Free Marjorie Farrell by Autumn Rose Page A

Although the weather is perfect for our picnic,” she said as she looked up at the almost-clear blue sky. “This dry spell might have raised the dust, but it has also dried out the Heath, so our walk will not be muddy and our rugs will not get damp. Please come in.”
    Lavinia had been settled and Miranda was in the kitchen getting lemonade and glasses. The color was returning to the countess’s face and she was trying to take in the room without looking vulgarly curious. She had to admit that while it was not a richly or fashionably furnished room, it was quite comfortable and not at all vulgar.
    Jeremy got up immediately as Nora entered the room, and introduced her to his mother. She walked over to shake hands, and Lavinia looked up into calm gray eyes. Surely this could not be the encroaching Mrs. Dillon, this soft-spoken, attractive woman?
    “We are honored to have you with us, Lady Whitford,” Nora said. “Jeremy has told us so much about you, we feel we know you already.”
    Lavinia replied frostily: “I can’t say he has told us anything about you.”
    Nora colored, and with a naturalness that bespoke an easy intimacy, placed a hand on Jeremy’s arm. “I know, and I have scolded him for it.”
    Jeremy looked down and smiled ruefully. “I know this is a surprise for all of us,” Nora continued, “and I am sure not the match you might have chosen. But I feel it is important to respect the feelings of our children, do you not?”
    Lavinia looked up into the studiously bland face of Mrs. Dillon and remembered what the “plan” was. “You are quite correct on both counts, Mrs. Dillon,” she answered coolly.
    Miranda came in with the lemonade, and Nora turned to Jeremy again. “My dear, there is a crock of ale in the larder. Would you pour out a glass for the viscount and yourself, if you want something stronger.”
    Nora, finally realizing that the viscount was waiting for her to sit down, sat and poured the lemonade for the three ladies.
    “You must be quite eager to stretch your legs after your long ride,” she said to the countess.
    Lavinia was taken aback, for the last thing she had been thinking about was exercise. What she was eager to do was stretch out on her own sofa and nap. But Sam had said they must be agreeable, so she murmured something about a stroll being welcome.
    “We only planned a short walk for you for this first time,” said Miranda. “There is a path right up from the cottage, which will take us to the Heath for our picnic, and then it circles back. We need to walk only twenty minutes or so to get there.”
    Bless the girl, Nora thought, as she looked at Lavinia’s face struggling not to frown at the thought of more exercise off horseback than she had had in years. They had originally planned an hour’s walk out, but Miranda had taken the countess’s measure in a glance and realized she would never make it. Indeed, should she walk half the distance in those slippers, it would be a miracle. Whatever was she thinking of, dressing like that?
    Mrs. Dillon’s face was so open that Sam almost laughed out loud as he saw her look down with consternation at Lavinia’s shoes. She herself was comfortably dressed, as was Miranda, in a gown suitable for walking, as most “walking dresses” weren’t, thought Sam. And he guessed, quite correctly, that mother and daughter would exchange their slippers for some sort of footwear worn by hours of walking.
    Conversation could not be said to be sprightly. After a few polite inquiries, Lavinia gave up. It would not have done to get personal, and no one was relaxed enough to utter more than stilted comments on the weather, and the inevitable remarks upon the ubiquitous black pigs. The only sincere words were Sam’s and Jeremy’s praises for the ale.
    Miranda and Jeremy had not imagined it would be so difficult. They, after all, could talk for hours and had no more in common than their respective parents. But they had forgotten that in