A Winter Scandal Read Free Page A

of history or even the philosophical and religious texts her father had enjoyed were all very well, of course, and Thea read whatever her father or brother ordered from London. But she also had a love of poetry and novels and satire, which were all too scarce in the study at home. When Thea first met Damaris, and their conversation had turned to books, Thea knew she had found a friend. “Is Don Juan terribly shocking? It is supposed to be, but I confess, I cannot wait to read it.”
    Damaris laughed, and Thea joined in, though afterward she said, “I would not tell anyone but you that. I fear I am not a very good example to Daniel’s flock.”
    “Well, they are his parishioners, after all, not yours.”
    “I know. But I do have a certain duty.” Thea let out an unconscious sigh.
    “I promise I shall not tell anyone that you are borrowing it.”
    “Have you read it yet?”
    “My dear, the very evening I got it! Though I shall go back for a longer perusal, of course. But it is wonderful. You will not be disappointed, I assure you.”
    “I am sure that I will not. It is very kind of you to lend it to me.” Thea glanced toward the front of the hall, where the Squire and his wife were still receiving guests. She noted that she was not the only guest who kept turning to look at the entrance. Everyone, it seemed, was awaiting Mrs. Cliffe’s “very special guest.”
    “If Lord Morecombe does not attend, it will spell disaster for Mrs. Cliffe’s party,” Damaris said, following Thea’s gaze.
    “It is foolish in the extreme, of course, to put so much interest in the appearance of one person,” Thea said, feeling a bit guilty at being caught looking. Resolutely she turned so that her back was toward the door.
    “No doubt it is, but still, ’tis difficult not to be caught up in it.”
    Thea glanced around and let out a little sigh as her eyes fell on the row of people seated against the wall. “I had better pay my respects to the Squire’s mother. Would you like to come?”
    Damaris chuckled. “Thank you, but I have already done my duty there this evening. I am afraid you must face the gorgon on your own.”
    Thea had to smile at the comparison. The old woman, who was wrapped in a shawl and grimly studying the occupants of the room, often made one feel as if she could turn one to stone. “If you think the experience is treacherous for you, think of those of us whose every childhood misstep is known to her!”
    Thea bade good-bye to her friend and made her way toward the rear of the room to make her curtsy to the elder Mrs. Cliffe.
    “It’s good to see you, ma’am.” The polite lie slid off Thea’s tongue with the ease of long practice. “I hope you are well this evening.”
    “Hmmph.” The old woman cast a baleful glance at Thea. “As well as I can be, I suppose, with one foot in the grave.” She thumped her cane against the floor and nodded toward the chair beside her. “Sit down, sit down, girl, can’t crane my neck looking up at you like that.”
    Thea sat down beside the old woman. She could not see the door from here, which would serve to keep her from glancing toward it all the time.
    “Bunch of ninnies,” Mrs. Cliffe declared, glaring at the rest of the room. “All agog over seeing some lord no better than they are, when all’s said and done. Well, at least you aren’t as big a fool as the rest.”
    Thea was not sure how to respond to this halfhearted compliment, so she merely nodded.
    “Look at my granddaughters—putting on ribbons and lace and airs, just to meet some popinjay from London who won’t take a second look at them. And their silly mother encourages them—as if some lord from London would have any interest in a bunch of young chits who’ve never been farther than Cheltenham. Isn’t as if any of them are beauties, either. I always say, you only make yourself look foolish acting like you’re a diamond of the first water when anyone can see you’re merely paste.” The old