Free First Comes Marriage by Mary Balogh Page B

seemed to blow in one’s face no matter which direction one took. She buried her hands in her muff, and he wondered if they would now move on to predicting what sort of summer they were likely to have—or whether they would have one at all.

    It was the sort of conversation that was enough to set his teeth on edge.

    The chill air had whipped some color into her cheeks—and nose. As a result she looked quite whole-some in a countrified sort of way, he conceded reluctantly, even if she was not exactly pretty.

    But she too had tired of the weather as a topic, it seemed.

    “You must understand,” she said, breaking a short silence, “that we are as worried as we are elated.”

    “Worried?” He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

    “Worried about Stephen,” she said.

    “Why would you worry about your brother?” he asked. “He has just come into an inheritance that brings with it untold wealth as well as position and property and prestige.”

    “ That is what worries us,” she said. “How will he handle it all? He loves life and he loves to be active. He is also attentive to his studies. He has been working conscientiously toward a meaningful future goal, both for his own sake and for Meg’s, who has sacrificed so much for him—as she has for all of us. He is young and impressionable. I wonder if it is not the worst possible time for this to happen to him.”

    “You are afraid,” he asked, “that all this will go to his head? That he will suddenly neglect his studies and run wild? And become grossly irresponsible? I will make it my mission to see that none of that happens, Mrs. Dew. A good education is essential for any gentleman. It—”

    “It is not of any of that I am afraid,” she said, interrupting him. “His character is good and his upbringing has been sound. A little wildness will not hurt him, I daresay. He has been wild enough even here. It is part of growing up for a man, it seems.”

    “What, then?” He looked at her inquiringly.

    “I am afraid,” she said, “that you will try to make him like yourself and that perhaps you will succeed. He is quite dazzled by you, you know.”

    Well.

    “I am not a good enough model for him?” he asked, stopping walking abruptly in order to glare directly at her. He was not good enough for her brother, a country lad turned earl? After all he had sacrificed during the past year and was going to sacrifice for the next four? Anger bit into him. “And why not, may I ask?”

    “Because,” she said, not avoiding looking directly back into his eyes though he was frowning and not even trying to hide his annoyance, “you are proud and over-bearing. Because you are impatient with all who are beneath you socially and somewhat contemptuous too. You expect to have your own way in everything and become bad-tempered when you do not—just because of who you are. You frown almost constantly and never smile. Perhaps all aristocrats are arrogant and unpleasant. Perhaps it is an inescapable effect of being wealthy and powerful. But I doubt it. It is you, though, who are now effectively Stephen’s guardian despite what Meg may say. It is you who will try teaching him what it is to be an aristocrat. I do not want him to become like you. I should hate it of all things.”

    Well!

    This little dab of a country mouse certainly did not mince words.

    “I beg your pardon,” he said, frowning even more ferociously as his mood deteriorated. “It seems to me we met only a few days ago, ma’am. Or have I mistaken? Do we have a longer acquaintance, which I have unfortunately forgotten? Do you, in fact, know me?”

    She did not fight fair. She used the lamest—and perhaps the most effective—tactic of all. She answered a question with one of her own.

    “And do you know us ?” she asked. “Do you know Meg or Kate or me? Do you know us well enough to judge that we will be an embarrassment to you when we accompany Stephen into his new life?”

    He leaned