Free The Pretenders by Joan Wolf Page A

that I could swear saw through to my very soul. I stared back and tried to look polite yet inscrutable.
    “Lady Sophia Lambeth, may I present Miss Deborah Woodly,” Lord Bradford said.
    “Hah,” the old lady with the gimlet eyes snorted.
    “How do you, Lady Sophia,” I said, and curtsied.
    Lord Bradford introduced Mama, who got the same greeting as I had. Then Lord Bradford took both our elbows in a firm grip and steered us away from the tyrant who was sitting on the sofa and took us around the room to introduce us to the others who were present.
    First I met Mr. and Mrs. Norton, the neighbors from Hampshire, who appeared to be a pleasant couple in their forties. After them came Lord Bradford’s children,
    Harry and Sally. Harry looked like his father, while Sally was a pretty girl with hazel eyes and brown hair. I knew from Reeve that Harry had just finished at Cambridge and that Sally was seventeen.
    Miss Norton, who was seated next to Sally, looked to be about her age. I hoped that the girls had not read
The Corsair
, but from the looks on their faces as they stared at Reeve, I was very much afraid that they had.
    Mama and I took seats, and Reeve went to get us some tea. I found myself seated next to Mr. Edmund Norton, a youthful gentleman who looked to be a few years younger than I. He had big brown eyes, floppy brown hair, and pink cheeks. He gazed at me with wide-eyed attention, and said a little shyly, “Did you have a tiring journey, Miss Woodly?”
    “Not really. I don’t care to be confined in a coach for such a long period, but otherwise, I can’t complain,” I answered cheerfully.
    He looked as if he wished to say something more but didn’t know what.
    I helped him out by asking, “Are you at university, Mr. Norton?”
    His pink cheeks grew a little pinker. “Yes,” he said. “I am at Cambridge.”
    “Ah,” I said, and took a sip of my tea.
    He looked at Reeve with a mixture of envy and awe. “They still talk about him there,” he said.
    “I am sure they do,” I replied resignedly.
    In fact, the painting of the Head’s house had only been the last in a long series of Reeve’s transgressions at college. The authorities had been very forbearing with him, really. After all, it had been more than usually up-setting to be forced to eject the heir of Lord Cambridge, who in the Middle Ages had been one of the school’s original patrons. But Reeve had been determined to get himself sent down, and eventually, of course, he had succeeded.
    Miss Norton, who had her brother’s big brown eyes and shiny hair, was conversing shyly with Reeve. He appeared to be treating her kindly.
    Then Lady Sophia’s voice cut through the polite chatter in the room. “Well, Reeve, what have you got to say for yourself?” she demanded.
    We all looked at her. I judged her to be one of those ladies who had grown up in the previous century who had no notion of the modern idea of politeness. She would consider it mealy-mouthed not to say exactly what she thought, even if in so doing she trampled all over the feelings of the person whom she was addressing.
    She had Reeve’s dark eyes and his nose, without the bump. In her youth she must have been a great beauty.
    Reeve said, “I hope I find you in good health, Aunt Sophia.”
    “Hah. You can’t fool me, young man. I could be dead for all you know or care. I haven’t heard a word from you in years.”
    The corner of Reeve’s mouth twitched. “I would have heard about your death, Aunt Sophia. There would have been an eclipse of the sun or something equally dramatic to announce the news to the world.”
    The old lady laughed heartily. Then, when she had got her breath back, she demanded, “So who is this gel you’ve asked to marry you? Bernard tells me she ain’t got a groat.”
    Reeve’s eyes met mine across the room.
    “Nary a shilling to my name,” I said cheerfully to the dreadful old woman seated behind the teapot.
    Her dark eyes, so disconcertingly like