Free The Irish Bride by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page B

of.” Rietta pulled on the string and broke the sealing wax. Three volumes, bound in brown cloth, were stacked inside the smooth paper. They were familiar to her before she picked one up.
    “Mansfield Park?” Mr. Ferris asked, but it was not his voice she heard. “Never heard of it.”
    “No, sir. I begin to believe that it is not at all a well-known novel.”
    “A novel? Haven’t I told you time and again not to muddle your head with a pack of lies? Novels only lead to unrestrained behavior in young girls—twaddle about love and romance! Marriage is a serious business.”
    “Yes, Father. I did not order these books. I cannot imagine what Mr. Clarendon can be about.” She opened the small envelope but her father held out his hand for it before she could read it. She was taken aback by her own sense of reluctance to let go of the little piece of pasteboard within.
    Rietta watched her father guardedly. To her surprise, she saw him smile and then chuckle as he read. “Well, my dear, you’ve got a string to your bow after all.”
    “Father?”
    He dropped the card into her lap and pinched her chin. “Keep your secret, my dear, but not too long, eh?”
    “I don’t think I should keep them. I don’t want to be indebted to anyone.”
    “Certainly you shall keep them! You don’t want to insult the ... mysterious benefactor.” He gave his inane laugh. “That’s good, isn’t it? Maybe I should take up novel writing.”
    Aware that he studied her, she read the card.
     
    So you may read undisturbed
    —N. K.
     
    That was too much to be hoped for. However, Rietta found herself smiling. The gift was thoughtful. Did he guess that her father would permit her to keep the books if they came from Sir Nicholas Kirwan? He could not have been in Mr. Ferris’s company long before realizing her father worshipped rank. To him, a baronet would be as good as a prince.
    “A gift to your taste, Rietta.”
    “Yes, Father. It’s very kind of him. Yet surely a young woman shouldn’t accept gifts from men.”
    “Such scruples! One shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Look at Blanche. Gifts arriving day and night. She thanks the gentleman prettily and makes no commitment. It’s a good thing, too, else I’d be bankrupt from keeping her in flowers. You sit down and write the gentleman a nice little note of appreciation.”
    “I shall do so at once.”
    “That recalls it to my mind. Sir Nicholas is coming to dine with us this evening. You will naturally put off your other engagement.”
    “I cannot do that, Father.”
    “What?”
    “I’m sorry, sir. I must go tonight. Mrs. Athy has asked her brother to come on purpose to meet me.”
    “Such persons can be easily put off in favor of so distinguished a gentleman.”
    “I’m afraid it is my only opportunity to speak to her brother. He’s away to America on the next ship.”
    “Then let him go.”
    “I’m certain Sir Nicholas will be able to dine with us all another night, Father. I will be going out this evening.”
    Mr. Ferris paced before the fireplace, flicking little fierce glances at her, his head sunk down between his shoulders like a vulture’s. “It’s my wish that you be here tonight.”
    “I hope always to be amenable to your wishes, Father, but I have a prior engagement. Sir Nicholas did not seem to mind when I told him I should be absent.”
    “You saw him today ... after I invited him?”
    “Yes,” she said, her fingers stroking the gilted edges of the book. “I met him at Clarendon’s.”
    “Alone?” The word should have sounded stern. For all his carelessness, Mr. Ferris had considerable regard for his daughters’ reputations. Yet his tone was indulgent.
    “We were alone only for a moment.” They’d only been interrupted by the cat, but Rietta kept that from her father. He was acting most strangely.
    “You must like him, daughter.”
    “Not very much.”
    “No, of course not. Well, we shall miss you at the table. Write that note.