Free Amanda Scott by The Dauntless Miss Wingrave Page B

confident, even here and now, of being always able to make everyone march to your drumming. Take care that you do not stumble up against something or someone who will not leap to your command.”
    Fortunately for the state of their truce, Emily chose not to take offense, thinking only that he must have been indulged a good deal himself as a child. He was the last of eight children, Sabrina had told her, with his two elder brothers and one sister dying in an epidemic before his birth. How his parents and elder sisters must have doted on and cherished the precious heir to Meriden, she thought. No doubt, even now, his lordship believed he had only to decide upon a course of action and those about him would follow obediently along behind him.
    Matters went smoothly between them for a time, however, and the arrival of Oliver’s friends, Alban Saint Just and Harry Enderby, at the end of the week, provided diversion without causing ructions. Ted Bennett had left their company at Helmsley, but Enderby, who stopped at Staithes only long enough to deliver Saint Just before continuing to his own home, proved to be a cheerful young man with a snub nose, rounded cheeks, twinkling blue eyes, and an unprepossessing demeanor. He dressed fashionably but conservatively and earned Emily’s respect from the outset with his open countenance and excellent manners.
    Saint Just, with his reddish-blond hair, brown eyes, long-oval face, and excellent figure, proved to be handsome, charming, even witty. He was welcomed by everyone, particularly by Oliver and Dolly. He was taller than Oliver, two years older, and though he claimed to be one of the dandy set, Emily privately thought him a fop, for his clothing was as colorful as Oliver’s. He prided himself, he said, on being unafraid to experiment with hue and tint. Not for Mr. Saint Just were the pale yellow pantaloons, dark coats, and snow-white, well-starched linens that were currently enjoying favor among the London dandy set.
    “Unenterprising and dull,” he pronounced flatly when asked about that fashion over dinner the evening of his arrival.
    Dolly giggled. “Oh, Mr. Saint Just,” she said, “you must know so very much about London. Do tell us.”
    Mr. Saint Just airily admitted having spent some weeks in the capital, acquiring polish. “Town bronze, they call it,” he said, and willingly went on to describe various sights to his audience, two of whom were particularly fascinated. But since his descriptions included only such clubs, gaming hells, and sporting events as he had visited, Emily soon found herself looking to the earl, also present at the table that evening, in expectation of having the conversation directed into more acceptable channels.
    Meriden only grinned at her. It was Miss Lavinia who squelched Saint Just. “Didn’t encourage you to spout stuff about cockfights to ladies in the metropolis, did they, young man? Learnt that much all on your ownsome, I daresay.”
    Impaled upon the basilisk stare emanating from behind Miss Lavinia’s wire-rimmed spectacles, Saint Just flushed deeply, having clearly been so caught up in his narrative that he had forgotten his audience. “Beg pardon, ma’am. Meant no offense. ’Twas an amusing story, was all.”
    “I daresay,” said Miss Lavinia, unimpressed. “You one of the Saint Just lot out of Norfolkshire?”
    “I have that honor, ma’am.”
    “Thought so.” Miss Lavinia returned her attention to her dinner.
    The rest of the meal and the two days that followed passed uneventfully except for Emily’s second experience of a Sunday service at Mr. Scopwick’s little church, where the very rafters vibrated with the vicar’s extensive periods. It amused her, as it had the week before, to watch her sister sitting in rapt concentration, her brow furrowed as she tried to follow the sense of what was being bellowed at them. Emily, who considered devotion to be a private matter and who had never had the least desire to bellow at