Free The Village Spinster by Laura Matthews Page B

it as a very good sign indeed and rang for Meg.
    “Could you tolerate a toasted muffin? Or more gruel?”
    “A muffin, please. And an orange, if you have one.”
    Very promising, Clarissa thought. But when the muffin was brought, Lady Aria’s appetite had somewhat abandoned her. She took a bite and then lay back on the sofa, uninterested in anything further. Meg took the toasted muffin away, but left the orange to tempt their charge a little later. Clarissa asked if Lady Aria would like her to read to her a little, and the girl smiled.
    “Just as if I were a child again,” she said, but happily. “I should like that very much. Have you a copy of Evelina?”
    Clarissa laughed. “Of course. What would a household be without a copy of Evelina?” And for the next hour she read to her patient, who seemed to follow the story with no difficulty, if possibly not quite the total interest that she might have on another occasion. They were about to begin another chapter when there was a knock at the front door of the cottage. Clarissa hadn’t the least doubt as to who it would be. She tried to prepare Lady Aria.
    “That will be the earl. He’s very concerned about you and said he would be back this evening to check.” At Aria’s frown, she added, “I cannot very well keep him from you, my dear. He’s your brother and your guardian. I promise you he will not upset you. That’s not the least bit his intention."
    “It is never his intention,” Lady Aria said. “And yet he invariably manages to do so.”
    “Lord Kinsford,” Meg announced, stepping back to allow the earl to enter.
    He was dressed rather handsomely, in a coat of blue superfine, and wearing pantaloons that fit his athletic legs very well. On him the Barrington chin looked more determined than aristocratic, though it was likely that with age it would soften. His brown hair was well cut, obviously by a London barber. His neckcloth was modestly but elegantly tied. He was, in fact, a rather striking figure of a man, the one disconcerting element being his eyes. While they were a rich deep blue and well placed under heavy brows, they were the most assessing eyes Clarissa could ever remember seeing. No wonder the children thought them judgmental.
    “Miss Driscoll, Aria.” His acknowledging nod was cordial, as if he were determined to make a better start this time. He turned to his sister to ask, “How do you go on this evening, Aria? Your mother has sent another epistle and wishes a full report of you."
    His sister took the letter he extended, and tucked it down under the sofa pillow as she had done with the other. Clarissa was not sure whether Aria had remembered to read the last one, and if the same fate were likely for this most recent one.
    “I’m a little better,” Aria assured him stoutly. “My head still aches, but not so much, I think. And my shoulder is a great deal less sore than it was. My fever makes me feel a little odd, but that will go away."
    “Odd? How so?” The earl placed a hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. A small frown appeared on his brow. “You’re still quite warm. Have you taken the fever draught?”
     Clarissa answered for her patient, since she wasn’t sure Aria would remember. “Every four hours today, according to Dr. Lawrence’s instructions.”
    “And the wound?” He held Aria’s chin with his fingers and turned her head so he could better see it. The light was failing outside, however, and he turned to Miss Driscoll. “If I might have a candle, ma'am."
    There was a candleholder with candle and flint nearby on the table near the window. Clarissa felt vaguely annoyed with him for his request, but granted mentally that it was just. She struck the flint and when the paper flared she lit the candle. Instantly it threw light and shadows around the room that made it feel less familiar, almost mysterious. How very fanciful of me, Clarissa thought as she held the light up for the earl to see. His face took on