Elisabeth Kidd Read Online Free Page B

and may pass on to you.”
    This consideration interested Sydney mightily. Adopting what she imagined to be a supremely practical point of view, she acknowledged that, however great her natural talents might be, she was still an amateur—a mere dilettante—no more worthy to be called an artist than any other tiresome young lady who dabbled in watercolours and music.
    What did she know, after all, of the real world of the theatre, of booksellers and painters? Granted, as a general rule the Ton knew no more of the business side of the arts than Sydney did, but among them she would be in a position to enlighten herself. Lady Caroline Lamb had after all published her infamous Glenarvon only three years before; she must have had some social connection with Mr. Murray’s literary establishment—if only through Lord Byron—for Sydney knew that had she, an unknown provincial, sent such a piece of nonsense to him, it would have been speedily rejected. Furthermore, merely residing in London would enable her to attend concerts and the theatre and the exhibitions—something denied her entirely in her cozy but isolated country existence. That in itself would teach her a great deal.
    “Very well,’’ she told her uncle finally, “I will go.” To herself she added, “and take every opportunity to learn what his high and mighty lordship can teach me!’’
    With a grim set to her pretty chin, therefore, Sydney prepared to embark on this adventure with the same determination—however short-lived—which she had shown for her previous schemes. She packed for the journey with an eye to the clothes she might need to attend various entertainments—which did not quite fill a small trunk—and the books and other materials she might need in pursuing her advanced studies—which filled a large trunk and several boxes. She then instructed her uncle to send an express warning Lyle of her advent, and bade him goodbye in a jaunty manner which—had Mr. Wendt been of a less sanguine temperament—might have concerned him more than a little, and set off by post chaise to Arundel.
    The Marquess having nonetheless not been informed in time of his duty to meet Miss Archer, she was accorded only a perfunctory politeness on the part of the landlord of the Friar’s Head and the use of his second-best parlour, where Sydney sat on a hard wooden chair for an hour before Hitchin, her coachman, volunteered to ride up to Long Hill to make enquiries. By that time, however, Sydney was in such a temper that she declared she could not sit still for another second. Demanding that a horse be saddled for her, she forced Lyle’s exact direction out of the disapproving Hitchin, and set off for Long Hill by herself.
    Augustus Wendt had once suggested to his niece that, if Lyle had been her father’s best friend, he must therefore be an agreeable person, or at least have many admirable qualities; but when Sydney demanded entrance of an astonished Murray, she was in no mood to be agreeable in return.
    It was not until she was lying in the Marquess’s most luxurious guest bed, staring up at a pleasantly rose-coloured canopy, that it occurred to her that it was scarcely Lyle’s fault that her letter had not reached him, and that he had, despite her childish tantrum, gone to a great deal of trouble to make her immediately comfortable. Arrogant he might be—Sydney wondered parenthetically if her uncle would tell her arrogance was admirable because Lyle practiced it—but she had to concede that he was, if a trifle high in the instep, neither selfish nor thoughtless. He was, she realized, her spirits sinking yet further, unfortunately not eccentric either, and worst of all, he was a good deal younger—her father Owen having been, it seemed, some years senior to Lyle—and far more handsome than Sydney had anticipated.
    This last, on top of what now seemed her unforgivable behaviour in storming into that library as she had done—besides saying some very foolish