Sheer Folly Read Online Free Page B

Slackers!” he said to Mr. Pritchard. “You should give them all notice.”
    â€œBut . . .” Pritchard caught Julia’s alarmed eye and continued with a look of enlightenment, “but the only one who can drive is my chauffeur, and it’s his afternoon off, I’m afraid. Sorry, Lady Gerald, I ought to ’ve changed his day.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Lucy said dryly. “I’m sure Rhino was delighted to make himself useful.”
    Rydal snorted.
    Daisy didn’t hear any more. Mrs. Howell, having dismissed the butler with a brusque “That will be all, Barker,” asked her if she took milk and sugar in her tea. “The scones are all gone. I hope you didn’t want any, because they’re busy with dinner in the kitchen.”
    â€œThey’re better hot from the oven anyway,” Lady Beaufort pointed out.
    â€œThere’s plenty of Welsh-cakes,” Mrs. Howell went on. “Brin insists on Welsh-cakes. I myself consider sponge cake far superior.”
    Daisy politely disclaimed any interest in scones. She accepted a Welsh-cake.
    Without any reason that Daisy was aware of, Mrs. Howell seemed to have taken against her, not even having greeted her properly. Her curiosity was piqued. It didn’t make sense. For one thing, if the woman disapproved of cocktails at half past five, she should have approved of Daisy’s choice of tea. She could at least have apologised for the dearth of scones, or better, not mentioned it at all rather than aggressively announcing the lack thereof.
    Lady Beaufort cast a mildly malicious glance at Mrs. Howelland enquired, “Well, Daisy, how is Lady Dalrymple? The Dowager Viscountess, I should say. She seemed very well when we met her in town at Christmas.”
    â€œOh yes, Mother’s flourishing, thank you.” Even though the lady in question bitterly resented living at the Dower House and still refused to admit that the present Lord and Lady Dalrymple had any right to Fairacres—but Daisy’s mother wouldn’t have been happy with nothing to complain about. “Did you see my sister, Violet, and Lord John? They didn’t bring the children up on their last visit, alas. I don’t see enough of my nephews and niece.”
    â€œLady John was there, but her husband had already gone back to Kent. I understand you have little ones of your own to keep you busy.”
    â€œTwins, a girl and boy. They’re just over a year. And my stepdaughter, of course. Belinda is nearly thirteen already and away at school.”
    â€œI wish Julia would hurry up and give me grandchildren.”
    During this conversation, the most extraordinary change had come over Mrs. Howell. Scarlet in the face and pop-eyed with indignation, she had jumped up and rung the bell (an electric button rather than a tasselled rope, as befitted Pritchard’s discreet modernisation). When the butler came in, she berated him.
    â€œBarker, why didn’t you bring scones for Mrs. Fletcher?”
    Surprised, Daisy was about to assure her she was perfectly happy without, when Lady Beaufort gave her a slight shake of the head. While the butler apologised with proper impassiveness and went off to repair the deficiency, Daisy finished off her Welsh-cake.
    The reason for Mrs. Howell’s change of heart was all too obvious. Until Lady Beaufort enquired after the Dowager Viscountess, their hostess hadn’t realised that Daisy was a sprig of the nobility. The daughter of a viscount must not be denied scones just because the kitchen staff were busy preparing dinner.
    On the whole, Daisy preferred Mrs. Howell’s discourtesy toher sycophancy. However, she felt obliged to eat a buttered scone, though she really didn’t want it after the delicious but rich and sugary cake.
    Bolstered by Lucy’s admonitory gaze—Lucy was sure she could slim if she tried—Daisy adamantly refused a second scone. She returned the