Free The Selfless Sister by Shirley Kennedy

the poor thing was, drops at my feet.”
    “Not a grouse,” he corrected. “Grouse are moorland birds and there’s no moorland around York. It’s not a pheasant either, it’s a partridge. To be exact, a Grey Partridge.” Ah, how he admired that sweet curve of her breast beneath her simple gown. Damme, who was she?
    “Oh,” she answered, looking slightly embarrassed at her lack of knowledge of game birds. Good! he thought, feeling a small triumph that he’d gotten the better of this sassy chit. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so blunt about it, though.
    She regarded him with those big brown eyes which now had softened a bit. “Would you like to know what has me truly upset?”
    “I am all ears,” he said, not bothering to conceal his amused smile.
    She held out her sketch pad. “I was sketching a yellowhammer.” She frowned at the shotgun he was holding. “You frightened it away with that gun.”
    He didn’t like the downright disparaging manner in which she had said that gun . “I’ll have you know this isn’t any gun. It’s a double barrel sporting flintlock shotgun.” He waited for her expression to change, not to one of wonderment, perhaps, but at least she could look slightly impressed. She didn’t. “It’s made by Thomas Manton,” he added. He couldn’t believe he actually felt the need to defend himself. “As I’m sure you must know, Thomas Manton makes only the finest of guns.”
    He might as well give up. The young lady was decidedly not impressed. Ah, well. He solemnly took her still-proffered sketch pad and examined it. “Not bad, but it’s not finished.”
    “Of course it’s not finished, thanks to you,” she answered testily. “It’s not every day one sees a yellowhammer. Now he’s gone. Probably forever.”
    “A pity,” he answered. She was so annoying the devil got the better of him. “Tell me, was it worth a shot?”
    She looked totally bewildered. “What do you mean, was it worth a shot?”
    He managed to keep his face straight. “I mean, perhaps it was edible. Did I miss my opportunity to bag a delicious side dish to accompany my tenant’s partridge?”
    She drew in a shocked breath. “Most certainly not, sir! How could you be so calloused? I—” she must have seen the devilish gleam in his eye and realized he was only teasing. She wasn’t laughing, though. She looked mortified. “There are some things that are simply not amusing.”
    “Perhaps I had best introduce myself,” he said, thinking the teasing had gone far enough and it was best to change the subject. “I’m Belington.”
    The heavy lashes that shadowed her cheeks flew up in amazement. She looked stunned. For a moment she stared wordlessly. “Douglas, Lord Belington?”
    “The same. From Ravensbrook Manor.” He nodded in the general direction of a wooded rise to the south. “Which is directly over the hill, I might add. And who are you?”
    As Lucinda regarded this rugged-looking stranger standing before her, Edgerton’s dire warnings ran through her head. It was difficult, maintaining her composure as coolly she replied, “I am Lucinda Linley. I have come to stay with some of my family for a time at Southfield. The Linleys? I believe you’ve heard of them.”
    She noted his little smile of amusement had disappeared. An impermeable mask settled over his face as he nodded briefly. “Oh, indeed, I’ve heard of the Linleys. So Edgerton must be your...?”
    “First cousin,” she filled in, “and Pernelia is my aunt.”
    “I see.” He studied the sky a moment. “When did you arrive?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Then surely you must have heard by now that you must never, never speak to a Belington.”
    She could not lie. “It was made quite clear to me last night. I was told not to tread upon your land, although I don’t know why. Just the same, I was careful not to do so.”
    “So they haven’t told you anything,” he commented, almost as if to himself.
    “Not yet.”
    “You’ll find