Free Elisabeth Kidd by My Lord Guardian Page A

his friend the Marquess, and was the first to venture into the library after Murray had come out of it, shaking his head warningly at Chambers and Mrs. Collins, who waited at the door. The Count, however, met a warmer reception. He lowered himself gently into the chair Lyle held out for him, refused a brandy, and observed that Mademoiselle Archer’s presence must be quite a change for the Marquess’s household. Lyle could not help laughing at the understatement, which his visitor—for his own reasons—took as an encouraging sign.
    “There are no other such demoiselles in your family?” the Count enquired.
    Lyle changed his mind about the brandy and put the decanter aside. “Yes, there is my young cousin Susan. I believe you met her last year when she and her brother came to visit.”
    “Naturellement, how stupid of me not to remember! But she was a timid child, as I recall, and not so accomplished as your pretty ward. Are they acquainted, these two young ladies?”
    Lyle explained the connection and the approximate design—subject ever to the whims of the lady herself—for Sydney’s future. This appeared to satisfy the Count sufficiently so that Lyle was emboldened to ask, “Do you find Miss Archer exceptional in her talents, sir? You speak frequently of them.’’
    The Count hesitated, but then remarked obscurely, “She takes somewhat unexpected things very seriously, you know. Sans doute, she will get over them in time, but I urge you, mon cher, to go gently with her in the meanwhile.’’
    “Do you suggest,” Lyle asked, weary of Gallic circumlocutions, “that I encourage her to pound out sonatas on my piano and to sing French songs to the frogs in Mrs. Griswold’s pond, as if all this would be of some future use to her? It seemed to me yesterday that the only difference between Miss Archer, when I pulled her out of that pond, and Ophelia, was that Ophelia was better dressed. I believe it would be of far more use to Sydney to be made to consider her effect on others before her own fancies.”
    The Count, although finding Sydney perfectly agreeable as she was, recognized that his taste in young ladies was not that of the arbiters of fashion she would encounter in the capital. He therefore merely shrugged and said that Lyle was doubtless in the right of it, for what did a poor émigré know of such matters? He took his leave shortly thereafter, bidding his host to keep a stout heart and—above all—a sense of humour.
    Lyle saw his visitor out and, reflecting on this piece of advice, realized that his sense of proportion had indeed deserted him of late. Very well, he would make an effort to be reasonable, even agreeable. He would not, however, permit Sydney to sail so blithely down the path to her own ruin as the Count (who was undoubtedly aware of the uses to which Sydney intended to put her talents) and Cedric (who more than likely preferred to remain unaware of them) appeared willing to condone! In any case it would take a stronger hand than either of theirs to steer the determined Miss Archer onto a safer path. Lyle’s, for example.
    Cedric, it was true, was happily unaware of Sydney’s plans for her future, having successfully dodged those hints he had inadvertently got in the way of, so that when Lyle announced his intention of taking dinner with his guests in future, Cedric was more pleased than apprehensive. Although fully respectful of Lyle’s exacting standards, Cedric had great confidence in Sydney’s ability to meet them. She was certainly at a stage now when she could dine with Lyle without either boring him or spilling something on him.
    To be sure, she did once in the course of their first meal together refer to Lady Romney incorrectly as Lady Vanessa, but Lyle appeared not to have heard this blunder, and the rest of the meal passed in civilized silence, punctuated only by Lyle’s sharp glances at his ward, and Sydney’s warily downcast eyes. Cedric breathed a sigh of relief when he