Songs of Love & Death by George R. R. Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

is, Martha! How kind of you, sir.”
    He bowed to them both in the most extravagant manner imaginable, dancing the handkerchief in little curlicues. “I am in heaven to be of service to so enchanting a lady.”
    Martha plucked the fluttering linen from his fingers. “My thanks to you, sir.”
    He put hand to chest. “No, no. Thank you, ma’am, for providing me the opportunity to do this small kindness.”
    Providing?
Was the wretch implying that she’d dropped her handkerchief on purpose? It was a well-known device of foolish women, but she would never stoop so low!
    She sent him an icy look, but he’d already turned another bow on her mother. “Robert Loxsleigh, ma’am, at your service.”
    Sensible Anne Darby curtsied, blushing, flustered and delighted. “So kind, so kind. Mistress Darby, sir, of York, and this is my daughter, Miss Darby.”
    More bowing and greeting, and all of it mockery. If only her mother hadn’t been inveigled into exchanging names.
    “May I hope to encounter you again in London, Mistress Darby?”
    Martha quickly answered. “Alas no, sir. We leave tomorrow.”
    Her mother began to protest, but Martha shot her a ferocious glare.
    “Thus Town is left desolate. But York will soon rejoice. A charming city. I know it well, as my home is near Doncaster.”
    Martha could have groaned. That he was also from Yorkshire would make her mother regard him as a friend.
    “We really must go, Mother,” Martha said with meaning, reminding her of her spurious need.
    “Oh, yes, sir, I’m afraid we must. I do hope we will meet again one day, in York, perhaps?”
    He bowed to both of them, but was looking at Martha when he said, “I’m sure of it, ma’am.”
    “Oh, my,” said her mother, watching him walk back to his friends, so lithe and elegant despite uneven ground and those shoes.
    “Oh, what idiocy,” Martha said, steering away at speed.
    That was the end of that—except that she was holding her handkerchief as if it were precious. She screwed it up and thrust it into her pocket.
    “Why did you say we were leaving Town, Martha? We are to stay three more days.”
    “Because I thought him up to no good.”
    “Truly? But…” Her mother sighed. “We can’t be liars, can we, so we must leave. All for the best, perhaps. We can stay longer with your Aunt Clarissa in Newark.”
    And thus I am punished, Martha thought. Aunt Clarissa was a very silly chatterer. It was all the peacock’s fault. Mr. Robert Loxsleigh had been playing a game for the amusement of his idle friends and fecklessly upset her life.
    And yet—and yet—as she resisted an almost overpowering need to look back, Martha knew she would never entirely forget an encounter with a peacock in St James’s Park.
    R OB RETURNED TO his companions, protecting Miss Darby from their curiosity by letting them assume he intended a seduction. It was no lie. If Miss Martha Darby seemed likely to succumb, he’d bed her tonight.
    She was the one, the one, the one, his marrying maid, which meant that at first kiss his talent would awake, and when they lay together, it would roar into full power. He would be at last a true trouvedor of Five Oaks, and his family would be saved.
    Rapid seduction was unlikely, but a kiss? Perhaps if he pursued her now. Not to do so was like refusing water when parched, but she seemed to be prim to a fault. Perhaps even a Puritan. His very appearance would have counted against him and any boldness could ruin everything. No, he must resume simple dress and manners and then court her carefully.
    There was so little time, though. Just two weeks to his birthday.
    To doomsday.
    But he’d found her at last, and she would be willing to be wooed. Faery would make it so.
    Zounds! They left Town tomorrow. He separated from his companions, suppressing panic. He needed to untangle himself from court, say farewells, settle bills—
    The Darby ladies would travel the York road, however, and surely on the public coach. He could