Sheer Folly by Carola Dunn Read Free Book Online Page B

caught sight of him, Daisy was perfectly placed to see that she was unsurprised—and pleased. Her crimson mouth curved in a small, smug smile, but she made no other move to acknowledge him.
    He turned away to fuss with lighting yet another cigarette.
    â€œAre you acquainted with the Wandersleys, Lord Rydal?” Daisy asked.
    He didn’t respond. Though it could have been just another example of his rudeness, Daisy was convinced there was more to it. He and Lady Ottaline knew each other, but he didn’t want to admit it. Rhino, being who he was, had probably irredeemably offended her. Judging by her smile on seeing him, she had either revenged the insult or had immediate plans to do so. Of course, Rhino, being who he was, probably didn’t realise he had offended, or didn’t care, and he might well not recognise the revenge for what it was.
    Dying to expound her theory to Lucy, Daisy decided she had complied with the requirements of civility where Rhino was concerned and deserted him. Before she had a chance to talk to Lucy, the doctor and his wife arrived, and a few minutes later they all went in to dinner.

 
SIX
    Daisy found
herself seated between Sir Desmond and the doctor. The latter, a tall, gaunt, melancholy man, and a silent one, proved more interested in his food than his neigbours. When Daisy asked him politely whether he was a native of Wiltshire, his answer was an unpromising, “No.”
    â€œI don’t know it well, but it seems to be a beautiful county.” This, phrased as a comment rather than a question, received no response whatsoever. Daisy made one more attempt. “Do you enjoy living here?”
    â€œNot particularly,” he said in a low, despondent voice.
    Daisy gave up. Fortunately, Sir Desmond was less inclined to taciturnity than the medical man, or just more socially adept.
    â€œI gather you’re not a local resident, Mrs. Fletcher? What brings you to Appsworth Hall?” Implicit in the question was an inference that she did not belong in the world of plumbers. Hearing her speak a few words to somebody else had been enough to make him place her on his side of the fence.
    â€œI’m a writer,” she told him.
    A fleeting spasm of distaste crossed his face, quickly hidden. “Ah, one of these modern clever young women.”
    â€œI don’t claim to be clever,” Daisy said coldly. “I’m a journalist; I don’t write literary novels, or blank verse, or anything like that. Mostly just articles for magazines, about places and history, but Lucy—Lady Gerald—and I are doing a book about follies.”
    â€œ ‘When lovely women stoop to follies . . .’ ” he misquoted.
    â€œStoop! Most of them are on hills and we have to climb. But obviously you’re ignorant of the existence of the Appsworth grotto. ‘Where ignorance lends wit, ’tis folly to be wise.’ ”
    â€œWise after the event, I’m afraid! You and Lady Gerald are writing a book about the follies of eighteenth-century landowners, not of mankind in general, or lovely women in particular.”
    â€œStrictly speaking, I’m doing the writing. Lucy is a photographer.”
    â€œTell me about the Appsworth grotto.”
    â€œWe haven’t seen it yet. We arrived too late this afternoon. According to what we’ve heard, though, it’s the best in the country. There never were very many, and most are in a shocking state of dilapidation, but when Mr. Pritchard bought Appsworth Hall, he repaired this one. Practically rebuilt it, in fact. They say he did an excellent job of it.”
    â€œI expect he did, as far as the physical fabric is concerned, at least. The firm is noted for good, solid workmanship. Aesthetically—”
    Daisy laughed. “Aesthetically, grottoes are noted for a mishmash of Romantic sentimentality, Gothic grotesquerie, and Classical pretensions.”
    â€œIndeed! I shall have to make