The Dangerous Debutante. Kasey Michaels
Читать онлайн книгу.
that Saul had brought the traveling coach up beside her until she heard Jacob say, “It’s like the drawings in the books in Mr. Ainsley’s library, isn’t it, Morgie. A fairy castle. Not even real. Morgie? You hear me?”
Morgan swallowed with some difficulty, then nodded, not trusting her voice. Lightly tapping her heel against Berengaria’s flank, she moved forward. She followed the path set by the earl, allowing Berengaria her head, just a little, so that they approached the castle at a maidenly, if eager trot. Her mount’s shod hooves made sharp, echoing contact with the thick planks of the lowered drawbridge that spanned the now wildflower-and-grass-clogged moat, and Morgan delighted in the sound.
Once she was inside the castle walls, a young boy wearing scarlet livery and a powdered wig approached, and reached for the mare’s bridle. “Afternoon, miss. His lordship says you’re to be taken straightaways to the drawing room, if that’s all right, miss.”
“Yes, thank you.” Morgan raised her leg slightly, lifting it out of the sidesaddle, then leaped gracefully to the cobblestones of the large courtyard, not even considering that she should wait for assistance, let alone that anyone would think she needed it.
As Berengaria was led away, Morgan turned in a slow circle, attempting to drink in her surroundings. She wasn’t an expert on medieval architecture, and had never wished to be, but this castle seemed awfully…young.
Castles, Morgan felt sure, should look ancient, and weathered. With moss perhaps, and definitely with ivy. And there should be more castle, too. Things like keeps and bailiwicks, whatever they were. And an array of stone outbuildings. This was just a huge stone box topped with fanciful turrets on all four corners, and with a sort of half house, half castle stuck inside.
New, if stones could look new.
A very large toy. A plaything. A child’s fantasy. As Jacob had said, a fairy castle…
“This way, miss,” the footman prompted her.
Morgan looked behind her, to be sure Jacob and Saul and the coach were on their way across the drawbridge, then followed the servant beyond the flagstone courtyard and up a few wide steps, into the castle.
The stone hallway was huge, and seemed to go up and up forever, until it disappeared into darkness. Morgan had a moment of silliness, wondering if there was an echo in the hall, and what the footman would do if she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled “Bally-hoo!”
“This way now, miss.”
Biting her lips to hold back a giggle, she had only a few moments to take in the huge wooden tables and straight-back chairs that lined the hall, barely enough time to gawk at the dozen or so suits of armor, and no time at all to wonder if a retreat wouldn’t be prudent, before following the servant.
And it only got worse…or better, if she had set out on a hunt for the ridiculous. The drawing room had stone walls, and window embrasures that had to be four feet deep. The walls were hung with huge tapestries, and when she sat down, the furnishings, completely wooden, proved as uncomfortable as they were ugly.
Morgan shivered, the riding habit that had been just perfect for the day suddenly feeling thin and inadequate, because the castle interior seemed to have its own weather, a very different temperature from the outside. With no sun to warm her, she looked longingly at the huge stone fireplace that was, alas, without a fire.
The man lived like this? He forced his mother to live like this?
“I’ve blundered into a madhouse,” Morgan whispered to herself. “And no one in my family will be the least surprised.”
She then picked up her gloves and riding crop, deciding a hasty escape would be the only way to maintain her own sanity. She was halfway to her feet when the earl entered the room, stopping not six feet inside the doorway.
Ethan lifted a finger to his lips for a moment, warning Morgan to silence, then smartly turned to face the doorway.
This was the moment. Morgan Becket would either delight in his mother, or run screaming from her. You could tell a lot about a woman from the way she reacted to a man’s mother. Especially his mother.
Another liveried servant, this one older, thinner and terribly bent, entered the huge chamber, loudly tapped the floor with the long staff he carried, and announced in a rusty voice, “Hear ye, hear ye, presenting her ladyship, Druscilla, Dowager Countess of Aylesford!”
Ethan executed a rather elegant bow, and held it, then turned his head toward Morgan. He gifted her with a smile and a wink before turning his attention back to the doorway, which she then did as well…just in time to see the dowager countess make her appearance.
“God’s teeth,” Morgan whispered under her breath as she blinked, blinked again, and then hurriedly dropped into a curtsy.
She hadn’t run, screaming, from the room. Ethan grinned. So far, so good.
The woman who’d swept into the large room had once been very beautiful, and still was, in a faintly faded sort of way. Her son very much resembled her, as far as it went, and it didn’t go far, because the dowager countess seemed to have come from another time, one long since passed.
She was dressed in a sort of costume, her crimson brocade gown finished with huge, puffed velvet sleeves slashed through with ivory silk. A matching brocade beret covered most of her pale blond hair, and there was a huge emerald-and-diamond pin in the shape of a dragon attached to the very front of the thing. Her neckline was clogged with what could be a dozen different necklaces, and she had a heavy gold chain around her waist, from which hung a two-foot-long painted stick that ended in a clutch of red-tipped ostrich feathers.
She looked wonderful. She looked ridiculous. And when she winked at Morgan, just as her son had done, she seemed very aware of how bizarre she must appear.
“Welcome to Tanner’s Roost, my dear,” the dowager countess trilled. “How wonderful to have a fresh victim!”
Morgan looked to Ethan, who merely shook his head and scolded his mother. “Maman, don’t scare the girl off now that I’ve just found her.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense, Ethan. Look at that chin, that proud carriage. This one doesn’t frighten easily—do you, dear? Now go away and clean up your dirt, if you really plan to desert your poor mother and ride to London, and Miss Becket and I will have a little natter. Won’t we, Morgan—I will call you Morgan, because it’s such a lovely name. Except perhaps for Morgan Le Fay, or whatever that harridan’s name was. Ethan? You’re still standing there. Shoo!”
“He looks like any guilty son, doesn’t he?” Morgan commented as Ethan quit the room, enjoying herself again. She should have agreed to leave Becket Hall sooner, and would have, if she’d known being out and about in the world could be so very amusing. Then, waiting until the dowager countess had seated herself before sitting down beside her, she added, “Now, what is this about a new victim, my lady?”
“Druscilla, my dear. Just call me Druscilla. Everybody does. I do hope you’ll have time to meet some of my friends, although I doubt that, as Ethan warned me that you are pressed for time if you are to beat dusk to London. We’re practicing for tomorrow night’s performance—my guests and myself, that is. Not that you’ll be missing a marvelous treat by not lingering here to watch us. Poor Algernon makes for a very timid Henry, I’m afraid. Shall I tell you a secret? If Algernon had really been the king, he would have sent Anne Boleyn off to her chambers with no more than a mild scold and cold porridge for her dinner.”
The earl’s mother lifted the painted stick, pushed on a small button near the base, and the lush feathers opened into a fan, which she then began waving under her chin.
“Warm in here, isn’t it? I don’t know how the ladies of old Henry’s court stood it, I really don’t. All this heavy velvet? And you’d positively weep if you saw the ridiculous underpinnings those poor creatures were forced to endure, although I was thoroughly shocked when I realized what they didn’t wear. Perhaps a welcome breeze up under their skirts cooled them somewhat. In any case,