Page 50 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Eaten by a wolf,” Geoffrey suggested.

“In sheep’s clothing,” replied his father. “Don’t keep us in suspense.” He gestured at the book, annoyingly amused.

“Very well.” Jean wouldn’t be embarrassed. If he wanted his son to hear this, then he would. She found her place and read on. “‘It would both have excited your pity, and have done your heart good, to have seen how fond these two little ones were of each other, and how, hand in hand, they trotted about. They were both very ragged, and Tommy had two Shoes, but Margery had but one.’”

“Shouldn’t the book be calledGoody Three-Shoesthen?” asked Lord Furness.

“Perhaps she catches cold without a shoe,” said Geoffrey. “And dies.”

“Or develops chilblains, at the least,” said Lord Macklin, apparently entering into his great-nephew’s point of view.

“Ye get a limp after a while, walking with only one shoe,” said Tom. “It ain’t good for you.”

Lord Furness laughed.

Jean felt a tremor of amusement in her throat. She resisted it and read on. “‘They had nothing, poor things, to support them but what they picked from the hedges, or got from the poor people, and they lay every night in a barn.’”

“They got to live in a barn?” exclaimed Geoffrey. “I’d like to live in our barn, with Fergus.”

“But with both your shoes,” replied his father.

“Acourse.”

“And all four of his.”

A laugh escaped Jean. Lord Macklin joined in. Tom grinned, and Lily giggled. Geoffrey looked confused, but ready to be amused.

In a more satirical tone, Jean continued. “‘Their relations took no notice of them; no, they were rich, and ashamed to own such a poor little ragged girl as Margery, and such a dirty little curl-pated boy as Tommy.’” She frowned. “What do curls have to do with it?”

“Clearly a sign of ungovernable temper, are they not?” said Lord Furness.

“No!” Jean exclaimed. She caught the gleam in his eye. “Very funny.” She read on. “‘But such wicked folks, who love nothing but money, and are proud and despise the poor, never come to any good in the end, as we shall see by and by.’”

“I sniff a moral coming up,” said Lord Macklin.

“Inescapable in such sickly stuff,” replied Lord Furness.

Geoffrey squirmed.

Jean leafed through the book to see what was ahead. “Margery gets shoes. She is a paragon of virtue.” She paged farther. “She starts giving spelling lessons to other children, and then lessons about life in general.”

“Oh, we must hear those,” said Lord Furness.

Geoffrey sighed audibly.

Jean read, “‘He that will thrive, must rise by five. He that hath thriv’n, may lie till seven. Truth may be blam’d, but cannot be sham’d. Tell me with whom you go, and I’ll tell what you do. A friend in your need is a friend indeed. They ne’er can be wise who good counsel despise.’”

Geoffrey squirmed some more.

Jean flipped more pages. “These go on for quite a while.”

“I think we’ve heard enough to get the gist,” replied Lord Furness. “Platitudes.”

“But what about the sheep and the birds in the picture?” asked Tom.

“Margery makes friends with animals,” said Jean, scanning quickly through the book. “She does many good deeds, is a model of perfection, and makes a success of her life.” There was a chapter about a funeral, she noticed, and a dead dormouse, and a dead husband near the end. The author seemed as enamored of death as Geoffrey. In fact—she read out the end. “‘Her life was the greatest blessing, and her death the greatest calamity that ever was felt in the neighborhood. A monument, but without inscription, was erected to her memory in the churchyard, over which the poor as they pass weep continually, so that the stone is ever bathed in tears.’” Jean closed the book. “Mawkish.”

“No inscription,” said Lord Furness. “Odd.”

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