Goblin Moon by Teresa Edgerton Read Free Book Online

daughters.
    I wonder if I might be of assistance?” said a quiet
voice behind her, and Sera turned. The voice belonged to a slender
gallant in lilac taffeta with foaming white lace at his throat and
wrists and knots of silver ribbon on either shoulder.
    “Lord Skelbrooke,” she said, and suddenly discovered
she was as breathless as Elsie.
    “How do you do, Miss Vorder?” Lord Skelbrooke removed
a dove-colored tricorn liberally decorated with ostrich plumes and
silver braid, and bowed over Sera’s limply extended hand.
    Francis Skelbrooke did not paint his face as some of
the other dandies did, for he had a fine fresh color of his own. He
elected to wear his own hair, immaculately curled and powdered at
the front, tied back in loose white curls at the back. But he
always wore a tiny black satin patch in the shape of a five-pointed
star high on one cheek, and he made liberal use of the scent
bottle.
I
despise
effeminate men
, thought Sera. Though much to her
annoyance, she felt her heartbeat accelerate and the palms of her
hands grow damp.
    Cousin Clothilde spared her the necessity of a
coherent reply. “We’ve been here this age,” said Mistress Vorder,
“and that dreadful serving man has not offered us any tea.”
    “Allow me to rectify his neglect.” The young Imbrian
nobleman bowed once more, tucked his hat under his arm, and
strolled off to speak to the servant. Sera sank down into the chair
which the Jarl was still holding for her, and waved her fan
frantically in a futile attempt to cool her face.
    Strong tea and dainty white sugar cakes did much to
revive Elsie. “And if you had eaten a decent breakfast as I begged
you to,” Sera whispered over the teacups, “I am convinced you could
have made the climb easily. Dear me . . . I don’t doubt that
I
should have dizzy spells and swooning
fits myself, if I started the day with a half a biscuit and a
draught of vinegar!
    “But you know that Mama doesn’t like me to eat before
noon,” replied Elsie. “Dr. Gustenhover told her that a large
breakfast would overheat my blood.”
    Sera sniffed disdainfully. “Overheat your blood
indeed! When your hands and your feet are always cold as ice.” She
resolved to smuggle some sausages or boiled eggs up from the
kitchen tomorrow morning and coax Elsie into eating them.
What Cousin Clothilde does not suspect, she
cannot forbid, and if she asks no questions, I shan’t be obliged to
lie.
    “You dislike Lord Skelbrooke—I can’t imagine why,”
Elsie was saying. “He is not either kind of man that you described
to me before: neither condescendingly haughty nor insultingly
familiar. There is not a more courteous man in Thornburg.”
    Sera herself did not understand it. Proud men and
dissolute men did nothing to ruffle her composure; she could ignore
the discourtesies of the one sort just as coolly as she crushed the
pretensions of the other; therefore, it was a mystery to her (and
the cause of great resentment) why Francis Skelbrooke, with his
soft voice, his faint Imbrian accent, his speaking grey eyes, and
his gravely respectful manner, never failed to discompose her. This
did not, however, prevent her from inventing an excuse for Elsie’s
benefit.
    “Francis Love Skelbrooke is a poet . . . and what is
more he is a visionary. To be one or the other is to be no more
foolish than most young men, but the combination of ‘visionary
poet’ is one that any rational being must find positively
intolerable.”
    Far from being shocked by her cousin’s vehemence,
Elsie stifled a giggle. “Dear Sera, I do believe that I love you
best when you are being completely unreasonable.”
    Lord Skelbrooke reappeared a short time later, this
time escorting the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen. They made a pretty
pastel pair, the Duchess and Francis Skelbrooke: she in grey satin
and cobweb lace, he in lilac and silver, and both of them so small
and neatly made. Sera felt uncomfortably conscious of her extra
inches and her matronly