The Wicked Guardian Read Online Free PDF

Miss Morton’s kindling eye did nothing to put her at ease.
    “So you are related to Choate?” said Miss Morton in a tone calculated to fob off pretenders to intimacy. “I don’t believe I knew much of your connections, Benedict. At least I do not know the Penrycks.”
    Clare was moved, injudiciously, to fence with Miss Morton. “An old family,” she said innocently, “from Dorset. Of course, we prefer our own quiet life to the tumult you have here in this city. You don’t find London dirty? I must confess I am moved to dust everything I see.” Realizing that her words could be interpreted to mean that she herself plied the duster, she added, even more unfortunately, “My own staff at the abbey would be struck with horror.”
    Lady Thane said with a suggestion of tartness, “I am sure, my dear, that you have not found a mote of dust in my house.”
    “Oh, no, dear Lady Thane, but you have such hardworking servants.”
    “But,” said Lord Choate suddenly, “this is your first season in London?”
    “Yes,” said Clare languidly. “I wished not to come at all to London, but I was told that I should come before I grew too old to enjoy it.”
    Miss Morton, who had decided at first that Clare was an importunate, childish connection of her affianced, whom she would make sure to see very little of in the next years, now decided that Clare must be older than she looked. Miss Morton, an only child, had little humor, and a strong tendency to take a literal view of all things.
    Enough of this was certainly enough, she thought, turning to Benedict But her betrothed had a queer look in his eye, one that she had not as yet been privileged to see, and could not decipher.
    “I must regret that our families have grown apart,” he said soberly. “Perhaps Lady Thane will permit me to call upon you one morning next week. I should enjoy pursuing the ramifications of our relationship.”
    Lady Thane, overcome, said faintly, “Of course, Lord Choate.”
    But Clare, conscious of a strong surge of dislike for the mocking light she discerned in his dark eyes, objected. “I fear, Lady Thane, that we will find it difficult for some days to come to find time. With much regret, Lord Choate.”
    Miss Morton’s eyes took on a glitter. Benedict, catching sight of her tucked-in lips, thought better of baiting the girl in the carriage. She was far out of her depth, he realized, if she wished to tilt with Marianna. And he himself, surprisingly, did not wish the child to be publicly shamed.
    And, he thought ruefully, Marianna could do it!
    “Come, Benedict,” said his beloved. “I cannot think why we stand here on the street, when I have told you I wished to go to Botibol’s. Countess Lieven says he has a new shipment of ostrich feathers, and I must see them at once.”
    Bowing civilly to Lady Thane and to Clare, Benedict followed his Marianna to the fashionable black barouche just ahead of them.
    “For all the world,” said Clare, nettled, “like a small lapdog.”
    Lady Thane was horrified. Even more, she was stirred to the bottom of her conventional soul. “Do you know who he is?”
    “A cousin, I daresay,” said Clare. She was beginning to realize now that she had made an error: one of the ever-present pitfalls of the world of Mayfair had sucked her in. She would have, if she could, crawled into a small hole. But she was open to the world in Lady Thane’s barouche, and must of necessity put a good face on things.
    “He is,” said Lady Thane in a stifling manner, “a nonpareil. A notable whip, an arbiter of fashion...” Words failed her, not surprisingly, and she fell back upon the cushions. “Well,” she said finally, as the coachman began to draw ahead, “perhaps all is not lost. I doubt that Choate himself will talk, and Miss Morton, I wager, has already forgotten you. But, child, do not be so forward. It does make you look very young, you know.”
    In part, Lady Thane was mistaken. Marianna Morton had not forgotten