A Winter Scandal Read Free Page B

lady turned to Thea and gave her a sharp nod. “Now, you my girl, look just as you should. Neat and no-nonsense.”
    Thea felt a sharp, familiar burn in her chest, but she told herself not to be foolish. She could hardly fault the Squire’s old mother for expressing the very sentiment Thea had used as her own watchword tonight: it was better to be thought a dowd than a fool.
    “Course, no telling my son’s wife that. Maribel’s pumped the girls’ heads so full of nonsense, they can hardly see straight. She’s been in a tizzy all week, half the time up in the boughs over her catch and the other half worrying herself to a frazzle that he won’t come. Hah! Serve her right if he didn’t, for going around puffing it up to everyone that he’d accepted.”
    “Still, I am sure that you would not really wish to see her disappointed.”
    “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” The old lady slid a dark, glittering glance at Thea, then let out a heavy sigh. “No, you’re probably right. She’d spend the next week nattering on and on about it till I’d have to keep to my room just to avoid her.”
    Thea looked down at her hands to hide her smile.
    “Well, tell me, girl,” Mrs. Cliffe went on, “is that sister of yours coming home for Christmas?”
    “Oh, yes.” Thea smiled. “I am quite looking forward to it. We get to see her and her children so rarely. But it is always delightful to have all their noise and activity. It makes the house seem truly alive and filled with the spirit of Christmas.”
    “That is the life of a naval wife, I fear, stuck off in some seaport somewhere.”
    Thea did not point out that Portsmouth was hardly the ends of the earth, saying only, “Well, she will be here in just a few more days, so we are happy about that.”
    “Pretty girl, Veronica,” the old woman mused. “Not surprised she made a good marriage. But I never did hold with her having a Season and you not. I told your father so, as well. ‘Vicar,’ I said, ‘you’re slighting your youngest, and she’s got as much right as anyone to have a go at catching herself a husband.’”
    “I was needed at home,” Thea replied somewhat stiffly. “And, indeed, I had little interest in a London Season.”
    She hadn’t wanted to have a Season; she really hadn’t. Thea had known as well as anyone—better, really—that she hadn’t the sort of looks necessary to make a splash in London. Veronica was the acknowledged beauty of the family. Whereas Thea’s hair was a nondescript color, neither red nor brown, Veronica’s hair was a lush, deep auburn, a beautiful contrast to her creamy white skin—which never, ever was touched with the freckles that decorated Thea’s cheeks if she forgot to put on her bonnet when she went out into the garden. And no one would compare Thea’s solemn gray eyes, hidden behind her spectacles, to the color of bluebells, as more than one young swain had said about Veronica’s eyes. Veronica’s form was sweetly curved and delicately feminine, and next to her, Thea’s tall, thin frame looked distinctly storklike. Clearly, just as her father had decreed, it did not make sense to spend the money on Thea’s Season, and anyway, her father had needed Thea to copy out his sermons and keep the house and the vicar’s life running smoothly.
    “Nonsense. Don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t have liked to go to London. I wasn’t born yesterday, far from it.” Mrs. Cliffe let out a cackle of laughter. “But you’re a good daughter not to brook criticism of your father.”
    There was a rustle of movement near the door, and a swift susurration of noise swept around the room. Thea lifted her head, her pulse suddenly pounding in anticipation.
    “Well?” Mrs. Cliffe demanded. “What’s happened? Did he come? Don’t just sit there, girl. Stand up and see what’s going on.”
    Thea was happy to oblige. She popped to her feet, but too many people were between her and the door to see anything. All of the