Free Nina Coombs Pykare by The Dazzled Heart

someone obviously knew how to dress the girl to best advantage. And it was unlikely that that someone could be Mrs. Parsons whose gown of red silk gave her an even greater resemblance to an apple.
    Another carriage bearing the Kingston arms pulled up and Jennifer watched it disgorge the servants. There was one among them - a youngish woman whose clothes, though modest, seemed cut along more fashionable lines than the rest. It was she, Jennifer hazarded, probably Lady Carolyn’s dresser, who had turned the young woman out so nicely.
    They were about to turn back to the drawing room when the sound of hooves reached their ears and around the bend trotted a chestnut mare. She was not in the best of condition, Jennifer’s sharp eyes noted. Her coat was dull and she held her tail oddly. But the rider on her back appeared finely turned out. His coat of superfine was perfectly cut. His buckskin breeches betrayed not a single wrinkle. His cravat fit snugly under his ears and boasted the mathematical tie. His top boots reflected the gleam of the sun from highly polished surfaces. Whatever money could do in turning out a man had been done for young Lord Proctor. And only Jennifer, of all those watching him, sensed that the condition of the horse was more indicative of his financial status than that of the man. A man who sacrificed his horseflesh to his vanity would not, in her opinion at least, make a good husband. Certainly not for a naive young heiress.
    Behind the young lord trailed his valet and a pack horse covered with baggage. These horses, too, showed the effects of a long cold winter on insufficient feed.
    Lady Carolyn was in a perilous position, judged Jennifer. Any sensible chaperone should have immediately removed her from the house and the vicinity of three preda-tory males, each of whom quite probably had cast greedy eyes on the young woman’s wealth.
    But Mrs. Parsons evidently had no sense of imminent danger and bustled about her unloading until the color of her face ex-ceeded that of her gown.
    “Milord,” cooed Mrs. Parthemer as Lord Proctor swung down from the saddle. “So delighted you could come.”
    “I, too, am delighted,” said that gentle-  man, his eyes searching out those of Lady Carolyn. She colored up at his smile and turned away, ostensibly to admire the great oaken door.
    “The dressing-bell will give you plenty of warning for dinner,” said Mrs. Parthemer. “Until then perhaps you would like to settle in. Lord Proctor, I have given you the Yellow Room. My nephew, Ingleton, will show you the way.”
    Lord Proctor nodded, but his eyes never left Lady Carolyn. “It will not take me long to settle in. Perhaps, Lady Carolyn, you would be so kind as to join me in a walk in the garden before dinner.”
    Lady Carolyn turned and nodded, but seemed unable to speak. Ingleton frowned and then seemed to think better of it.
    “Now that all this is decided upon, I shall have to go lie upon my bed,” sighed Mrs. Parthemer. “The strain is too much for my delicate constitution.”
      “Of course, of course,” chattered Mrs. Parsons. “You’re such a fragile little thing. A mere nothing. You just go and rest your-self. There’s not a thing to worry about.”
    Mrs. Parthemer did not feel particularly happy at this overflow of cordiality, but she only sighed again, and leaning heavily on Gibbons’s arm disappeared from the room.
    Jennifer, intending to slip quietly up the stairs to the nursery, found her way blocked by Monsieur Dupin. Since Mrs. Parsons and Lady Carolyn had trailed off in the wake of Mrs. Parthemer, and since they had been followed by a very attentive Lord Proctor and Ingleton, Jennifer felt a strange sense of dread.
    She began to move around him, but Monsieur Dupin effectively blocked her. “Mademoiselle, you must not be frightened of me.”
    “I’m not.” But Jennifer knew it was a lie. And even worse, she knew that the Frenchman knew it. He smiled sardon-ically. “Mademoiselle