Free The Admiral's Daughter by Judith Harkness Page B

followed.
    Having once surveyed her cousin, and showing no sign whether she was pleased or the reverse with what she saw, Lady Ramblay put down her quizzing glass, and, just at the moment when Maggie stood not three feet away from her, turned pointedly away.
    â€œIndeed,” she remarked, as if taking up a train of thought where it had been left off, “I cannot tell you what became of the Duke, although I have heard some people say hewas killed at Waterloo. But I cannot credit it. He was ever a perfectly sensible man, where it was a matter of his own safety.”
    A little titter followed this remark, but Maggie could not tell whether it was the joke that was laughed at, or herself. Her own color was very high at being thus slighted, and with so little ceremony, but a glance at her cousin told her nothing at all. His expression was perfectly unreadable, and at once Maggie’s anger was directed at him as well as the mother. They had now stood before the Viscountess a full minute, and Lady Ramblay was embarking upon a new story. Why would not her son interrupt? Surely he might relieve her embarrassment a little, even if he was the coldest man on earth. She felt utterly humiliated, and had not anger risen in her bosom as speedily as unhappiness, she might really have burst into tears.
    The rules of conduct in this castle certainly differed from those she had been brought up to think of as the proper way of going. The meanest sailor at Portsmouth would not have dreamed of behaving thus to anyone. Yet here was a woman, accounted by everyone as elegant and admirable, who openly slighted an unknown cousin in her own house and before others. Had not Maggie scorned such conduct, she might have suffered more from it. As it was, she could not help but feel humiliated and her humiliation made her as angry at herself as at the Viscountess.
    A moment of awkwardness in such a kind of situation will often extend itself in the mind of the one offended into an age, and after Maggie had stood for what seemed to her like a hundred years while her hostess ignored her presence, some comfort did come. There was a young girl seated next to Lady Ramblay on the sofa whom Maggie had not noticed at once. So small was she, so self-effacing in her manner, that she did not draw any attention to herself. She was pretty, the way a miniature porcelain figure is pretty—so tiny and frail that she seemed more like a doll than a girl. A look of horror had come over her face as soon as she saw what the Viscountess was doing, but she was evidently too timid to speak out. The color mounted in her cheeks as the large woman beside her talked along, glancing in evident pain between Lord Ramblay and his mama. At last she seemed unable to bearit any longer, and much to Maggie’s astonishment, gave a tug to Lady Ramblay’s sleeve.
    The Viscountess glanced down in great annoyance. “What is it, Fanny?” she demanded impatiently.
    â€œHere is my cousin, I think, Mama,” murmured the young girl in confusion, her ivory cheeks growing red.
    Lady Ramblay now had the audacity to glance up at Maggie and her son as if she had not seen them before. “Ah!” issued from her lips, and she was silent. But the lorgnette was again set in place, and her stare took in the young lady from head to toe. At last she seemed satisfied.
    â€œSo you are Captain Trevor’s daughter!” she exclaimed at last. “You do not in the least resemble my husband’s niece. She was not so tall, and had much lighter coloring.”
    Only a fierce reminder to herself that, if she was not a titled lady, she was a lady nonetheless, prevented Maggie from saying what she felt. She was rescued, indeed, from saying anything for a moment, for Miss Ramblay, coloring fiercely, burst out:
    â€œOh! But I do not agree, Mama. From the pictures I have seen of our cousin, I think they are perfectly alike!”
    Lady Ramblay’s cheeks took on an angry flush