Madcap Miss by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

long, deep peaceful breaths filled the chamber.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Grace was not quite up with the sun, but she rose not much after it. A country servant, younger than Grace herself and pretty in a robust way, came and shook her awake. “ Time to get up, missie, ” she said gaily. “ Your grandma is up and wants me to do your hair. ”
    Grace rubbed her eyes as she looked around the strange room. The brown walls of the preceding evening had softened to a faded yellow, with lighter spots that might, perhaps, be roses. The sunlight streaming through the dusty panes picked out heavy mahogany furnishings from a past era.
    Memory returned, causing her to look in alarm at the servant. Grace got out of bed and turned toward the window to scramble into her dress, to prevent the girl ’ s discovering she was not a child. Once the concealing dress was on, she felt safer. The servant took a brush to her hair, yanking it hard, then pulling it into two tails, with a part down the back.
    “ My name ’ s Molly, ” the servant said as she worked. “ This here is how I do my sister ’ s hair. ”
    As Molly stuck two large blue bows on the ends of the braids, Grace glanced in the mirror and felt she was looking at a veritable youngster. If ever she had to pass as a minor again, she ’ d know how to accomplish it. “ Thank you, ” she said in a voice strangled with suppressed laughter.
    Whewett ’ s lips twitched in amusement when she appeared in the breakfast parlor. “ A new style, Augusta? ” he asked.
    “ Yes, Papa. One of the servants did it. Do you like it? ”
    “ Very pretty, ” he said, inclining his head over his coffee cup to conceal his smile.
    “ No it ain ’ t, it ’ s ugly as bedamned, ” Lady Healy declared loudly. “ But it ’ s neat and tidy, and no one but ourselves will see it. I have had porridge made for you, Augusta. ”
    “ Thank you, ” Grace replied, with a longing look at the gammon and eggs the adults were consuming.
    “ Gussie has the same breakfast as myself, ” Whewett said. “ There is no need to put the servants to the extra work of making gruel. ”
    Lady Healy shook her head at such folly. “ Grease has destroyed more young ladies ’ complexions than you would credit. It causes spots and those ugly black pores. It does well enough for mature systems. They can handle anything, but you will have Gussie blossoming into spots if you feed her lard. ”
    Whewett cast a brief glance across the table at the petal-like complexion of Miss Farnsworth. “ We certainly wouldn ’ t want that. Eat your gruel, Gussie. ”
    “ It ’ s lumpy, ” Grace said, putting her spoon into the unappetizing mess in her bowl. The spoon stood up straight.
    “ Rubbish! No one can make oat porridge like the Scots. My own cook prepared it specially for you. Now eat it up, ” Grandma ordered.
    As Grace was extremely hungry, she ate it, while the tantalizing aroma of toast, meat, and coffee hung over the table. It was the coffee that nearly undid her.
    Lady Healy ruled the conversation, telling Whewett where to ride, what to check — the state of the fields for water, fences, crops. “ You can take lunch at the inn you will come to a mile beyond the west pasture. No need to come all the way back here. Augusta and I can amuse ourselves. We take dinner at six. Be sure you are home in time to change. ”
    “ Yes, Grandmama, ” he said, in the same submissive tone as his “ daughter. ”
    When breakfast was over, Lady Healy announced, “ You will go to the stable with your papa, Augusta, to see him off. Then come back. I want to test you on the Bible. I wrote you a dozen times to study your Bible. ”
    “ Yes, Grandmama. ”
    The two escaped to the stable, oblivious of the sun shining on verdant fields and the hint of a breeze stirring the leaves above. “ Sorry about the gruel, ” Whewett said.
    “ It was the coffee I regretted more. It smelled so good. ”
    “ It was bitter. The Scots may make a