Powder and Patch by Georgette Heyer Read Free Book Online

artistically above the elbow of his sword arm. As Philip’s blade wavered and fell, he wiped his own on his handkerchief, sheathed it, and bowed.
    “Let this be a lesson to you, sir,” he said, and walked away before Philip could pick up his sword.
    Twenty minutes later Philip walked into the hall of Sharley House, a handkerchief tied tightly round his arm, and asked for Mistress Cleone. On being told that she was in the parlour, he stalked in upon her.
    Cleone’s eyes flew to his crooked arm.
    “Oh!” she cried, and half rose. ‘What—what have you done? You are hurt!” “It is less than nothing, I thank you,” replied Philip. “I want you to answer me plainly, Cleone. What is that fellow to you?”
    Cleone sat down again. Her eyes flashed; Philip was nearer than ever to his downfall. “I entirely fail to understand you, sir,” she answered.
    “Do you love that—that prancing ninny?” asked Philip.
    “I consider such a question an—an impertinence!” cried Cleone. “What right have you to ask me such a thing?”
    Philip’s brows met across the bridge of his nose. “You do love him?”
    “No, I don’t! I mean—Oh, how dare you?”
    Philip came closer. The frown faded.
    “Cleone—do you—could you—love me?” Cleone was silent.
    Closer still came Philip, and spoke rather huskily. “Will you—marry me, Cleone?”
    Still silence, but the blue eyes were downcast.
    “Cleone,” blundered Philip, “you—don’t want a—mincing, powdered—beau.” “I do not want a—a—raw—country-bumpkin,” she said cruelly. Philip drew himself up.
    “That is what you think me, Cleone?”
    Something in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “I—no—I—oh, Philip, I could not marry you as you are!”
    “No?” Philip spoke very evenly. “But if I became—your ideal—you could marry me?” “I—oh, you should not—ask such questions!”
    “As I am—you’ll none of me. You do not want—an honest man’s love. You want the pretty compliments of a doll. If I will learn to be—a doll—you’ll wed me. Well, I will learn. You shall not be—annoyed—by an honest man’s love—any longer. I will go to London—and one day I’ll return. Farewell, Cleone.”
    “Oh—goodness—are you—going to town?” she gasped. “Since that is your desire, yes,” he answered.
    She held out her hand, and when he kissed it her fingers clung for an instant. “Come back to me, Philip,” she whispered.
    He bowed, still holding her hand, and then, without a word, released it, and marched out, very dignified. It was another fine tragic effect, but Cleone, when the door closed behind him, broke into an hysterical laugh. She was rather amazed, and a little apprehensive.
     
    Chapter V. In which Philip Finds that his Uncle is More Sympathetic than his Father
     
    Home went Philip, a prey to conflicting emotions. He was angry with Cleone, and hurt at what he termed her fickleness, but she was very lovely, and still wholly desirable. Never until now had he realized how necessary she was to his happiness. She would not marry him unless he reformed, learned to behave like Bancroft—that was what she meant. She did not love him as he was; she wanted polish, and frills and furbelows. Philip’s lips tightened. She should have them—but he was very, very angry. Then he thought of his father, and the anger grew. What right had these two to seek to change him into something that was utterly insincere, trifling, and unmanly? His father would be rejoiced to hear that he was going ‘to become a gentleman’. Even he had no use for Philip as he was. Well, they should have what they wanted—and then perhaps they would be sorry. In a wave of self-pity he considered how dearly he loved these two people. He wanted neither to change, he loved them for what they were; but they ... He felt very sore and ill-used. Something else there was that troubled him. He had set about the task of punishing Mr Bancroft, and Mr Bancroft had