heart-shaped. The unusual length allowed of its being twisted into a shining coronet around her head, lending a regal air to her naturally graceful carriage. Two shorter locks had been curled and permitted to fall free in front of flat, well-shaped ears, softening the effect of the severe classical style. A magnificent setting for diamond clips, he mused idly, and wondered if the earl of Melford’s thoughts were running in the same direction. Certainly he had not taken his eyes from his cousin since entering the room a moment before, and the tinge of pink creeping over Marianne’s cheeks did not go unremarked by her trustee, who decided to bestir himself and initiate a general conversation while they awaited the call to dine.
The only other guests, the vicar and Mrs. Huntingdon, were accompanied by their daughter, Miss Sophia. Marianne found herself drawn to this quiet girl whose retiring manner did not quite conceal a thoughtful active mind. Everything about Miss Huntingdon’s appearance was moderate—average height, slightly plump as to figure, neither dark nor fair as to hair and coloring. Until she smiled a severe critic might dismiss her as nothing out of the ordinary, but her rare smile illuminated her pleasant face, perfectly revealing the essential sweetness of her nature. She was talking serenely now with Marianne, who was curious as to the countryside immediately surrounding the Hall which she had so far had no time to explore, when the marchioness’ light voice floated into a sudden lull in the nearby conversation between the marquess and the earl and his sister. Mrs. Huntingdon had expressed concern over her hostess’ slight limp and the marchioness had been describing her morning mishap:
“I shudder to contemplate the results if Marianne had not had the presence of mind to act swiftly,” she concluded seriously. “She hung on tenaciously until Justin appeared to catch me.”
Miss Carstairs turned impulsively to her cousin. “How fortunate for her ladyship that you are so strong,” she declared, gazing with exaggerated respect at the taller girl. “I never could have saved her.” She looked helplessly at her small, beautifully kept white hands, sparkling with rings, and all eyes followed the direction of her gaze.
“Yes, my hands are unusually strong for a woman,” Marianne conceded coolly. “It comes from milking the cows and handling the reins.”
In the small silence this non sequitur gave birth to, Justin fixed his thoughtful gaze on the ceiling. Well, that was one vague worry he need not have entertained. He had recognized the shuttered blankness of his ward’s face when answering her cousin as her habitual expression when dealing with himself, and knew she had taken the measure of Claire’s spuriously affectionate pose. However, his original concern that this tiresome girl would contrive to resist efforts to introduce her successfully to the Ton was reinforced by the deliberate reference to her past life on the farm. The marchioness had gracefully filled the conversational breech, but her son, transferring his gaze to his ward’s expressionless mien, was uncomfortably aware of a challenging gleam in the dark blue depths before she lowered her eyes.
The numbers were necessarily uneven, but as this was by the way of introducing Marianne to the people she would be most intimate with for the present, it was not allowed to matter. She was seated at the right of her host and found her attention nicely taken up by him and by Mr. Huntingdon on her other side. Although a younger and more vigorous man than the dear rector to whom she was sincerely attached, the vicar obviously possessed the same gentle human kindness, and by the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, her initial stiffness had relaxed considerably. The smallness of the party had assured that in some measure the conversation would remain general, and this circumstance plus the duty she owed her other partner adequately
The only other guests, the vicar and Mrs. Huntingdon, were accompanied by their daughter, Miss Sophia. Marianne found herself drawn to this quiet girl whose retiring manner did not quite conceal a thoughtful active mind. Everything about Miss Huntingdon’s appearance was moderate—average height, slightly plump as to figure, neither dark nor fair as to hair and coloring. Until she smiled a severe critic might dismiss her as nothing out of the ordinary, but her rare smile illuminated her pleasant face, perfectly revealing the essential sweetness of her nature. She was talking serenely now with Marianne, who was curious as to the countryside immediately surrounding the Hall which she had so far had no time to explore, when the marchioness’ light voice floated into a sudden lull in the nearby conversation between the marquess and the earl and his sister. Mrs. Huntingdon had expressed concern over her hostess’ slight limp and the marchioness had been describing her morning mishap:
“I shudder to contemplate the results if Marianne had not had the presence of mind to act swiftly,” she concluded seriously. “She hung on tenaciously until Justin appeared to catch me.”
Miss Carstairs turned impulsively to her cousin. “How fortunate for her ladyship that you are so strong,” she declared, gazing with exaggerated respect at the taller girl. “I never could have saved her.” She looked helplessly at her small, beautifully kept white hands, sparkling with rings, and all eyes followed the direction of her gaze.
“Yes, my hands are unusually strong for a woman,” Marianne conceded coolly. “It comes from milking the cows and handling the reins.”
In the small silence this non sequitur gave birth to, Justin fixed his thoughtful gaze on the ceiling. Well, that was one vague worry he need not have entertained. He had recognized the shuttered blankness of his ward’s face when answering her cousin as her habitual expression when dealing with himself, and knew she had taken the measure of Claire’s spuriously affectionate pose. However, his original concern that this tiresome girl would contrive to resist efforts to introduce her successfully to the Ton was reinforced by the deliberate reference to her past life on the farm. The marchioness had gracefully filled the conversational breech, but her son, transferring his gaze to his ward’s expressionless mien, was uncomfortably aware of a challenging gleam in the dark blue depths before she lowered her eyes.
The numbers were necessarily uneven, but as this was by the way of introducing Marianne to the people she would be most intimate with for the present, it was not allowed to matter. She was seated at the right of her host and found her attention nicely taken up by him and by Mr. Huntingdon on her other side. Although a younger and more vigorous man than the dear rector to whom she was sincerely attached, the vicar obviously possessed the same gentle human kindness, and by the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, her initial stiffness had relaxed considerably. The smallness of the party had assured that in some measure the conversation would remain general, and this circumstance plus the duty she owed her other partner adequately
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