Free Maggie MacKeever by Lord Fairchild's Daughter Page B

deprecated the mystery that surrounds the chit’s birth, and often find myself completely dispirited. Of course Dillian is not to blame for the sins of her forebears.” Her eyes searched Loveday’s face. “I have shocked you, have I not? Very well, I shall make amends. Dillian is sadly in need of a new wardrobe, and I shall leave its selection up to you. I noticed how charmingly she looked in your borrowed finery. Twitching sews a neat seam; I will lend her to you for the purpose. Nothing too grand, mind you; I don’t want Dillian to get notions above her station. It will be a miracle if the chit ever gets a husband.”
    “You are too harsh!” Loveday protested. “Dillian is little more than a schoolroom miss. In the ordinary course of things, she wouldn’t even be out yet. Time enough then to think of a marriage.”
    “Do you really think,” Isolda inquired icily, “that I will present Dillian to polite society? A half-witted bastard of extremely dubious background to be publicly acknowledged as a member of the house of Vere? Never! Had not Averil insisted, I would never have kept her here.”
    Loveday had supposed no such thing, but Isolda’s vehemence dismayed her.
    Isolda’s sharp eyes caught her instinctive gesture of withdrawal. “Never mind,” she soothed. “I am not averse to a match between Dillian and your brother, if it comes to that. They’re two of a kind, after all. And you shall wed Averil. We begin to understand one another, do we not?”
    Loveday’s poor head, by this time, pounded fit to burst. “No,” she replied through clenched teeth, “we do not. I have told you, ma’am, of my betrothal to Jasper. Even if I were not promised to another, I would not wed your grandson.”
    “Why not, pray tell? I cannot think you would make a better match.”
    “Am I to assume that you consider Jasper Assheton to be shabby-genteel? I will take leave to inform you, ma’am, that he is commonly held to be the very pink of perfection. And I assure you, a match with one of the ton’s most eligible bachelors is not to be caviled at. I should be a pretty sort of gudgeon to cry off.”
    Isolda tried a different approach. “But look around you, child!” she protested. “Would you not like to be chatelaine of this castle? Assheton can offer you nothing half so grand as this.”
    “I imagine,” Loveday said bluntly, “that in time I should find the castle a dead bore. I am truly sensible of the honor you wish to do me, and very much obliged to you for your concern, but my affections have become fixed. Jasper and I will deal very well together.”
    “A match between the two of you would be unexceptionable, despite Charmain’s opinion of the contrary.” Isolda smiled, and Loveday wondered how much of that conversation she’d overheard. “But you would soon come to grief. Assheton is very much in the petticoat line, and would be desirous of mounting a mistress before a year had elapsed. Are you so eager to play second fiddle to some prime article of easy virtue? My grandson will not prove indifferent to you, and has little penchant for straw damsels.”
    If Isolda had hoped to shock Loveday, she was remarkably unsuccessful. Loveday had been accustomed to plain speaking from her cradle, and saw nothing startling about Isolda’s comments. “Fiddlestick! I collect you wish me to act vulgarly forward and hurl myself at Averil’s head? You are talking nonsense, ma’am.”
    Isolda placed a frail hand over her heart. “What have I said to anger you? An alliance with Averil could only add to your consequence. You should count yourself honored, not fly into a passion.”
    “Gammon!” Loveday retorted rudely.
    Isolda straightened. “Tongue-valiant, are you not?” she demanded. “You go beyond the line of being pleasing, Loveday. Such vulgar expressions are quite inappropriate for a young lady of breeding. If you do not mend your tongue, my grandson will rightly consider you a mulish madcap.”
    “If