Love & Folly Read Online Free Page B

librarian."
    She straightened. "At last!" The Brecon library was in dire need of professional scrutiny.
Tiresome Latin sermons by seventeenth century divines jostled family papers and rare incunabula, and no
one knew what was where. "Who is he?"
    "Owen Davies."
    "Davies..." She pictured an ancient Welsh gnome.
    "The rector's youngest."
    "Good God, not the boy with spots!" Dimly she recalled a callow undergraduate sitting beside the
rector's prim wife in the Earl's Brecon church.
    "He has been down from Oxford two years now and wants work. His scholarship is
excellent."
    "But what?" She heard the reservation in his voice.
    He gave her shoulders a left-handed squeeze and his voice lightened with amusement. "But he
tells me he's a poet. I hope his muse will allow him a few hours a day to catalogue the books."
    "Lord, a poet. The woods are full of them. It is all Byron's fault." Elizabeth's mind turned to more
urgent matters. "What am I to do with the twins?"
    "The boys? I thought they looked exceptionally frisky."
    "I meant my sisters. Jean was in tears this afternoon."
    He frowned. "Good God, why?"
    "She's determined to make her come-out, king or no king. It's an idée fixe . And
you know how she creates when she's thwarted."
    Tom laughed. "I daresay she's laying diabolical plots."
    "It is no laughing matter, Tom. She's capable of embroiling herself in a real scandal--and relishing
the melodrama. If only Maggie were a stronger character. Jean listens to Maggie."
    Tom gave her shoulders another squeeze and rose to mend the fire. "Don't fret yourself, my dear.
If worse comes to worst you can ship Jean off to Scotland."
    "She would probably foment a rebellion."
    He laid the poker back in its place and turned, smiling. "That would enliven Lady Kinnaird's
drawing room."
    At that Elizabeth had to smile, too. Her other married sister, Kitty, was a dull woman. Dull and
peevish. "Better Kitty's drawing room than mine."
    "And how did Maggie greet the dreadful tidings?"
    Elizabeth laughed. "Maggie is so much more temperate than Jean. She accepts things as they are."
In spite of herself, a note of censure crept into her voice. Elizabeth herself was not of a placid disposition,
and she sometimes thought Maggie a slow-top.
    Tom leaned on the mantel. "That's not always a bad quality, you know."
    Elizabeth flushed. It was a little uncomfortable when he read her mind. "No, but she is so
sluggish."
    "I shouldn't say Maggie was sluggish. Merely she has the capacity to be happy. That's a gift Jean
doesn't share, poor child. If Maggie were to fall in love, she would live happily ever after. Jean would aim
for Romeo and Juliet."
    "Then let us hope her reach exceeds her grasp."
    A slow smile lit his grey eyes. "Speaking of reaching and grasping, Lady Clanross, should we not
adjourn to the nuptial couch? I didn't ride that cross-gaited tooth-rattler all the way from Grantham to chat
about your sisters."
    "Uxorious man." Elizabeth found she was smiling, too.
    * * * *
    "Hist! You can't be asleep, Maggie!"
    "Mnnn." Maggie blinked her eyes open.
    "What are we going to do?"
    "Do?"
    "I won't wait a whole year to make my come-out."
    "Mm, no." The dying embers of the fire came into brief focus. Maggie snuggled closer to her
sister.
    "We'll have to do something."
    Maggie thought. "Probably."
    "What, daff-head?"
    "I d'know," Maggie said sleepily, "but don't worry so."
    "Why not?" Jean wriggled.
    "Because you'll think of something, sister." She shut her eyes and drifted. "You always do."
    It was possible that Jean said something in reply, but if she did Maggie didn't hear her.

3
    The old king was dead.
    He might have chosen better weather for it, Emily Falk reflected, peering out the window of her
small withdrawing room. The bells of the cathedral had finally stopped tolling.
    What was keeping Richard? A gust of wind rattled the pane in the tall sash window. Emily let the
heavy curtain fall across the shadows of the lamplit street and retreated to her fire,