Page 37 of Irish Thoroughbred
“Good afternoon to you, Mistress Winters.” Adelia greeted her, determined to act the part of hostess. “Please come in and sit down. Travis is down at the stables, but I’ll be glad to send for him.”
“That’s not necessary, Adelia.” Margot strolled into the living room and seated herself in a wingback chair as if she belonged there. “I came to have a little chat with you. Hannah”—she glanced over at the housekeeper, who had entered behind Adelia—“I’ll have some tea.”
Hannah looked pointedly at Adelia, who merely nodded and moved to join her uninvited guest.
“I shall come straight to the point,” Margot began, sitting back and linking her fingers together in an imperious gesture. “I’m sure you’re aware that Travis and I were about to be married before we had a slight disagreement a few months ago.”
“Is that the truth of it?” Adelia asked with apparently idle interest.
“Yes, it was common knowledge,” Margot stated with a regal wave of her hand. “I thought to teach Travis a lesson by going to Europe and giving him time to think things through. He’s a very stubborn man.” She gave Adelia a small knowing smile. “When I saw the picture of him in the paper kissing this little ragamuffin, I thought nothing of it. The press will blow these things out of proportion. But when I heard he’d actually married some little stablehand”—she shivered delicately—“I knew it was time to come back and set things straight.”
“And may the stablehand ask how you mean to do that?”
“When this little interlude is finished, Travis and I can proceed as planned.”
“And by interlude I suppose you’re meaning my marriage?” Adelia inquired, her voice lowering to an ominous level.
“Well, of course.” Slender shoulders moved at the inevitable. “Just look at you. It’s obvious Travis only married you to bring me back. You can’t possibly hope to hold him for very long. You haven’t the breeding or style that’s necessary to move in society.”
Straightening her spine, Adelia hid her pain with dignity. “I’m telling you this as a fact, Mistress Winters: you had nothing to do with the reason that Travis and I were married. It’s true I haven’t your elegance or manner ofspeaking, but there’s one thing I have you’re lacking. I’ve Travis’s ring on my finger, and you’ll be having a good long wait before you can add his name to yours.”
Hannah entered bearing a tea tray, and Adelia rose and turned to her. “Mistress Winters won’t be staying for tea after all, Hannah. She was just leaving.”
“Play the lady of the house while you can,” Margot advised, rising and gliding past Adelia’s stiff form. “You’ll be back in the stables sooner than you think.” When the door closed with a sharp bang, Adelia let out a deep breath.
“She’s got her nerve coming here and talking that way,” an irate Hannah sputtered.
“We’ll be paying her no mind.” She patted the housekeeper’s arm. “And we’ll keep this visit between the two of us, Hannah.”
“If that’s the way you want it, missy,” Hannah agreed with obvious reluctance.
“Aye,” she replied, staring off into space. “That’s the way I want it.”
Adelia’s nerves remained on edge for several days and showed all too plainly in increased temper. The atmosphere in the house went from a near-stagnant calm to volatile motion. Travis greeted her change in attitude with absent tolerance that changed to strained patience.
She paced the living room after dinner one evening while he sat on the sofa and brooded over his brandy.
“I’m going to take Finnegan and go for a walk,” she announced suddenly, unable to bear the silence between them any longer.
“Do as you like,” he answered with a shrug.
“‘Do as you like.’” She whirled and snapped at him, nerves as tight as an overwound watch. “It’s sick to death I am of hearing you say that. I will not do as I like. I don’t want to do as I like.”
“Do you hear what you just said?” he demanded, setting down his brandy and staring at her. “That is the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard.”
“It’s not ridiculous. It’s perfectly clear if you had the sense to understand it.”
“What’s gotten into you? You make more sense when you mutter in Gaelic.”
“Nothing,” she returned shortly. “There’s not a thing wrong with me.”
“Then stop behaving like a shrew. I’m tired of putting up with your foul temper.”
“A shrew, am I?” Her color rose.
“Precisely,” he agreed with infuriating calm.
“Well, if you’re tired of listening to me, I’ll keep out of your way.” Storming from the room, she flew past an astonished Hannah, out the back door, and into the warm summer night.
