Page 46 of The Book of Lost Stories
‘I don’t think Ihaveany delicate sensibilities,’ Alys said absently. ‘I dare say ladylike airs and susceptibilities have to be schooled into you from childhood. Besides, when you have a household to run and an invalid father demanding your constant attention, there is no time for such airs and graces.’
‘I suppose not,’ Lord Rayven agreed, thinking how well a pretty dress and a new way of arranging her dark chestnut hair had transformed Alys from the last time they had met. ‘Do you know, Miss Weston, although you always contrive to look the part of a demure young lady, I suspect you have hidden depths … a bit like Stevens’ underground waterways.’
Alys stared at him suspiciously. ‘Likening me to a sewer can hardly be said to be a compliment, my lord.’
‘I thought in your case the analogy might please you, given your interests. Tell me, do you make a long stay with Mrs Rivers?’
‘She has invited me to spend the whole season with her.’
‘Then I suppose that this will be only the first of many engagements.’
‘Yes, for several friends of Mrs Rivers have already included me in their invitations, and though I did not come to London intending her to launch me into society, she most earnestly wishes for my company.’
‘Your interestsdoseem to differ a little from those of Mrs Rivers. Harry Stavely tells me that you venture forth most mornings to see the sights. But you really should not be driving around London with just a page for company, you know!’
‘It is kind of you to concern yourself in my affairs, but that is a great nonsense, for at my age it cannot be thought improper.’
‘You are very unwise and will find this great age you profess no protection, for let me tell you, you are still a very green girl.’
‘I have long done with girlhood, and I believe I am the best judge of my own actions, my lord.’
‘Then at least think of the ill light any mishap must cast upon your friend’s care of you while you are residing under her roof.’
Alys glared at him in exasperation. ‘There will be no mishap and I will soon have exhausted those things that interest me that are still extant, for my guidebook is sadly out of date. But I have yet to visit Westminster Abbey, or the Egyptian Hall, and I am very sure Nell will not wish to go with me, for she has no interest in antiquities and curiosities.’
‘Then pray allow me to offer myself as your escort,’ he heard himself saying, without in the least meaning to.
‘What?’ She stared at him, wondering if she had heard aright.
‘My curricle – and myself – will be at your command each morning.’
‘You?But I assure you I do not need an escort, and besides—’
‘I insist, Miss Weston. I am sure your grandfather would not wish you to go alone, were he to hear of it.’
‘Iam the only arbiter of my behaviour, Lord Rayven, and I will do as I please.’
‘Then I hope it will please you to accept my escort.’ He flicked open a small engraved silver box and took a pinch of snuff before looking up and adding, ‘For if you do not, you will find me following you about Town in a way that may draw even more unwelcome attention to your actions.’
Indignant grey eyes met dark blue in a long, measuring exchange. What the outcome might have been was in the balance, for at this interesting point Miss Agnes Berry interrupted them.
She had brought a dandified youth with her, whom she introduced as Mr Daniel Coalport. ‘I knowyouwill be interested, Miss Weston, for you are a great reader of the Gothic, and Mr Coalport has aparticularinterest in the works of Orlando Browne.’
The young man bowed over Alys’s hand and with mock modesty lisped, ‘Oh, Mith Agnes, you should not tease me on that subject, for you know my lipth are sealed.’
‘Long may they remain so!’ Alys said tartly, snatching her hand back, and the young man, caught off balance, nearly fell over.
‘I do not … get your meaning, Mith Weston?’
Lord Rayven, who had watched with fascination the swift play of emotions across Alys’s mobile face, said kindly to the disconcerted youth, ‘I believe Miss Weston means that she adores a mystery so much, that she prefers to imagine the author of such gems asThe Travails of Lady Malvinaasimmured in some antique fortress, pen in hand. Pray, do not disillusion her.’
‘Oh, of course not,’ stammered the youth, and backed himself away.
‘Naughty!’ chided Miss Agnes with a chuckle, following suit.
‘You … like to read novels?’ Alys said cautiously, staring at Lord Rayven much as she had done at the hungry lions pacing the Tower.
‘Occasionally. I am quite fascinated by the works of Mr Browne, and he, it would seem, with me, for many acquaintances have pointed out the singular parity in the appearance of that author’s villains and myself.’
