Free Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton Page B

hand you the plate of cakes, Mrs. Budge.” She saw how Mrs. Budge after that whisper had given Mr. Davy a gratified look and then how her piggy eyes fell from the actor’s face to the diamond nestling among the snowy folds of his cravat.
    “I don’t think I will have a cake, sir,” simpered Mrs. Budge. What Mr. Davy had whispered to her when she had said she was a friend of Sir Philip had been, “Oh, my heart. What a pity. What a waste.” The import of these words had sunk into her ample bosom. Mrs. Budge was suddenly aware of her own great girth set against the elegant slimness of Mr. Davy and resolved to eat less, just a little less.
    “Sir Philip!” commanded Lady Fortescue. “Join us for a moment. There appears to be a discrepancy in the accounts.”
    “As Miss Tonks has been doing the accounts lately, I am not at all surprised,” said Sir Philip. “That widgeon cannot even add two plus two.”
    Arabella saw anger flash in Mr. Davy’s eyes, but Miss Tonks said, “Don’t be such an old fool, Sir Philip. If there is any discrepancy in the accounts it is no doubt you, sir, trying to hide your extravagance.”
    Sir Philip sat down beside Lady Fortescue, took out his quizzing-glass and examined the accounts.
    “It is a while since I have been in Town,” said Mr. Davy quietly to Mrs. Budge. “I miss female company. My poor wife died some years ago. She never lived to see me make my fortune.”
    Mrs. Budge looked thoughtfully at the cake plate so temptingly near and restrained herself with an effort. “Well, sir,” she said archly, “I am sure when Sir Philip is busy about his duties I could find time to accompany you, although perhaps, on second thoughts, he might not like it.”
    Mr. Davy’s eyes danced wickedly and he murmured, “Then we shall not tell him, madam. Now I have rented a handsome carriage and thought to take the air at two o’clock tomorrow.”
    Mrs. Budge felt like Cleopatra. Her breath began to come and go quickly. “If you was to take me up just outside Lord Nelson’s old house down the street, then that would not be offending a certain gentleman.”
    “And what do you think that was all about?” whispered Arabella to the earl. She leaned close to him and he could smell her perfume.
    “I think everything is going splendidly,” he whispered back.
    But Miss Tonks noticed that Sir Philip, closing the accounts book with a snap, had his pale eyes fastened on the couple in a speculative way. The old man’s brain was obviously working at a great rate.
    “Sir Philip,” said Miss Tonks, “have you found any error?”
    “No, I haven’t, mophead.”
    “Don’t be rude,” said Miss Tonks with a new confidence given by the smart crop covered with a dainty lace cap. “You must admit I do the figures very neatly. And why are you so nasty about my hair?”
    He crossed over to her and put his head on one side. “You look very well,” he said gruffly. “I’m old and I don’t like change of any kind.”
    “No more do I,” said Miss Tonks, looking sadly at Mrs. Budge.
    Sir Philip experienced a rare pang of conscience. He had no right to be so nasty to Miss Tonks when she had saved his life by shooting that highwayman on the Fosse in Warwickshire. And she
had
changed. No one could ever call her pretty, but Miss Tonks had a certain air of breeding and elegance which… He looked at Mrs. Budge and his brain snapped down on the thought. He was old and was entitled to a few pleasures. And who was this Mr. Davy who had sprung from nowhere?
    “Oh, you have a pianoforte,” exclaimed Arabella. “Is that a new purchase?”
    “Yes,” said Lady Fortescue. “Colonel Sandhurst bought it second-hand the other day in the fond hope that I would play to him; but it is years since I have played anything. Miss Tonks confesses to being a poor performer, and so it remains silent, which is probably just as well. It has obviously not been tuned this age and is sadly tinny.”
    “What about you, Miss