Silken Bonds by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [Beaton, M.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7953-2195-5
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 1989-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Frederica’s first reaction was that she would not go. Her second, that tomorrow seemed an unconscionable time away.

***

Since her rescue by the colonel, Mrs. Waverley had received a great many invitations. The Waverleys were once more in the news. The colonel’s killing of the famous highwayman had been reported in all the newspapers, simply because the newspapers wished to discourse at length on the boldness of criminals who had moved in from the highroads, once more to terrify the citizens of London.

She flicked through them, longing to accept some of them, but fearing that terrifying outside world of society. She had meant to lead the life of a semirecluse, to put up barriers against the world—particularly the world of men. She had adopted the girls in order to supply herself with an immediate, ready-made family, who would be bound to her by gratitude and who would keep her company in her declining years. But things had not worked out as expected. The ungrateful Fanny had run off, and now Frederica was showing signs of waywardness.

Mrs. Waverley thought about Colonel Bridie. Now there was a man she could trust, she could lean on. His fiancée was indeed fortunate, and so Mrs. Waverley imbued the crusty and old-fashioned colonel with sensitivities and liberal ideas he did not possess.

When he was announced, she blushed like a girl and asked him in a shy voice to sit down.

The colonel did as he was bid and looked at her wearily. Here was a real lady, he thought: plump, stately, and dignified.

“You seemed distressed, Colonel,” said Mrs. Waverley. “I hope nothing has gone wrong.”

“Everything is wrong,” mourned the colonel. “Madam, I am shattered. Was ever a man so betrayed?”

“Then you shall be comforted and you shall tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Waverley, ringing the bell. She ordered Mrs. Ricketts and two of the housemaids to put a footstool at the colonel’s feet, to make up the fire for the day was cold, to bring cakes and biscuits and a good bottle of canary.

To have women bustling about him, to have a footstool tenderly placed under his feet, and a glass of wine placed in his hand, to hear the crackle of the fire, listen to the ticking of the clocks, and watch the cold rain lashing down outside, was balm to the colonel’s wounded soul.

“I should have known there were ladies like you in this sad world,” said the colonel, “before I tried to throw away my good name on a slut!”

“Faith!” cried Mrs. Waverley, raising her plump, beringed hands to her massive bosom. “Do tell me. What happened?”

“You heard from Miss Frederica that the character of Lady Harriet was impersonated by Caroline James?”

Mrs. Waverley nodded so vigorously that her starched muslin cap bobbed and shook.

“Alas, madam, Miss James was my fiancée.”

Mrs. Waverley’s face perceptively hardened, and the colonel cried, “Ah, do not look at me so. Hear me out. I believed she had given up her profession. She agreed to become my wife. I was blind! Blind! When I heard of her masquerade, I went to berate her.

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