Smuggler's Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

of all concerned, was also Lady Meredith Blake with her dull, shabby gowns and mouselike manners.
    The carriage drew up outside the foursquare solidity of Sir Algernon Barrat’s South Hill. Until Sir John’s death, the Blakes had been the acknowledged leaders of the community by virtue of family and property. Now the Barrats had that honor, and Lady Barrat was always scrupulous in affording her dethroned neighbor every consideration—a fact that set Merrie’s teeth on edge. She could not, however, refuse the charitable attentions without seeming churlish or drawing unwelcome attention to herself. It was for this reason that she formed one of the select group invited to dine at South Hill before the ball.
    â€œMeredith, my dear.” Patience Barrat hurried across the drawing room to greet her guest. “How well you are looking.” Kindly, she refrained from any hypocritical comment on Merrie’s gown of brown bombazine, the old-maidish fichu at her neck, and the obviously darned cotton mittens. She remembered the time when Lady Blake’s gowns had been the envy of all, but it was hard to imagine that now. The poor creature was quite ground down by her debt-ridden widowhood and those three great boys.
    â€œAll our good friends are here, my dear, so you will be quite comfortable,” she reassured Meredith, drawing her into the room. “We have one excitement though. Lord Rutherford has graciously accepted Sir Algernon’s invitation to join us. I do not suppose any of our young ladies will catch his eye, but you can be sure there are some hearts a-flutter in the village.”
    â€œYes, indeed,” Merrie murmured, keeping her eyes lowered to hide the unlooked-for flash of chagrin. She had not had to wear the brown bombazine tonight. Her green silk, while it had seen better days, was not nearly so frumpish. Sternly, she told herself not to be so foolish. Rob may have liked the man, but what possible interest could she have in or for a London dandy? Besides, she was hardly in a position to indulge in a flirtation, however harmless.
    She was making polite small talk with the elderly Isabelle Carstairs when the butler, in weighty accents, announced Lord Rutherford. There was no denying the quiver of excitement that greeted the arrival of his lordship. Merrie was conscious of a twinge of embarrassment as Patience gushed and twittered and exclaimed at the honor his lordship did her humble abode and how she hoped he would not find the society of simple country folk insipid. Quite how Lord Rutherford could answer that gracefully, Meredith could not imagine. It was a question of the “Have you stopped beating your wife?” order and she watched his reactions with covert interest. He made some deft response, bowing low over his hostess’s hand. Meredith was obliged to acknowledge that he was indeed personable.
    His evening dress was appropriate to the country: long, black pantaloons strapped under his shoes, a black coat with no adornment but its superb cut, a plain cravat tied with a simple elegance that put to shame the elaborate confections of the young sprigs around him. The dark-brown hair was brushed neatly but without artifice. Meredith revised her opinion. Whatever Lord Rutherford may be, he most definitely did not belong to the dandy set.
    She dropped her eyes hastily, turning again to Mrs. Carstairs. Patience was introducing his lordship to those whom she had decided might interest him. It would be Merrie’s turn at some point, but the shabby, indigent widow would come low on the list of importance.

Chapter Three
    â€œMeredith, may I present Lord Rutherford.” The moment came at last. Merrie turned from Mrs. Carstairs to curtsy, giving him her mittened fingers. The darn on the wrist, though neat, did not escape his lordship’s notice.
    â€œLady Blake,” he murmured in response to the introduction. “Servant, ma’am.” His lips brushed the