Autumn Glory and Other Stories by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page B

and entree to all the best bordellos. Inessa whined that she loved babies.
    Into the ensuing silence, Winn casually remarked, “I couldn’t help overhearing your mention of the vicar. No one has aught to say of him but the highest praises. My uncle the duke has a living open at his seat, a large, wealthy parish up near Rutland. That’s close to the Belvoir hunt, I believe. He asked me to keep an eye out for a likely young cleric. It would be a real step up for a good man. I was thinking of offering it to young Allbright, if you wouldn’t mind my stealing him away.”
    “Why not?” Lord Bannister growled. “You’ve got everything else.”
    “We’ll all miss him,” Irma chimed in over her father’s rudeness, “especially Nessie.” Inessa whimpered about a house of her own, a little cottage would do. Irma hurried on as if her sister had not spoken, or sniveled. “But we’d never put a damper on his career, would we, Papa? Kelvin Allbright’s such a fine, upstanding man, isn’t he, Mama?”
    Lady Bannister nodded, wondering how she would keep possession of the bill of sale for her files, marked D for depravity. “He comes from a good family, writes a neat hand. High-minded horizontals.” She drifted out of the room with the vague excuse of preparations for the ball.
    “That’s very kind of you not to stand in the fellow’s way,” Lord Wingate said after accepting a cup of coffee and a wink from Irma. “Who knows how high a churchman can rise, with the right connections. Of course, he’d need the perfect helpmate. Someone who can serve the needy and entertain the bishop. Someone like your charming Miss Inessa, for instance, who is much too good for a frippery fellow like me.”
    “Belvoir, eh?”
    “Oh, Papa, please.”
    “Tea with the bishop, what? That would please your mama; you could get his autograph.”
    “My Kelvin might even be the bishop someday, Papa.”
    “Your Kelvin, is it? Well, Irene said she wanted to see you all settled by the hunt ball. Send him to me, Nessie, we’ll talk.”

6
    “You were magnificent, Lord Wingate!”
    “Winn.”
    “That, too! Why, the horse, the high-flyer. I swear you couldn’t have done better!”
    “So we statesmen are not such stodgy, paltry fellows after all, eh, Glory?”
    “I should say not. It’s a wonder we lost the colonies. I daresay you must have poured buckets of brandy down Mr. Frye’s throat to get that paper.”
    “No, the makebait was barely disguised. He merely drives a hard bargain. I must have been the one who was cupshot, paying a thousand pounds for a filly! Never in my life have I been so outrageously extravagant. And my poor head!”
    “Oh dear, and it was all my fault!” Irma cried, clutching at his arm.
    “Don’t shout, sweetheart!” he moaned, but he squeezed her hand on his arm, and did not let Irma draw it back to her side.
    They were walking in the woods, unsupervised since Lady Bannister was closeted in her sitting room with Vicar Allbright’s latest sermon. Yes, the i ’s were dotted with a dollop of devout dedication, but, ah, the a ’s were awash with ambition. Poor Kelvin had ridden over to ask an opinion, and he was stumbling home with a new bride, a new position, and no Sunday sermon.
    Lord Wingate, despite his throbbing head, was meanwhile basking in the light of another crisp day, and Irma’s grateful admiration. The companionable silence was broken only by the sound of their booted feet kicking up leaves, and the occasional bark of Bridey, the old hound bitch, who waddled along behind them. Winn was thinking what a relief it was not to have to make idle chitchat, and Irma was struck dumb, for once, at his endearment, and the fact that Viscount Wingate had actually sought out her company. She pretended to study the treetops so she wouldn’t be caught staring at him in his fawn breeches and high-topped Hessians.
    After the fresh air had cleared his head somewhat, Lord Wingate commented, “Well, now there