Season's Regency Greetings Read Free Page B

should say nothing, she told herself as she sat with her hands folded politely, her ankles together. He will think I am vulgar. Besides, I am leaving as soon as I can.
    He cleared his throat and she looked up.
    â€œ Miss Ambrose, I am sorry for this disorder in which you find us.”
    He is self-conscious about this, she thought. I think he even wishes he had combed his hair. Look how he is running his fingers through it. She smiled. I suppose even brilliant barristers sometimes are caught up short. Well, join the human race, sir.
    â€œ Oh, please don’t apologize, Lord Trevor,” she said. She hesitated, then gave herself a mental shrug. This is a man I do admire, she thought. What can it hurt if I say something? I will be gone tomorrow. “Lord Trevor, I … I sometimes read in the newspaper of your legal work.”
    â€œ What?”
    She winced inwardly. How could one man invest so much weight in a single word? Was this part of his training? Oh, Lord, I am glad I will never, ever have to face this man in the docket, she thought. Or over a breakfast table.
    She opened her eyes wider, wondering at the origin of that impish thought. She reminded herself that she was a teacher, and dedicated to the edification of her pupils. Breakfast table, indeed! She dared to glance at him, and saw, to her temporary relief at least, he had not turned from the fireplace, where he warmed his hands.
    â€œ I beg your pardon, Miss Ambrose,” he was saying, “I must have misheard. Do forgive me. Did you say that you read the newspaper ?”
    â€œ I do,” she replied simply. She discovered that she could no more lie to this man than sprout wings and fly across the plain of York. In for a penny, she thought grimly. “And … and I am a great admirer of your work.”
    It must have been the wrong thing to say, she decided. Why on earth did I admit that I read the paper? she asked herself in misery as he slowly turned around from his hand warming. As he raised his eyebrows, she wished she could vanish without a trace and suddenly materialize in her Bath sitting room, grading papers and waiting for the dinner bell. “Well, I am,” she said.
    He smiled at her. “Why, thank you, Miss Ambrose.” He seated himself beside her. “Do you pass on what you learn to your students?”
    She listened hard for any sarcasm in his voice, but she could detect none. She also did not see any disparagement or condescension in his face, which gave her heart. “No, I don’t pass it on,” she said quietly, then took a deep breath. “I only wish that I could.” She sat a little straighter then, suddenly feeling herself very much the child of crusading evangelists. “I believe you should receive great credit for what you do, rather than derision, Lord Trevor. Didn’t I read only last week that you had been denied a position of Master of the Bench at Lincoln’s Inn?”
    â€œ You did, indeed,” he replied. “Sometimes I imagine that the Benchers wish I had been called from another Inn.” He shrugged. “Even my brother Hugo calls this my ‘deranged hobby.’”
    The maid came in with coffee, which Cecilia poured. “You are going back to London tomorrow?” she asked.
    â€œ I am, as soon as Hugo and Maria arrive. Lowly Magistrate’s Court does not sit during the holiday, but I have depositions to take.” He took a sip and then sat back. “I know my solicitor could do that, but he wanted to spend the week with his family in Kent. I am, as you might suppose, a soft touch for a bare pleading.”
    â€œ I am delighted to have met you, Lord Trevor,” she told him.
    The housekeeper stood at the door to the sitting room. Lord Trevor rose, cup in hand, and indicated that Cecilia follow her. “She’ll show you to your room. We keep country hours here, so we will eat in an hour.” He winked at the housekeeper, who