Miss Lindel's Love Read Online Free Page A

titled lady. I have seen even the most acrimonious discussion turn into the lowing of ewe lambs by the sound of an aristocratic voice.”
    “A family at the manor would be a better thing for the village, sure enough.” Mr. Harley, the village grocer and draper, puffed up his waistcoat as he agreed with his wife. “A bachelor doesn’t order more than a bottle of embrocation once a blue moon, so to speak. With a lady at the manor and maybe children in time, there’d be some point to carrying a choicer selection of dress material, say, or patent medicines. Yes, and ladies’ maids and nurses need somewhere to buy their ribbons and furbelows.”
    He seemed lost in a dream of an endless succession of women trooping into his shop to buy trinkets. Maris thought it very unfair of him to withhold these luxuries until Lord Danesby married. What about the young women who lived here now?
    “It’s nothing but laziness,” gray-haired Miss Menthrip said with a thump of her black walnut walking stick. “These young men have no consideration for the future. What right does a man of nearly thirty have to be unmarried?”
    Maris reflected that if a village, the economy, and the needs of the land were all resting on her marriage, she’d be tempted to run away from home. She could hardly blame Lord Danesby for putting off the evil day as long as possible. Besides, he hadn’t met her yet, not in any meaningful way.
    “Perhaps he simply hasn’t fallen in love yet,” she ventured softly, sure that these mature people would close ranks against her intrusion.
    Mrs. Harley smiled fondly. “Ah, you young girls with your romantic dreams.”
    “It’s all very well for people like us to marry for affection’s sake,” Dr. Pike said. “Indeed, I should hope my children marry for no other reason. Yet life on my lord Danesby’s tier of society is very different. There, mutual affection is to be expected after marriage, not before.”
    “I blame the late lord,” Miss Menthrip said, the lace square on her head fluttering as she shook her head vigorously. “This matter should have been arranged years ago before the boy grew up. Our ancestors ordered this business with more sense than we do today. Earlier barons were betrothed in their cradles. There was none of this wishy-washy prattle about romantic love.”
    Miss Menthrip’s brother had been a noted amateur historian who had settled in Finchley upon his retirement from the law. He had died only a few years later, hardly remembered by the younger people, but his sister had created a niche for herself among the villagers. They respected her sharp tongue and appreciated her kindly heart.
    “You forget the field of courtly love,” Dr. Pike said. “When a knight would dare any danger for a smile from his ladylove.”
    “A fine thing for a man of the cloth to discuss in front of his young parishioners,” Miss Menthrip said, grabbing Maris’s hand in her dry one. “You know perfectly well those ladies were married and not to their knights-errant.” She tugged on Maris’s hand. When she leaned down, Miss Menthrip whispered loudly, “Fetch an old woman a glass of lemonade. All this nattering has parched my throat.”
    “Certainly, ma’am.”
    When she returned, the Pikes had gone on to their other guests and Mr. Harley was deeply engaged with some other gentlemen in a discussion of pig-breeding, his hobbyhorse and passion. Mrs. Harley only stayed by Miss Menthrip’s side until Maris returned. “I see Ramona Ransom over there. I’ve not seen her since the Christmas service. My, isn’t she pale? I hope she’s not been ill.”
    “Go on, don’t mind me.” Miss Menthrip shifted over somewhat stiffly on the settee. “Sit down, Maris, and keep me company.”
    Though Maris would rather rejoin her friends, whom she’d seen eating while she fetched the lemonade, she sat down with a pleased smile. “How are you, dear Miss Menthrip?”
    “You don’t want to hear about an old