Amanda Scott Read Online Free Page A

since she was accustomed to getting her own way in the end, even against such stiff opposition as theirs, she did not despair. Having spent too many years buried at Wryde before Alston could be coaxed into sponsoring her come-out, she had no intention of simply giving up the parties and amusements she had grown to love. She would do her duty gracefully as mistress of Thunderhill Castle, but its master must learn to cater a little to her wishes, too.
    The horses made little speed while wending their way out of Mayfair via Piccadilly, the Haymarket, and Whitehall, and even after the chaise crossed Westminster Bridge, there was still a great deal of traffic and four turnpikes to be negotiated before they turned onto the Maidstone Road. All the hustle and bustle was fascinating, however, so when Chalford announced quietly, as the chaise rattled across the Croydon Canal, that although they were but three and a half miles out of London, they were now in Kent, Adriana started a little at the sound of his voice.
    As they had passed through the Newcross tollgate but moments before, the tollkeeper had tipped his hat to her and winked, and she had grinned at him. Remembering this incident, she turned to face her new husband warily, suddenly conscious of the way he filled the chaise, aware that for the first time in her life she was shut into a small space with a man, other than her brother or father, to whom she was answerable for her every action. Looking at him now, it seemed impossible that she could have ignored him for seconds, let alone for half an hour. But surely that much time had elapsed since she had turned away in order not to shout her displeasure at his calm rejection of a sojourn in Brighton.
    Searching for a safe topic of conversation, she said, “I have not driven on this road before, sir, but I am given to understand that the Kent countryside is very beautiful.”
    “We think so,” he said.
    Reassured by his tone, she smiled. “‘We’ being the men of Kent, I daresay. I doubt you are a Kentish man.”
    He regarded her with a touch of sleepy amusement in his dark-gray eyes. “Do you actually know the difference between men of Kent and Kentish men, Adriana?”
    She bit her lower lip, gazing at him from beneath her thick, sable lashes, then answered carefully, “I believe it is merely a question of which side of the River Medway one claims as home. Men from the east are men and those from the west are Kentish.”
    He chuckled. “And maids from the east are maids, while those from the west are Kentish. Do you know the reason?”
    She shook her head, confessing, “I was not even certain I had the sides of the river correctly.”
    “The most generally accepted tale is that when William, Duke of Normandy, was marching on Dover after his victory at Hastings, some men came to welcome him, and in consequence, obtained from him a confirmation of certain ancient privileges. They called themselves ‘invicti,’ the unconquered, and they became known as the men of Kent. The others, who opposed the Conqueror, were pushed west of the Medway and came to be known as Kentish men.”
    Her eyes twinkled. “’Tis not nearly so old a tradition as I had thought, then. Only from those upstart Normans. I must tell you that Barrington roots are buried deep in the days of the Angles and Saxons, or so my father frequently boasts.”
    Chalford nodded. “Then you will prefer the legend that when Britain was divided into kingdoms, about the year 450, King Vortigern of Kent called upon the Saxon leaders Hengist and Horsa to help him in his fight against the Picts and the Scots, which they did, but in the process a lot of Saxons who accompanied them remained in the area. Many of the Britons didn’t like the Saxons and retreated west, beyond the Medway, calling themselves Kentish men. Those remaining became known as men of Kent. Since Thunderhill is not so old as that, I prefer the first tale.”
    “Goodness,” exclaimed Adriana, “do