The Mandarin of Mayfair Read Online Free Page B

smile. "I heard you. Did you say something about Mr. August having picked up a bag of— feathers?"
    "Right." Tummet's agile brain raced "At me rhyming cant I were, Miss Gwen. Mr. August don't like it, but old habits ain't easy to break, y'know." He saw the girl's speculative look and said in desperation, "Bag of feathers—meaning… er, nag from Weathers. Mr. August bought this here chestnut mare, y'see. From a farmer name of Weathers. In—er—"
    "Cornwall," supplied Gwendolyn obligingly. "Nasty, was it?"
    Bewildered, Tummet stared at her while Apollo scoured the hearth for crumbs.
    "You said Mr. August picked up a
nasty
bag of feathers," she reminded.
    "Ooh—ar. Yus. Well, it were, mate. I mean Miss. Terrible broke down nag. Proper took in, was the guv'nor."
    She wrinkled her brow. "How very unlike him. He is such a fine judge of horseflesh."
    Tummet's inventive mind failed at this point, and taking pity on him, Gwendolyn walked to the door.
    Breathing a sigh of relief he moved away from hearth and hound, wiping his fingers on a red handkerchief.
    Gwendolyn turned back. "What became of it?"
    He blinked at her.
    "The nag," she said demurely. "Was he able to sell the poor beast? Or was it too—nasty?"
    "Couldn't give it away," he answered, rallying. "Had to turn it loose on the moors. I'd be obliged if you didn't say nought to me guv abaht it, Miss Gwen. Awful embarrassed, he were."
    Gwendolyn chuckled. "Well done," she said, and left him.
    In the upper corridor a tantalizing aroma led her to the morning room. She knew Katrina would not be in there, but she was surprised to find August sitting cross-legged before the fire holding a long-handled pan over the flames. It was an unlikely and unfamiliar occupation for that haughty individual, and he swore and drew back as a cloud of smoke billowed from the chimney to envelop him.
    "Chestnuts! Lovely!" Gwendolyn peered over his shoulder, then retreated to occupy a fireside chair and open her book.
    "Pray join me," he spluttered sarcastically.
    " 'Tis as well I have," she said. "They'll never cook through if you hold them so far back. You should have let Chef—"
    "I am perfectly capable—" He coughed and waved smoke away, blinking tearfully.
    "And I am a heartless wretch! Truly, I never meant to bring you to tears, August. Do pray keep on as you were doing. We shall enjoy our roasted chestnuts just as well tomorrow."
    "
Our
roasted chestnuts?" Indignant, he turned to her. She looked quite pretty, he thought, in a gown of cream silk with a design of tiny pale blue nosegays, the waist fitted above a panier skirt. As he had expected, despite the contrite words, her little face was alight with mischief. She was the sister of one of the few men he admired, and her friendship was highly prized by his own sister. Because of this, he had come to accept the fact that Gwendolyn Rossiter appeared to consider Falcon House her home away from home. He was even willing to admit that her nature was kind and affectionate, and that she was unfailingly cheerful. Unfortunately, her affliction freed her from some of the restraints exercised by maidens hopeful of making a good match. She had a lively curiosity, discussed topics which propriety decreed should not be mentioned by gently bred up young ladies, and was outspoken to a fault. As a result, she was ignored by most of London's
haut ton
.
    For various reasons, the most telling of which was his wealth, Falcon was not ignored. He made no attempt to conceal his contempt for Polite Society, and his caustic tongue and aloof manner repulsed most men, even those who admired his sporting prowess. He was well aware that he was despised because of his mixed blood, and both knew and loathed the nickname given him. It was a name never spoken to his face, because his reputation was well earned, and few men would dare meet him on the field of honour. He was known to be dangerous in other matters also. Matchmaking mamas shudderingly warned their daughters