A Change of Fortune by Sandra Heath Read Free Book Online

he was able to read her every thought. A strange, totally unexpected nervousness beset her for a moment. She lowered her eyes as she curtsied to him. “Sir Guy?”
    “Your youthfulness amazes me, Miss Hart,” he said dryly.
    “Oh, I’m not Miss Hart,” she replied quickly.
    “I’m relieved to hear it, for I cannot envisage entrusting my niece to the care of a woman who somehow manages to look younger now than she apparently did twenty years ago.” He studied her for a moment. “If you are not the redoubtable Miss Hart, may I inquire who you are?”
    “My name is Miss Conyngham, Miss Leonie Conyngham. Miss Hart sent me to see if I could be of any assistance to you.”
    “Conyngham? I rather think your name is known to me.”
    No doubt it was, she thought, for Imogen was bound to have mentioned her, and not in a flattering light! She cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. “Miss Hart wishes to know if you would care to join her guests for tea.”
    He gave a short laugh. “Take tea with the Borgias? Perish the thought.”
    “I…beg your pardon?”
    “Her guests are Countess Lieven, Miss Benckendorff, and the Duke of Thornbury, are they not?” He paused. “On second thought, maybe I insult the Borgias. No, Miss Conyngham, I do not wish to take tea, I’ve merely come to see over the premises with a view to sending my niece here.”
    “Perhaps I could conduct you?” she suggested tentatively, feeling inexplicably awkward in his presence.
    He seemed to find her hesitancy amusing. “I don’t know, Miss Conyngham—can you? Perhaps you do not feel sufficiently well-acquainted with the building.”
    She flushed. “I’m perfectly well-acquainted with it, sir.”
    “Then by all means show me around.” He glanced at the long-case clock in the corner. “And I suggest that you do so promptly, for I have an early dinner appointment and wish to have this mummery over with as soon as possible.”
    Mummery? What manner of word was that to use of something concerning his niece’s future?
    “Do I detect a gleam of disapproval in your eyes, Miss Conyngham?”
    “It isn’t for me to approve or disapprove, Sir Guy.”
    “I’m glad you realize that fact.”
    She was beginning to dislike him. The initial sense of attraction was still there, but although Guy de Lacey might be the most handsome of men, his manner left a great deal to be desired, and his ill-concealed impatience grated very much indeed. “Perhaps,” she suggested coolly, “you might find it more convenient to call another day, when you have more time.”
    The dark eyes swung quickly toward her. “No, madam, I would not find it more convenient, and since Miss Hart has evidently dispatched you to assist me, might I suggest that that is precisely what you do?”
    She felt hot, angry color flooding into her cheeks, and quickly she turned to pick up a lighted candelabrum from the nearby table. “If you will come this way, Sir Guy.” She walked toward the schoolroom wing at the rear of the house.
    They entered the music room first. Dancing was also taught there, and on a sunny day it was a bright, cheerful room, its windows overlooking the adjoining house on the corner of Curzon Street, but now it was dark and cold, the shutters closed and the velvet curtains tightly drawn. Their steps echoed on the gleaming parquet floor, and the shivering light from the candelabrum illuminated the dust sheets over the pianoforte and harp. The chandeliers moved slightly in the draft from the open door.
    Leonie’s voice sounded hollow as she explained the various lessons which took place in the room, but she was aware that he was paying very little attention to what she said. His thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. On his dinner engagement? On Imogen? Wherever they were, they did not seem to center upon his unfortunate niece, on whose behalf he was here. He was, Leonie decided, merely going through the motions of being the concerned uncle and guardian, and he was