was a little above average, but appeared greater due to his lean, graceful body. Yet there was nothing of the man-milliner in his frame. He had good wide shoulders.
    As I gazed, he lifted his quizzing glass, held it to his eye, and made a leisurely examination of the room. I was curious to see his reaction, which prevented me from averting my glance before he looked at me. His disinterest was humiliating. He passed me over with no more regard than if I were a dirty glass on the table. I had expected him to recognize my superior breeding instantly. In the mind’s fancy I had already imagined us sharing a laugh at the infamous party where we had met as he praised my