Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice Read Free Page A

them.
    “But, surely, Mrs. Armistead, you are aware that the streets of London are not where a well-favored young lady should be found so late in the day unless appropriately accompanied.” He neglected to add that Bond Street was meant to be the sole province of males once the shadows began to lengthen, a fact of which she should certainly have been in possession, India or no.
    “Oh, dear! Is that so?” she replied with a flutter of her hands. “I hadn’t the slightest idea. Dearest Elizabeth did mention something along those lines, but Miss Hale was weeping so volubly that I was unable to make out what Elizabeth was saying. Dearest,” she said, turning to Miss Armistead. “I had not wished to subject you to such peril. How fortunate we are that this fine gentleman was by.”
    “Yes, Mama,” Miss Armistead replied as she reached out to pat her mother on the hand, “we are. However, it would be rude beyond bearing if we were to trouble Mr. Lloyd-Jones for a bit longer than need be. I am persuaded he was just about to sit down to his dinner when I arrived and for that I am most contrite.”
    “Mr. Lloyd-Jones?” her mother asked with a nervous twitter. “Don’t say you are one of the Shropshire Lloyd-Joneses!” she exclaimed. “But, of course you are! How could I not have seen it immediately? Why, I grew up in the parsonage at Kempton and have many a pleasant memory of your father and uncles riding out on their lovely horses.”
    Colin subdued a groan. Here it was, the vexatious groveling over his family and their fulsome funds followed by the gushing recital of connections and common relations, most of which were invented out of whole cloth. Worse was his realization that the Armistead’s knew to lie in wait for him. Mrs. Armistead must have noted the family resemblance the moment she clapped eyes on him; gray eyes, dark, curly locks and a dusky complexion were the Welsh inheritance of each and every Lloyd-Jones of his acquaintance.
    Drawing deeply upon the well of generations of training, he allowed the expected smile to curve his lips. “Yes, indeed” he replied as he sketched the matron a brief bow. “I believe your people are no longer living at the parsonage,” he added with a sidelong look at Miss Armistead in order to know her reaction. He was puzzled by the color that suffused her face and more so by how she continued to gaze steadily into her lap. The thought had more than once crossed his mind that she must be an excellent actress, but he was forced to own that it was impossible to feign a sincere blush.
    Mrs. Armistead must have taken in her daughter’s discomposure, as well. “Oh, my, have I misspoken?” Mrs. Armistead asked.
    “No, Mama, it’s only that I am persuaded we have troubled Mr. Lloyd-Jones long enough. Perhaps he ought to be relieved of his duties as host. We shall do quite well on our own, shall we not?”
    “Dinner has been pushed back, already,” Colin said with a wave of his hand at the butler who had toed open the door and was listening for his prompt to enter the library. “It would not be equitable to require Cook to bring it on again so soon.” With his words, the butler’s highly polished shoe disappeared from behind the door that shut so quietly even Colin did not hear it. To his chagrin, he was now fully committed to the entertainment of the ladies until they might be once again on their way.
    There followed a thorny silence before Mrs. Armistead made what promised to be another unfortunate attempt at small talk. “There is to be a ball at the Carruth’s in two days time. As a Lloyd-Jones, I warrant you must have been written in at the top of the guest list. Have you plans to attend?”
    “You honor me, ma’am, but I don’t believe I have been invited to that particular ball.” Colinrestrained himself from looking to the mantle where lay the invitation designed to proffer him entrance to the very ball of which she spoke.
    “Oh, dear! Well, then, what