Page 41 of A Rogue's Downfall
There had been no dew last night. She tested the grass with one hand, brushing it hard back and forth.Her hand remained dry. She sat down on the bank,drew her knees up, wrapped her cloak more closelyabout her for warmth, and clasped her legs with herarms.
It was the time of day she loved most—early dawn, even before the sun rose. She was not quite sure whyshe liked it, since it was a gray time of day. Perhapsit was the knowledge that there was a whole new dayahead. Perhaps it was the hope that the sun wouldrise to a cloudless sky and that the whole day wouldbe correspondingly bright. Perhaps it was just that sheknew this early in the day that there were still severalhours to go before her aunt would summon her andbegin the constant demand for service. Not that thatin itself was something to be dreaded—Patricia hadalways led a busy life and did not enjoy endless idleness. But she could never please. There was alwaysirritability in her aunt’s voice when it was directed ather. If she set the second cup of chocolate of themorning on the left side of the bed, she should haveset it at the right. And if she set it at the right, thenit should have been placed at the left. It never failed.And the rest of the day always proceeded accordingly.
Patricia sighed and rested one cheek on her up-drawn knees. She had had that dream again last night, whatever it was. She had woken up again with weteyes and aching heart. She would be glad when all theguests were gone. Though of course then there wouldprobably be a wedding to prepare and the certainknowledge that soon Nancy and he ...
She closed her eyes. No, she would not think of him. How very amused he would be if he knew ...And how irate her aunt would be. And how contemptuous Nancy would be.
He was quite shameless in his flattery of both her aunt and Nancy. It amazed her that they both seemedto lap it all up as a cat would cream. Could they notsee that the man was all artifice, that he never spokea true word? And had they not seen the complacentlooks of Mrs. Delaney yesterday? The fact that shehad spent a very satisfactory night in bed with Mr.Bancroft seemed to be written large over her wholeperson. And had they not noted the looks Lady Myronand Mr. Bancroft were exchanging? They were lascivious looks, to say the least.
Was he spending half a night in each lady’s bed? And devouring Flossie for breakfast? Patricia hopedthat he would drop dead of exhaustion. Oh, yes, shereally did. Men with such low morals ought not to beallowed to live on to enjoy them. And any womanwho allowed herself to fall into his clutches was quiteas bad as he and quite as deserving of a bad end.
Oh, dear.
And then she heard the unmistakable sounds of someone approaching. She tensed though she did notmove. No one ever came here. Not at this time of dayespecially. She did not want to be disturbed. She hadso little time to herself. Perhaps it was one of thegardeners come to cut the grass around the pond. Perhaps he would go away again when he saw her. Shewas not one of the great personages of the house, butthen she was not a servant, either.
The footsteps stopped. “Ah,” a voice said. “Little birds who fly down from their branches are in dangerof being devoured, you know. Big bad wolves—ormore probably sleek stealthy cats—are likely to creepup on them unawares and pounce on them.”
Her heart performed a painful somersault, and she wished she had gone to the lake or to the hill—anywhere but the lily pond. “If I were you,” she said, notmoving, “I would not apply for the position of big badwolf or sleek stealthy cat. You would starve. I believethat on your way here you stepped on every twig thatwas available to step upon and brushed against everybranch that could be brushed against.”
“Did I?” He chuckled. “But you did not fly up to the safety of your branch, little bird?”
Her head was turned away from him, but she could hear that he was seating himself on the grass besideher.
“So that you might order me down and lift me to the ground again?” she said. “No, thank you, sir.When a pleasure has been tasted once, it quite losesits savor.”
“What an alarming thought,” he said. “What are you doing up and out so early?”
“Seeking a solitary hour at the lily pond,” she said.“Vainlyseeking, that is. And you, sir? Has Mrs. Delaney tired of being worshiped? Or is it Lady Myron?And has not Flossie yet appeared to perform any of her morning duties?”
“I see that your tongue and a whetstone have been no strangers to each other’s company during the pasttwo days,” he said. “Would you not agree that despitemy nocturnal adventures I have been behaving withfaultless gallantry to my intended and her mother?Come, you must admit that.”
“Where I was brought up,” she said, “we were taught that it is a sin to lie. I do not know where ahot enough corner of hell will be found for you whenyou die, sir.”
“I prefer not to dwell upon the prospect at the moment, thank you,” he said. “But come, Miss Mangan, would this not be a dreadful world and would notgallantry die an ignominious death if we all spoke thetruth without fail?”
She smiled, but he could not see her expression since her face was still turned away from him.
“Well, that at least has silenced you,” he said. “Just picture it, my little bird. ‘Madam, you are plain andtotally lacking in any shape that might be called feminine. Silks and muslins appear lusterless when hungon your person. Looking at you is a pain only intensified when you open your mouth and speak. Madam,would you dance with me?’ or ‘Madam, would youcare to shed your clothes and jump into bed with me?You appear to have been formed expressly for thepurpose of satisfying my lust.’ Would I gain myself aplace in heaven and a golden harp to play upon if Ispoke thus honestly to a lady?”
“Your lack of tact would doubtless make it impossible for you to indulge in any other sin,” she said. “No woman would allow you within a five-mile radius ofher. You might well find yourself living a spotless existence, sir.”
“Ugh!” he said.
She could resist no longer. She still wished herself a million miles away, but he was close by. She couldtell that by his voice. He was sitting very close to her.She turned her head to rest the other cheek on herknees, and gazed at him. He was wearing a dark cloak.He was bareheaded. He was sprawled on the grassbeside her, propped on one elbow. And his eyes werelaughing at her. She remembered then what it wasthat had caused her great stupidity in the first place.It had happened when he had smiled and laughed ather. Nobody ever smiled at her these days.
“Little bird,” he said, “your eyes are too big for your face.”
“Am I to thank you for your honesty?” she asked.
“If you wish.” He grinned. “The thought has just struck me. Did you have a tryst here? Is there someburly and impatient swain hiding in the bushes waitingfor me to make myself scarce?”
“There are probably half a dozen of them,” she said. “But no matter. They will all come back tomorrow. It is my eyes, you see. They slay men by thedozens.”
“Mrs. Peabody is choosing you a husband,” he said. “Is he chosen yet, little bird?”
She thought she detected mockery in his voice. “Yes,” she said. “He is a tenant farmer. Aprosperousfarmer,” she added, emphasizing the adjective.
“Is he?” He plucked a blade of grass and set it between his teeth. “And ruddy and rotund and sixtyyears of age?”
