Winter Wonderland Read Free

delicious combination of gracelessness and gaucherie!”
    There was another roar of laughter from the gentlemen, but Miss Pardew merely smiled. Nevertheless, Barnaby could see that she was enjoying herself. She seemed to find it amusing to turn a man into a fool. Barnaby was not so green that he didn’t recognize her delight in flaunting her power over him, and in having Sir Rodney witness that power.
    Barnaby blinked up at her, wondering how to end this torture. No longer did she seem beautiful or desirable. The only desire he felt was an urgent wish to be gone from her presence. “Excuse my p-presumption, ma’am,” he said, making a quick but clumsy bow. “I obviously made a mistake. I wish you g-good evening.”
    But she was not yet through with him. “I would wish you good evening in return, sir, but it seems I’ve forgotten your name. Or did Lord Shallcross fail to give it to me? What is your name, fellow?”
    Barnaby had the urge to tell her to take a damper. To cut line. To cease her gibble-gabble. His brothers would not hesitate to say those things. Rudeness , he wished he had the courage to retort, is only weakness masquerading as strength .
    â€œDid you hear me, fellow?” she persisted. “What is your name?”
    He stared up at her, tongue-tied. What did she want with his name anyway? To use it as the subject for her mirth after he was gone? Never mind my name , his mind said silently. I only want to say that this meeting was a pleasure — if not in the arrival, at least in the departure . But overwhelmed with shyness and humiliation as he was, he was incapable of defending himself in any way, of paying her in kind, or even of making that mild rejoinder. He could only answer helplessly, “My name is Bar—”
    But she held up a restraining hand. “No. On second thought, don’t tell me. Please don’t give me your name.” She flipped the upraised hand in a gesture of airy rejection. “I’d rather dismiss you incognito .”
    The onlookers roared at this riposte. And the lady, having reduced the poor fellow to quivering jelly, was now ready to return her attention to Sir Rodney, her main objective. She turned away at last, leaving Barnaby free to make his escape. As he pushed his way through the crowd, he could hear her tinkling laughter as it merged with the hoots of hilarity the others were expelling at his expense.
    He got through the rest of the evening somehow, and later, at home, he sat down in front of the sitting room fire to think over the event. The evening had been a battle, just as he’d anticipated. And he’d lost it. He had to admit that. He’d lost it ignominiously.
    He stared at the dying fire, experiencing the humiliation of defeat. But he didn’t wallow in mortification for long. He was too young and too hardheaded, he decided, to let one defeat overwhelm him. There were many battles of the sexes still ahead of him. He would enter the fray again, and the next time he would be better prepared. The war’s not over yet , he said to himself, squaring his shoulders. Not by a long shot!

One
    Honoria, Lady Shallcross, had a select circle of friends—like herself, refined, mature ladies of impeccable taste and breeding—who gathered in her drawing room weekly to do what ladies of such refinement are wont to do: drink tea and gossip. And one of their favorite subjects of gossip was Honoria’s own brother-in-law, Barnaby Traherne. What made him interesting was the paradoxical fact that, although he was tall, handsomely featured, and reasonably well-to-do, none of the marriageable young ladies of the ton seemed inclined to set their caps for him.
    The subject became almost heated one day when Honoria, pouring out the tea for the large-bosomed Lady Lydell, chanced to remark that this was Barnaby’s thirtieth birthday.
    â€œIt’s positively shocking,” Lady Lydell observed, helping