Miss Thalia Temple, unlike every other passenger in the Accommodation coach with her, was enjoying her journey. It was a habit with Tally to enjoy her life. Not that she had made a decision to do so in cold blood. No, indeed! It was her bright, outgoing, cheerful nature to enter upon every day and each new experience as though it were the most delightful adventure. Perhaps her thick, shining golden hair, soft brown eyes, and pretty smile set with two dimples won for her a pleasant acceptance in situations most persons would have found uncomfortable or even disastrous. For example, an experience such as the trip just completed from Bath to Exeter. As the passengers disgorged themselves from the coach in the early dawn, a more miserable lot it would have been difficult to discover. Tired, pallid, travel-queasy, they straggled into the Jolly Roger Inn seeking sustenance and comfort.
Tally, bright-eyed and fresher than would seem possible after the dreadful night, came up behind a drooping young mother who was striving to soothe her wailing infant.
"Do let me hold Susan, ma'am," she suggested. "Get yourself freshened up. I'll order a cup of coffee for us both, and warm milk for Baby. Yes, do go!" she urged firmly. "I'll meet you in the Common Room in a few minutes."
With a persuasive smile she nodded toward the inn. The weary mother gratefully transferred the child to Tally's arms and went into the spacious entry hall. Tally settled the baby neatly in one arm and made her way purposefully toward the Common.
The infant, whether astonished by its new carrier or soothed by so much firmness and beauty, abruptly stopped its feeble wail and began to make sucking noises. Tally's delicious laugh gurgled softly, and her fact was lit by a tender smile.
An inadvertent witness to this scene was a tall, handsome man in a modish coat, burnished top boots, skintight buckskins, and a truly dashing topper. He had been observing the grubby passengers disembarking from the coach with a clearly supercilious eye, but the little byplay had piqued his interest. As the beautiful young woman approached his vantage point, some willful impulse moved the gentleman to step in front of her, blocking her passage effectively. Thus Tally found herself confronting a natty waistcoat rather than the open doorway she had made her goal.
Large brown eyes raised a good fourteen inches to survey the face above this unexpected obstacle. Girl and man gave one another a careful survey. Tally saw a remarkably handsome face, strong, dark-browed, and capped with shining dark hair under the dashingly angled topper. Keen gray eyes were making a slow, insolent scrutiny of her face and person. As the girl's color rose at this impertinence, a smile of mocking amusement tugged at the corners of a beautifully cut mouth.
"You are blocking the entrance, sir," Tally said crisply. Her voice was low and clear; her enunciation placed her in the class of educated and genteel persons.
The gentleman took a closer look. Observing her very appropriate and elegant traveling costume, he asked himself what such a charmer was doing in a public conveyance, and offering to hold the other girl's squalling infant to boot?
Tally had had enough of the young buck's insolence. "You will allow me to pass at once, sirrah, or I shall see you suffer for your impertinence."
In all of his privileged life, Lord Philip Sandron, the Baron Sandroval and Estes, had never been treated to quite such a look of icy condemnation. Beautiful ladies of his own class were wont to greet him with charming smiles and teasing allure, for his fortune was enormous and his title older and more respected than many a ducal name. So at this quelling setdown from an unknown chit of a female, Lord Philip raised an arrogant eyebrow.
"And who is to make me suffer?" he asked silkily. He made an elaborate scan of the immediate vicinity for possible defenders or knights errant, then returned his glance to the girl. "You?"
He had not thought that soft brown eyes could flash so fiercely, then narrow with such sharp intent. "You will not remove yourself?" came the quiet challenge.
Lord Philip thought quickly. This encounter was not shaping as he might have expected. Mentally he cursed himself for the willful impulse which had led him to obstruct the chit's passage. He could step aside and forget the whole incident. But a demon in his nature prodded him to uncharacteristic action. Or perhaps it was the lack of the flattering response he had come to expect from this young woman.
"I am enjoying the view from here," he said with a taunting grin.
"Here, take the child," commanded the girl, thrusting the infant at him.
In a reflex action which was quite involuntary, Lord Philip caught the baby gingerly in both hands. Keeping one of her own hands a few inches below his, Tally knocked his hat off with the other. As he made a snatch, again involuntary, to save it, the girl neatly removed the baby from his loosened grasp and pushed past him into the inn.
An ostler who had observed the whole incident uttered a snort of laughter. Retrieving his hat from the muddy paving stones, Philip turned upon the wretched groom with a snarl. And then his expression changed. A wide grin replaced the snarl, and he threw back his head and joined in the laugh.
"Had ye there, didden' she Guv?" jibed the ostler.
"A most capable and determined female," agreed his lordship, the grin fading into a thoughtful expression. And I was an arrogant and insolent lout, he told himself. The girl handled me very neatly, with the minimum of violence. Should I seek her out and apologize? With a sense of shock it occurred to him that so far in his much-flattered social existence there had risen no situation in which he had felt it necessary to offer an apology. He was still surprised at his own uncharacteristic discourtesy in blocking the girl at the doorway. The incident was beginning to assume a strange quality which startled and intrigued him. Casually brushing the mud from his hat, Lord Philip strolled into the Jolly Roger.
The girl was in the Ordinary, talking to the host's wife. The latter was cooing over the infant with that besotted look females get. Lord Philip changed his mind about approaching the girl under such public circumstances. He took a seat near the hall doorway. As was usual, a servant came almost immediately to him to request his pleasure.
"A glass of your best wine, if you please. I am waiting to have a fresh team set to, and shall not have time for a meal."
"Yes, sir, right away, sir!" The waiter ran off and returned quickly with the wine. Lord Philip tossed him a coin, his eyes returning immediately to the girl, who was now ensconced at a table near a window, feeding the baby with sips of milk from a small spoon. Within a few moments his lordship's groom was at his shoulder, announcing that the horses were put to. His lordship waved him away.
"Walk them till I come."
The groom, whose name was Abbent, nodded and went back to the innyard, having first cast a knowing glance around the room to spot whatever charmer had engaged his lordship's fastidious attention. There was only one real Dasher, Abbent estimated, but since she was busy feeding a nipper, it could hardly be her the master was stalking.
At this moment the child's mother came hesitantly into the Ordinary. She saw her child and the beautiful girl at once, and made her way among the long tables to come to them. With a few serious words and a dazzling smile, the Dasher arose and transferred the baby to its mother. Then she made her way toward the door.
Lord Philip, in the grip of a strange compulsion, rose, and grimly set himself in her way.
Big brown eyes, twinkling with amusement, lifted to meet his hard gray glance.
"Not again!" she said softly, with both dimples showing.
"Wish to offer my apologies, Ma'am," said Lord Philip stiffly.
"Now that," said the chit, regarding him with mirthful eyes, "is handsomely done! I do hope your very modish chapeau is none the worse for its--tumble?"
A reluctant grin made human the stern expression on his lordship's face. He stood aside, making the elegant bow for which he was so admired at Almack's. Giving her a smile which brought roses to her cheeks, he said softly, "Better go while you still have the chance, Circe!--Or should I call you Parthenope--lest you, too, find yourself in deep water!"
If he had sought to disconcert the girl with his reference to the siren who drowned herself at the escape of the hero Odysseus, he was far out.
"But Odysseus didn't escape me!" flashed back the chit. "I knocked his hat off and let him go!"
Admiration lightened the man's expression as he bowed again. "A classicist, no less!" he murmured. "Well, little Miss Bluestocking, however you came to learn of the siren's myth, may I advise you that your teachers would not approve of your knocking a gentleman's hat off in public?"
Slipping neatly to one side of him, the girl murmured, "Gentleman?" and then was gone from the inn.
Checkmate, admitted the nobleman, staring after the charming figure with a reluctant smile.
)
With the startling beauty of a princess, but hardly the wealth to be associated with royalty, Miss Thalia Temple's pride prevents her from growing too close to anyone or anything unfamiliar to her--even when the charming Lord Philip Sandron courts her. He is a handsome, passionate gentleman with a strong countenance and a determination to win Miss Thalia's heart--if she'll allow him the chance. When she realizes he may be a great help to her in matters of business, she doesn't expect him to become the subject of her heart's drama.
