The Wagered Widow Read Online Free PDF Page A

no?”
    Rebecca contemplated the expanse of her creamy bosom and had the grace to blush. “The tools of conquest,” she murmured provocatively.
    Mrs. Boothe gasped quite properly, but her dimples quivered.
    Millie, Rebecca’s abigail, her voice as blunt as her face was square, asked gruffly, “Which rings, Mrs. Rebecca? With the little roses you’ll likely want the pearls and rubies?”
    â€œYes, thank you, Millie. And my pink tulle scarf, if you please. You really powdered my hair beautifully.”
    Glancing with fond pride at the richly upswept curls and the pink velvet ribbons she had wound amongst them, Millie said, “Is it very special tonight, ma’am?”
    Mrs. Boothe put in, “It well may be!”
    Rebecca smiled and turned to her son. “How did you go on in the park, dear? Your cheeks are rosy as any apples.”
    â€œI had a jolly good time, Mama.” He sank to his knees beside her as she again sat at her table, adjusting the shawl Millie draped across her shoulders. “We met the kindest gentleman. He had a boat. A model galleon. With guns and—and everything! And he let me sail her in the lake. He was a friend of Uncle Snow’s. And Uncle Snow took me up with him on Pax, and it was the best afternoon ever!”
    She ruffled up his thick auburn curls lovingly, then frowned. “Your hair is wet!”
    â€œOh. Well—I sort of fell in,” he confessed, with a guilty grin. “A little bit.”
    â€œA little bit!” She scanned the delicate features in immediate anxiety.
    From the open doorway, Mrs. Falk, the housekeeper, tall, starched, angular, and greying, proclaimed in her nasal twang, “The boy was soaked, marm. I told him not to go near the edge, for it is very slippery just there. The gentleman fished him out and thought it most amusing.”
    â€œOh, yes. He was a great gun,” declared Anthony, his eyes flashing merrily.
    With a grim look at Rebecca, Mrs. Falk said, “Is not the term I had in mind, marm. Nor I do not think you would have—”
    There was no time for more, for at this point Snowden entered, a vision in purple and gold. “What’s to do?” he asked breezily. “You ladies ready? I fancied you would be waiting downstairs. Jolly decent of old Forty to invite us for dinner, y’know. Shouldn’t keep him waiting. His cook’s a tiger!”
    Typical of the man who is himself invariably late, he was all impatience, and his charges were obliged hurriedly to gather up fans, shawls, and reticules and trip down to the waiting carriage. Once inside, and with the coachman whipping up the horses, Rebecca blew another kiss to Anthony and, settling back against the squabs, said, “How nice it is that one of us still can keep up a carriage. How you manage it, Snow, I cannot guess.”
    â€œCouldn’t get along without one. There’s always some way to arrange these matters. Shouldn’t have let yours go. At all events, mine is at your disposal, as I have said. You should use it more often, if only to take my nephew for a drive. Little varmint enjoys sitting up on the box.” He added thoughtfully, “He is looking much less down pin these days, Becky. A touch pale, but better.”
    â€œYes. He has recovered nicely, I dare hope. But that dreadful illness has left him much too frail. How I would love to take him into the country for a while.”
    â€œIt’s a frail lad with a lion’s heart,” he said bracingly. “Never fret, m’dear, he’ll be a fine man some day. And his mama is certainly a fine figure tonight. That’s a nice gown. But remember—no dancing, lest the ton think you disrespectful to poor Forbes.”
    â€œAs you say, dear,” said Rebecca meekly.
    â€œShe will be the new Toast,” declared Mrs. Boothe, with fond prejudice. “Mark my words, Snowden, no lady can hope to outshine your sister