Free Miss Ryder's Memoirs by Laura Matthews Page A

country. My cousin rose graciously to his feet and regarded me with a sardonic curl of his fleshy lips. “You’re a trifle late this morning, aren’t you, cousin?”
    I allowed him to hold my chair for me. “No later than you."
    “I suppose the rest of them have already eaten and gone about their business. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of Cousin Amanda this morning. I thought she looked peaked at dinner last night.”
    “I assure you she is quite in bloom. You needn’t concern yourself with her health.”
    “I always concern myself with her health. She’s a delicate young woman."
    “Balderdash! She’s no more delicate than I.” When I could see that he meant to retort, I forestalled him by saying, “Her robustness is apparent to everyone but you, Cousin Bret. You are determined upon her delicacy only because she doesn’t like horses and refuses to ride them now that her precious Daisy has been turned out to grass.”
    “She should bring herself to be more comfortable with horses,” he said.
    This from the man who thought he was a genius with horses. Who thought he could control Robert’s horse, Thunder. Once when Cousin Bret dismounted—he told us he dismounted, but I have a grave suspicion that he was actually thrown—Thunder took off for the stable and Cousin Bret was left to walk the five miles home.
    He had continued to make his pronouncements on Amanda’s peculiar habits regarding horses. “It’s strange, with all the rest of you absolutely mad for them, that she has taken this aversion. No doubt it is an affectation that will disappear under the blandishments of one dear to her.”
    I snorted at this obviously ludicrous suggestion. “She isn’t going to change her mind about horses.”
    “But she drove out with Sir John yesterday.”
    “More of a tribute to Sir John than a change of heart.”
    Cousin Bret eyed me reproachfully. “You’re quite mistaken. Sir John is not the sort of man who would appeal to your sister. Cousin Amanda needs someone with stability of character and definition of purpose.”
    I refused to discuss the matter further with him. He’s as stubborn as a man comes, and he was welcome to believe what he wished, so long as it didn’t interfere with my plans. “Where have you been the last few evenings?” I inquired, to change the subject and because I was curious.
    His countenance changed abruptly. “Nowhere special. I’ve gone into Cambridge to visit friends. The Mortons. A superior couple whom I’ve known since the days I spent in London. Most intelligent and worthy. They would be an excellent addition to your acquaintance, Cousin Catherine. Their example would be a good influence."
    “I do hate being insulted at breakfast,” I informed him as I buttered a roll.
    “No insult was intended, I assure you. It is a matter of polish. Mrs. Morton could advise you how to go on, as she has spent considerable time in London among the ton. As I recall, your Season in London was something of a disaster.” I frowned, but he ignored me, patting his full lips with a linen napkin. “Your sister would have made more use of a Season to acquire the necessary town bronze. She’s so amenable to instruction.”
    Which I am not, of course. I could scarcely bear to remain in the same room with him. But there was something he’d said that nagged at me. Not all the stupid talk of polish, but about the Mortons. Could he possibly have visited them two nights in a row? Most unlikely. And hadn’t Jed said something about Thunder being taken out only one evening?
    “Where do the Mortons live?” I asked.
    “On Trumpington Street.”
    “Did they have some special entertainment, to draw you there two nights in a row?”
    He had been chewing on a sausage but his eyes swung alertly to me. “What’s that you’re asking? Two nights in a row?”
    “Isn’t that what you meant? That you had been there both last night and the night before?”
    For a fraction of a second he hesitated, and