Wicked All Day by Liz Carlyle

Author:Liz Carlyle [Carlyle, Liz]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical romance
ISBN: 9781416594925
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 2009-09-21T14:00:00+00:00

Jonet’s eyes lit with wry humor. “Do you not?” she murmured. “Well, then. Shall I see you at dinner?

It was half past two by the time the three young ladies set off on their stroll to the village, accompanied by Miss Adler. Zoë started off in haste, seething with nervous energy. A narrow but pretty footpath wound them through the wood and over a log bridge; a shortcut, Davinia assured her, to the heart of Lower Thorpe.

Both girls were full of idle chatter, and somehow Zoë slowed her pace, and forced herself into the spirit of things. Walking arm in arm with Davinia where the path permitted it, they laughingly exchanged what gossip Miss Adler would allow. Robin’s sister, Zoë discovered, fancied herself in love with the eldest of the vicar’s sons, Edward Ware, who was nonetheless about ten years too old for her. This, however, did not prevent the girls from swooning at every mention of his name.

As they approached the village green, they passed the post office, and beside it, the infamous Rose and Crown. Zoë could not help but look over her shoulder at the tavern as they went by.

The place looked a little shabby, and she could not but wonder what attraction it held for Robin that he should wish to spend the better part of his days—and his nights—there.

But she had come to be a good companion to the two younger ladies whilst Miss Adler performed her errands, so she looked away and tried not to think of it. At the mercantile, they went in to purchase shoelaces, but came out with Davinia’s pockets full of peppermints. They visited the hatmaker, where they bought a new hat ribbon for Valerie, and the linen draper’s, where Miss Adler picked up a packet of lace for Jonet.

Soon they turned round and set off in the direction of home again. At the post office, however, Miss Adler went in to mail a letter. In the yard of the Rose and Crown adjacent, a young ostler stood holding a large bay horse that looked familiar. Almost at once, the taproom door flew open, and a familiar, barrel-shaped gentleman trundled out, his stubbled gray hair unmistakable.

“Sir William!” Davinia rushed into the yard with unseemly haste, Valerie in tow.

Left with no alternative, Zoë followed.

The squire had already swung into the saddle. “Good afternoon, Lady Davinia, Lady Valerie.”

He looked down, then his expression seemed to stiffen ever so slightly. “Ah, and Miss Armstrong! How do you do?”

“Quite well, sir,” said Zoë, bobbing. “I hope Lady Shankling is w—”

“Sir William, is it true?” Davinia burst out. “Are you to have a hunt tomorrow? Might I ride out to watch?”

The squire laughed. “Oh, we shall have something like a hunt, minx,” he said charitably. “As to your going, you must ask your mamma about that.”

Davinia’s face fell. Zoë smiled up at him. “I understand we shall have the pleasure of your company at dinner?”

“You shall indeed,” said Sir William, his beefy hands reining his horse toward the high street.

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