Free Althea by Madeleine E. Robins

seem that the young lord and his lady
had had some sort of falling out: the seeds had been perceivable at the
Fforydings’ ball. Tracy thought to himself that it would be a shame if their
infelicity should overset Miss Ervine and, on this notion, he smiled to
himself, continuing up the streets to Cavendish.

Chapter Five
    The atmosphere in the house at Grosvenor Square the next
morning could only be said to be oppressive. Maria slept late, and even after
she did awake, kept to her room, sulking over her chocolate and cards of
invitation.
    Since Mr. Pendarly was to call on her at nine-thirty,
Althea, in her anxiety to be ready at that hour, found herself occupying the
breakfast room with Francis. He wore a very drawn countenance and had that
aversion to sudden noises that bespeaks too much wine and too little sleep. He
did not eat more than a corner of toast but drank several cups of coffee;
Althea felt for him deeply but could think of no words that would fit the
occasion. His conversation was negligible, beyond inquiring of Althea how she
had liked the ball. Then he did no more than sigh, sinking into his own
miserable silence.
    To Althea, sipping her second cup of tea, it was a relief
when Mr. Pendarly was announced and she could go out to greet him. He allowed
her a moment to adjust the very becoming shako on her dark hair and the folds
of the matching gray and green habit before they went out into the street.
    If Edward Pendarly had hoped that the attraction he felt for
Miss Ervine would prove to be illusory, his hopes were to no avail. Miss Ervine
was in splendid looks, her military-style habit and shako hat making the most
of her height and authority. She held out her hand in the friendliest manner,
waiting to be thrown into the saddle, and Pendarly knew that his case was lost.
    “You are here in very good time. It is fortunate for you
that I do not play the belle and delay you half an hour with changing my hat or
some such thing, which my sister tells me it is every fashionable woman’s duty
to do.”
    “I cannot conceive that you would willingly inconvenience
anyone, ma’am.” He smiled warmly. Althea blushed but kept her tongue, waiting
until they were some minutes along on their ride toward the park.
    “I hope you know, sir, that I did not speak as I did to have
you offer me the Spanish coin. I should hate to have you think so.”
    “I shall maintain, Miss Ervine, and not as Spanish coin
either, that I should be much surprised to hear that you had troubled anyone
unwillingly. One cannot, of course, be held responsible for those things that
happen unavoidably.” He spoke with some fervor, and the glow of admiration
persisted still in his eyes. Althea felt the uncomfortable need to disabuse him
of his illusions.
    “You have never seen me in a temper, sir,” she admitted. “I
am told that I am altogether a termagant when I am angry. In fact, I am still
at odds with my father, on account of my having scolded my brother for riding
through the gardener’s prized roses. When I am angry I do not think until after
I have wrought, and by then it is often very late in the day indeed.” Althea
said all of this forthrightly, but tempered it with as much of Maria’s smiling
as she could; in any event the gentleman seemed unimpressed by her confession.
He was, it appeared, determined to think well of her.
    “The case you speak of surely is to your credit, ma’am. To
incur your father’s displeasure over another’s sensibility — I collect those
roses were something special to the gardener? — that surely indicates a great
measure of consideration.”
    “I beg you will tell my father so, sir,” she said dryly They
had entered the Park now, and Althea would have dearly loved a gallop, but of
course this was London, not the long meadow at Hook Well, and such a display,
she was persuaded, would ruin her credit forever. She contented herself with a
sedate pace, keeping alongside Mr. Pendarly and enjoying the cool