Free The Wagered Widow by Patricia Veryan Page A

confusing that she sighfully admitted at length that she must be a feather-wit, and was able to remember very little of what she had been told.
    â€œNever fret,” beamed Mr. Street encouragingly. “Sir Peter will—”
    â€œâ€”tell you of them all,” Miss Street finished, her round face as full of good-natured cheer as was her brother’s.
    Fascinated, Mrs. Boothe asked, “Do you and your brother always—”
    â€œTalk like this?” Miss Street smiled, pulling her shawl closer about her plump shoulders. “Oh, yes. You see, we are—”
    â€œâ€”twins,” chuckled her brother. “I am nine and twenty, and—”
    â€œâ€”I am also,” Miss Street declared.
    â€œOh,” said Mrs. Boothe, understandingly. “Then that—”
    â€œâ€”explains it.” Miss Street nodded.
    Rebecca thought, “My goodness! I wonder if Snow has met this strange pair!” Still, she liked them, for they were as friendly and unassuming as two puppies, and besides, she had learnt something from them that might very well assist her in The Plan; at least she would not be totally without knowledge of sparrows, rooks, and cuckoos!
    It was late afternoon when Sir Peter rode up to the windows to announce that they were now on his preserves. Mr. Street and his sister continued their mutual instruction, and many different varieties of birds were pointed out for Rebecca’s edification. She tried to pay attention, but her interest had waned, and she found more to admire in the estate they traversed. Save for an occasional low rise, the terrain was largely flat. The park was a very good size and well wooded. It had been left in as natural a state as possible, so that she thought what a happy time Anthony could have here. The house came into view when they rounded a curve in the drivepath. Rebecca experienced a feeling of disappointment, for although it was impressive and in excellent repair, it was a grey brick structure, sitting with uncompromising squareness in a broad treeless hollow. She could not but think how much more attractive it would appear were it surrounded by trees and shrubs, and found herself wondering why the original builder had not set it on some of the higher ground rather than in the hollow. The welcome they received, however, left nothing to be desired. Sir Peter had an excellent staff, and the butler and several footmen and lackeys were on the terrace to receive them as the carriages rolled up to the wide-spreading front steps.
    Inside, the mansion was much bigger than Rebecca had anticipated. Maids and powdered footmen and lackeys were everywhere, low-voiced, efficient, and obviously eager to welcome and assist the master’s guests. Somehow, in the confusion of ushering his friends about, conferring with his butler, and doing all he might to be the perfect host, Sir Peter found time for a few words with Rebecca and Mrs. Boothe. He seemed almost overly concerned as to their comfort and summoned his housekeeper to enquire which suite had been assigned to them. Their disposition apparently satisfying him, he told the immaculate, white-haired woman that every possible effort must be made to ensure that Mrs. Parrish and her aunt receive anything that might make their stay more pleasant. He left them then, to attend to his other guests, but his smiling gaze lingered on Rebecca’s face, and she felt dizzied with happiness.
    The housekeeper, Mrs. Kellstrand, placed them in the charge of a magnificent lackey and urged that they rest and refresh themselves after their long journey. “If you wish it, your dinner will be brought up to you,” she said courteously. “But if you are not wearied, Sir Peter will await you in the green saloon at half-past six o’clock. Dinner will be served at half-past seven.”
    Following their assigned lackey across the hall and up the wide staircase, Rebecca looked about with interest. Despite