Read Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) for Free Online Page A

played Mirabell a year later, in
The Way of the World
.”
    Mr. Davy dusted icing sugar from his fingers and grinned. “My greatest moment.” He stood up and took up a position by the fireplace and declaimed, “Her follies are so natural, or so artful, that they become her; and those affectations which in another woman wou’d be odious, serve but to make her more agreeable. I’ll tell thee, Fainall, she once us’d me with that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces; sifted her, and separated her failings; I study’d ’em, and got ’em by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other to hate her heartily. To which end I so us’d my self to think of ’em, that at length, contrary to my design and expectation, they gave me every hour less and less disturbance; ’till in a few days it became habitual to me, to remember ’em without being displeas’d. They are now grown as familiar to me as my own frailties; and in all probability in a little time longer I shall like ’em as well.”
    He finished and sat down to a spattering of applause. Lady Fortescue reflected that it was some time since she had seen Miss Tonks look so happy and animated. Her thin rouged lips curved in a sudden smile. “Well acted, Mr. Davy. Pray do have another cake.”
    ***
    While the late tea-party was taking place in the Poor Relation, the Earl of Denby was sitting in his club, talking to his friend, Mr. Peter Sinclair, who had just arrived in Town. “So how do you plan to amuse yourself?” asked Mr. Sinclair.
    The earl smiled lazily. “Oh, this and that. Nothing very strenuous. A few out-of-Season balls and parties, perhaps a visit to the playhouse.”
    “As to that,” said Mr. Sinclair, blushing slightly, “there is to be a performance of
The Way of the World
in the Haymarket. Very fine. Mrs. Tarry plays the part of Mrs. Millamant. Have you… have you seen Mrs. Tarry?”
    “No, I have been a country bumpkin for a number of years now.”
    “Ah, she is such a delicate creature. Such wit! Such charm! I go to rehearsals and sometimes she… she smiles on me. I am going tomorrow afternoon.” He fished in his pocket. “I bought her this,” he said, bringing out a flat red morocco case. “Tell me what you think.”
    The earl took it and flicked open the case. A thin string of sapphires set in gold sparkled up at him.
    “I am not surprised Mrs. Tarry smiles at you if you give her geegaws like this. Is there a Mr. Tarry, or is the “Mrs.” a courtesy title?”
    “Oh, some bad-tempered lout of an actor. I do not mark him.”
    “May I be vulgar enough to suggest that your wife, Joan, might be a trifle distressed were she to know of your infatuation?”
    “Pah, the country has made you old-fashioned and staid. Mrs. Sinclair has her friends and interests—”
    “Not to mention seven children,” murmured the earl, thinking, not for the first time, that somehow Peter Sinclair had never grown up. He still looked like an overgrown schoolboy with his unruly mop of black curls and ingenuous face.
    “If you had ever been in love,” began Mr. Sinclair hotly and then broke off, looking ashamed of himself. “Forgive me, I had forgotten the sad death of your wife.”
    The earl nodded, her face a well-bred blank. “Go on. Tell me how you met Mrs. Tarry.”
    “I saw her in
Macbeth
. Her performance as Lady Macbeth was better than that of Mrs. Siddons, I assure you. A friend took me backstage. We looked at each other. She said nothing but I felt, in that moment, our souls were joined.”
    Practised flirt, thought the earl cynically, and one used to getting jewels from naïve men like Peter. “Perhaps you would care to introduce me to this paragon?” he said.
    Mr. Sinclair brightened. “I will take you tomorrow to the rehearsal. You are a cold fish and you think yourself immune to the softer passions.”
    “Now did I ever say such a thing?” asked the earl, amused.
    “No, but I am a good judge