Beguiled Read Online Free Page B

nay,” he said, but his expression told a different tale. “I’m average on the most successful of days.”
    And she was a goose without wings. Edward Napier, the brilliant and forward-thinking scholar, was also a bit of a rogue. The subtle challenge in his eyes begged her to trade quips. The urge to play his verbal game thrummed through her. A part of her longed for the distraction of a courtship, but she’d answered that call once before and regretted it to this day. Like others of life’s best distractions, Edward Napier would have to wait.
    Practicality forced her to turn the conversation to Hannah. “That’s a lovely neckcloth.”
    Wiggling with glee, the girl slid her brother a coy look. “Papa made it all tied up—for me.”
    â€œâ€Šâ€™Tis silly,” spat Christopher. “A lassie cannot wear a man’s clothing—”
    With only a stern gaze, the earl silenced the boy, but in that glance passed a wealth of communication. Christopher succumbed to good manners.
    The earl turned to his daughter. “Sit down, Hannah.”
    â€œâ€Šâ€™S’Christopher’s fault.”
    â€œYou put my toad in the laundry basket.”
    â€œYou took all the letters.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she sent her father a beseeching look.
    His features softened, and he reached for her. “You’re tired, aren’t you, Button?”
    Her head bobbed, setting her ringlets and her cravat to bouncing.
    Button. Yes, thought Agnes, admiring the sweet-faced, dark-haired Hannah. The name suited her perfectly. She must favor her mother, the earl’s angular face and strong, square chin were anything but buttonlike.
    He kissed her forehead. “Bid good day to Lady Agnes, and I’ll have Peg take you upstairs.”
    In the absence of the nanny, a local girl named Peg had cared for his children. The woman’s sudden disappearance from the church was one of dozens of things Agnes intended to question him about.
    â€œChristopher, finish your food and say good day.”
    â€œOh, please no, Father,” Christopher begged. “You said if we didn’t pick our noses or spill our cider, we could take our whole meal with you and Lady Agnes.”
    Suddenly alert, Hannah yanked her thumb from her mouth. “I want lemon cake.”
    â€œYou promised,” said her brother, a whine lifting his voice. “I get clotted cream on my cake.”
    â€œVery well. Would you like clotted cream, too?” he asked the girl.
    She shook her head so vigorously, her black ringlets slapped his face. “I want . . .” Now that she had his attention, she took full advantage of it. Agnes knew the ploy well; as a child she’d often used it herself. “I want . . . partridge pie.”
    Humor danced in his eyes. “On lemon cake? How thoroughly individual of you, Hannah Linnette.”
    She basked in his praise. “I want May posies and angel bugs, too.”
    â€œYou’ll spend the night retching in a pot,” said Christopher.
    Hannah stuck out her tongue at him. “And toy soldiers.”
    â€œNot my toy soldiers.”
    The girl giggled and flung an arm toward Agnes. “Her toy soldiers.”
    Christopher sighed dramatically and turned baleful eyes to Agnes. “You must give them over to her, my lady, else she’ll pout until your ears ache.”
    â€œNo, she will not.” The earl put Hannah into her chair and lifted his arm to attract the serving girl. “There’ll be no pouting at the table.” To Agnes, he said, “Will you have cake, my lady?”
    â€œYes, with a new carriage filled with rose petals on top.”
    He laughed again. His children chortled.
    When the serving girl arrived, he instructed her to bring dessert. That done, he addressed his children. “We haven’t even inquired after Lady Agnes’s health.”
    Nodding, Hannah said, “She got