Free The Romance by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney Page A

and got to work. He sawed a neat square hole in the bottom of the boat and then glued a piece of card over it. The card would become waterlogged and give way—he hoped—when St. Clair was in themiddle of the lake. Such a man-milliner as St. Clair would surely not be able to swim. Ladies did not swim, so Belinda Beverley would need to be rescued as well. He, Perry, would make sure news of the incident got back to the earl. No one would drown; there would be too many people present to help. But it would be a good start to the campaign he had in mind to disgrace St. Clair.
    *      *      *
    As they walked towards the lake later that morning, Lizzie found herself once more accompanied by Mrs. Ingram. ‘I heard you suffered a fright during the night,’ began Lizzie.
    ‘That maid of mine is a terrible gossip,’ said Mrs. Ingram. ‘Ghosts, indeed!’
    ‘But you were frightened?’
    ‘My nerves were playing me tricks. The chandelier was revolving and tinkling and the steel cords had snapped. No headless ghosts, no rattling of chains. I fled to my room like the silly woman I am.’
    ‘Perhaps Mannerling does not like you,’ said Lizzie in a low voice.
    ‘Mannerling does not…! My dear child, it is only a house. Houses do not have
feelings.’
    ‘This one does,’ said Lizzie earnestly. ‘I think it likes me.’
    ‘Tish, child, what sort of nonsense is this?’
    Lizzie averted her face. Mrs. Ingram remembered uneasily that feeling of almost tangible menace which had seemed to emanate from the walls.
    ‘But why should it dislike me?’ she asked in a light voice.
    ‘Oh, Mannerling is like people,’ said Lizzie, turning to look up at her companion. ‘You know, you meet someone and take an instant dislike to them for no reason at all.’
    ‘Enough of this,’ said Mrs. Ingram, ‘or I will begin to believe you and expect the house to start throwing slates at me. Only look at the poor gentlemen, such slaves of fashion. Here we are on this nice sunny day in our muslins and there they go in morning coats, starched cravats, and boots.’
    ‘You are a friend of Lord Gyre, are you not?’ asked Lizzie.
    ‘Yes, and that is all I am, my pert miss with the green eyes. Ah, here we are.’
    She stepped forward as Lord St. Clair was about to usher Belinda into the best rowing-boat. ‘No, no,’ said Mrs. Ingram gaily. ‘Miss Belinda already knows all the delights of this place. You should row Miss Chalmers, and Gyre here can escort Miss Belinda.’
    Saint Clair was too lazy to protest. The rest arranged themselves in the other boats, Mirabel rowing Lizzie and Mrs. Ingram.
    ‘So here we are,’ said the marquess. ‘May I say you are looking divinely pretty, MissBelinda?’
    ‘You may say so, my lord, if it pleases you. Whether I believe you or not is another matter.’
    ‘There are times when I wish you would flirt with me as you do with Saint Clair.’
    ‘You would know me to be false.’
    ‘But I might enjoy the falsehood.’
    ‘Why, my lord?’
    ‘Because you enchant me, Belinda Beverley.’
    ‘Now is you who are only flirting. Your eyes are mocking. Only look at Lord Saint Clair. He is rowing very strongly. I would not have thought him possessed of either the skill or the energy.’
    Lord St. Clair was enjoying himself. Jane Chalmers was praising him fulsomely and he was thinking her a splendid sort of girl when she broke off a fluttering comment on his strength and let out a shriek.
    ‘What’s amiss?’ he demanded, shipping the oars.
    ‘My feet are wet,’ she wailed. ‘Water is coming into the boat.’
    Saint Clair looked down. Her thin slippers had felt the water quicker than his booted feet. ‘Get the bailer,’ he was starting to say when the waterlogged card gave entirely and the boat sank like a stone—and so did Jane Chalmers.
    Before he had become a dandy, St. Clair had hoped to become a member of the Corinthian set and so had learned to fence and swim anddrive a four-in-hand. Their