Free Lord Greywell's Dilemma by Laura Matthews Page A

her hand so lightly on the black cloth she could scarcely feel his arm beneath her fingers. What did he find so amusing in the situation, anyhow? His future was as much under discussion as her own. And it was a wonder Sir Edward had not come right out and said the two of them should be married. Elspeth very much doubted her father would show that amount of restraint for long.
    The dining room at Lyndhurst was large, and there was a mahogany table that spread down three-quarters of the length of the room, but Elspeth routinely chose convenience over formality. The three place settings were grouped together at one end, and Greywell held a chair for her on the right-hand side before rounding the table to seat himself opposite her. Sir Edward began a systematic questioning of their visitor as to the extent of his estate, what crops and livestock it supported, the neighboring towns and villages, and any acquaintance he might have with the local gentry.
    “Coventry, eh?” he said, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I was there once, as I recall. Has a considerable woolen manufacture and a dozen handsome gates left from the old wall enclosure. Ah, and I remember something else,” he said, his eyes switching to his daughter with suppressed jocularity. “Elspeth, you will dote on Coventry, I promise you. They have a procession on the first day of the Trinity Week fair in honor of Lady Godiva, when the figure of a naked woman is carried on horseback through the town.”
    Elspeth gave him a scathing look and said nothing.
    “It’s true,” Greywell interjected, drawing her attention. “The first lord of Coventry, who died during the reign of Edward the Confessor, was married to Godiva. When Leofric was offended with the people of the city, he burdened them with extra taxes, and his lady, a woman of exemplary virtue and piety, solicited him to ease their burden. Thinking her modesty too great to allow her compliance, he offered to remove the new duties if she would ride through the most frequented parts of the town naked, in daylight. But she was moved by the distress of the city and gave orders to the citizens that all doors and windows should be shut and no one attempt to look on her under pain of death. Then she rode naked through the streets on horseback, with her long hair hanging loose and covering her down to her legs. There’s a legend that a tailor couldn’t resist looking out, and that he was struck blind for his folly. The window from which he looked is still shown with an effigy of the ‘Peeping Tom’ newly dressed on the anniversary of the procession.”
    “So during Lady Godiva’s ride the townspeople didn’t look upon her nakedness,” Elspeth summarized, “and now, in the procession, everyone for miles around looks on the figure of a naked woman instead. That speaks very well for the town’s morals, Lord Greywell.”
    His lordship cast a helpless glance at Sir Edward, who shrugged and said, “That’s the way Elspeth sees things, my dear fellow. I shouldn’t let it bother me, if I were you. After all, it’s the sort of thing any religious man might declaim against from the pulpit, save its being a tradition. Tradition, especially such a delightful tradition, is the one thing the church doesn’t seem ready to take a stand against. It’s a great pity, in some ways. Sermons would be a great deal livelier if some vicar would take on the habits of the past. They’re willing enough to rant against harmless folklore, of course, but not against anything of substance. I’d love to see Blockley get up there and wave his skeletal arms while he declaimed the injustice of rotten boroughs or spendthrift ways in high places. By God, I might even attend his services if he’d talk about something of interest.”
    Elspeth listened with grudging admiration as her father adroitly changed the subject, but she would not hear Mr. Blockley denigrated without a word in his defense. “Mr. Blockley’s sermons are well above