Hayley Ann Solomon Read Online Free Page B

and offering to turn her pages, to which she responded with an impertinent shrug. It was so pointedly rude that it would have earned her a horrified gasp from her mama if only she had seen it.
    Lady Reynolds, fortunately, had not, for she was firmly occupied with securing her wrap. Sir Peter was ordering the first footman to stoke the embers, so he, too, did not notice Fern’s rancor.
    Warwick did, though, and he wondered at it. It was almost as if the girl had set her back up against him, but for the life of him he could not fathom why. He decided, grimly, that he would certainly find out, if he had to carry her kicking to the altar.
    “I do not require the pages turned, thank you. I shall play a little air I know by heart.”
    Warwick shrugged and took a seat, feeling foolish hovering over her when she evidently did not require it. The sensation was novel to him, for most young ladies positively threw their music sheets at him, batting their eyelashes wildly and thinking of every excuse under the sun—from lemonade to the burning desire to be fanned—to keep him at their sides. But Fern, evidently, was not like those ladies. He wondered in surprise why he sighed faintly at this discovery. He must be becoming a coxcomb, to be miffed at so minor a rejection!
    Lost in thought, he did not notice Sir Peter eyeing him keenly, or Lady Reynolds casting shrewd eyes upon his person. Nor did he notice Fern’s fingers move to the strings, until the first discordant notes. He tried not to wince, and coughed genteelly instead. Then again, came a jangling that set his nerves on edge.
    “Gracious, Fern, you are funning us!” Lady Reynolds gasped.
    But Fern was not funning; she simply could not see to save her life. She had thought she might get away with something simple, but of course, without her spectacles or even the quizzing glass, she could not see to find the first string. The whole matter, quite simply, was perfectly hopeless.
    Tears of mortification stung her eyes, for although she wanted to be rid of Lord Warwick, and she was certain this display would accomplish the matter, she felt a great depression of spirits. This, in addition to the natural feelings of anger at her predicament. Oh, if only she had not allowed Mimsy and her mama to bully her so! Surely her iron spectacles, with their charming blue satin ribbon, would have been preferable to this? But there was no going back, no wishing she had worn a simple muslin with her hair unfettered by clips and pins! No wishing that the damnable tiara, heavy upon her head, could be consigned to the devil, or indeed that the whole company be so consigned! Everyone—even Waters, the third footman, was staring at her agog.
    She rose from her seat a little unsteadily and held up her head a trifle higher than she might normally have done. Lord Warwick, rather than being annoyed, began admiring her for her backbone. She glared, with quite enormous, glorious, sparkling green eyes, at her audience.
    “You will forgive me if I retire. I am tired, and I have the headache. Lord Warwick, pray do not feel obliged to tender your addresses. I understand perfectly if you have undergone a change of heart. As a matter of fact, I release you utterly from any arrangements you may already have made. Naturally I do not have the details, since I was never consulted, but I surmise there must have been some settlements.”
    At which both her parents gasped in shock and annoyance, and Lord Warwick very nearly clapped his hands. So, she had spunk, the little one. And at last he thought he understood what ailed her.
    The little termagant had wished to be courted, by God! Well, if he could just uncover a trifle more of the evening’s mysteries, he might oblige. On the other hand, he should probably make a very hasty exit and thank his lucky stars. For the present, however, he satisfied himself with bowing and extending his hand. It was ignored, again, but he was not so easily set aside this time.
    Lady