Free An Extraordinary Flirtation by Maggie MacKeever Page A

for he was a man who knew what he wanted and pursued it with assurance. Cara might admire his singleness of purpose more if only it were not directed at herself.
    Daisy bounded into the clearing, tail wagging ecstatically, a snapdragon trailing from her mouth, and one ear turned inside out. Ianthe followed, out of breath. She was even more than usually eye-catching today, wrapped in a bright green and gold Indian shawl that had been made into a dress, its wide border forming the hemline. Around her shoulders was draped a large shawl of muslin worked at the border and ends with embroidery, looped down the back with a ribbon bow. Her hair was pinned up in a large chignon, atop which she had placed a frivolous straw hat.
    Another member of the family, decided Paul. Hopefully the intrepid Barrow had chosen new clothes for her as well. She greeted him with a brief nod before drawing Cara aside.
    “I’m so sorry!” Zoe twitched her skirts fastidiously away from a trailing runner-bean. “I’ve never known my cousin to be so impolite. Not that anyone will scold her for it. Considering how she and Cara are always ringing peals over me, it seems monstrous unjust!”
    Ianthe clutched at Cara’s hand, distracting her from the interesting spectacle of Paul’s expression growing more and more appalled. Ianthe’s own expression was even more than usually anxious. Cara patted her hand. “Has Beau ripped up at you again, Ianthe?”
    “No! Although surely he would, if he found out about it." Ianthe bit her lip. “There is no telling what he might do. Fight a duel, perhaps—or worse!”
    Whatever had put her cousin in such a fidget? “Don’t fret. I won’t tell Beau if you think I shouldn’t. Whatever it is!”
    Ianthe pressed the handkerchief to her reddened nose. “You think I’m being a goose, and perhaps it’s true, but what if I’m not? Aggravating as Beau is, I don’t wish to see him killed. Because of course he would be killed in an affair of honor: you know as well as I that he has no ability whatsoever with weapons of any sort. Oh, I cannot bear it! This was given to me in error.” She thrust a note into Cara’s hand.
     

Chapter 7
     
    “Smitten, that’s what he is!” said Barrow, and tugged the brush through Cara’s hair. Daisy, who had already endured her own brushing, lay sprawled before the fire. “To come all the way to London after you! I told you his affections had become fixed.”
    Lady Norwood was seated at her dressing table, across which marched silver-topped jars and bottles. Barrow stood behind her, watching her mistress in the oval looking glass. “Hunting season is over in the country,” Cara retorted. “Therefore, the squire has followed the spoor to town. A man can hardly ride to hounds if the fox isn’t there.”
    Barrow brandished the hairbrush. “You and your foxes! The squire is a fine man. What if someone else should catch his eye while you’re shilly-shallying, miss?”
    Only to Barrow was Cara still a miss. “Can you be a little less vigorous? Should the squire’s fancy stray, I wouldn’t care a fig.”
    “Poppycock!” retorted Barrow. “You’d care more than a fig if you saw the squire dangling after someone else. You like the attention of the gentlemen every bit as much as your flibbertigibbet of a niece.”
    Cara had already been treated, several times, to Barrow’s opinion of Zoe. The gentlest of the abigail’s comments had been “hell-born babe.” “Gentlemen don’t dangle after me anymore. Or if they do, it’s Norwood’s fortune they want. Just as it’s Norwood’s fortune Paul Anderley wants, and the Norwood property. I don’t know why you refuse to see that for yourself.”
    Barrow saw many things, among them that it was unnatural for a woman to hold property, her mistress being a perfect example, for no sooner had Miss Cara become a widow than she’d begun behaving with pertinacious obstinacy. Although to say the truth, she’d been pig-headed before,