The Hermit's Daughter Read Free Page B

the Brutus style, with a dark blue coat of superfine that bespoke the tailoring of Weston. His meticulously tied cravat was done in the Oriental style. A curled beaver, a malacca walking stick, and York tan gloves were being handed to Rinkin as she came down.
    Sally was aware of a close scrutiny from a pair of cold gray eyes, accompanied by a surprised lift of two slashes of black eyebrows. An aquiline nose and a square jaw lent distinction to a face that was interesting rather than handsome. Too young for Mama to wind ‘round her finger, she thought, and too wicked for me. She was almost frightened by his forbidding aspect, but familiarity with society allowed her to make the pair welcome with none of the discomposure she was feeling.
    She asked Rinkin to inform Mama the gentlemen had arrived, and ushered them into the Rose Saloon. It was a room much admired in Ashford. The Hermit had not stinted in his furnishings, and Mama had not skimped in having the walls painted an ivory white, with gilt trim on the decorative medallions. It was a feminine room, with a rose-patterned carpet, rose velvet hangings at the windows, a fine white marble Adams fireplace, and many expensive bibelots gracing delicate tables and wall brackets.
    Monstuart’s slate eyes flickered over it, showing no approval nor again any approval when they settled once more on Miss Hermitage. Still, that he did not show disapproval was felt to be a wonder to the young lady. There was some superciliousness in those brows, still raised at a questioning angle, and the lips, which refused to raise a fraction at the ends when introductions were made. Sally took a chair and set herself to the task of amusing the guests till her family came down.
    She essayed a few comments to Lord Monstuart,  who replied monosyllabically, with still that surprised look on his saturnine face. She soon found herself put off by his manner and turned to Der-went. “Mellie will be down presently,”she assured him.
    “There is no hurry, Miss Hermitage,”Monstuart said. “We are happy for the opportunity to have a few words alone with you.”
    She blinked her eyes at such a strange statement, but it was Derwent who made sense of it. “It ain’t Miss Hermitage I’m—that is, it’s Mellie you’ve come to see.”
    Monstuart’s steely eyes froze a moment on Sally, till she felt her bones were turning to ice. It was an extraordinarily peculiar look, partly of surprise, but there was an assessing quality to it, too, as though he had slid her under a microscope for minute examination.
    “Ah, forgive me. I was told I was to meet a beautiful young lady, and as I have done so, I fell into the error of thinking you were Derwent’s intended,”he explained. Sally felt no pleasure at the compliment.
    “Told you she was a blonde,”Derwent reminded him.
    “So you did. I ought to have known it in any case, n’est-ce pas?” His eyes returned to Sally. “My nephew has an unswerving propensity in that direction.”
    She noticed the startled expression was gone from his face. The eyebrows had settled down to a more normal angle, but the new arrangement of features was not more pleasing. He had assumed a sardonic smile. Now what is so amusing? Sally found herself wondering. He had been amazed that Derwent had chosen her— that’s what it was! She was naturally not flattered with this interpretation. That she would never in a million years have chosen Derwent was not considered. It was an insult for the uncle to think he would not have chosen her.
    Monstuart was further surprised to see a flash of anger from the feline emerald eyes regarding him. He looked closely, wondering at the reason for it, but before he had time to consider it, the other ladies were in and being introduced. As soon as he saw Melanie, he knew it was she and no other Derwent would have chosen. A vastly beautiful blond doll, with a soft shy smile and pretty manners.
    He was relieved that the whole family turned out in