Read The Waltzing Widow/Smith for Free Online Page B

he wishes to destroy them, it is his own affair.”
    “It was the thorn bushes behind the house I complained of,” Mrs. Percy explained.
    The chopping was brought to a stop, and Lucy said, “Would you like to finish your coffee before you leave, Lord Bigelow?”
    Indeed he would. He would have been happy to join them for lunch and dinner as well if he could manage it. “Pray do not be so formal with me, Mrs. Percy. It is time you called me Tony.”
    It was always an effort to remember that this overgrown puppy was a peer of the realm. “Tony” came so easily to the lips that before he left the table, he was Tony to both ladies. He was eager to get on a first-name basis with Lucy, but she did not make him free of her name, and he had enough breeding not to usurp it.
    The ladies had some hope he would leave after coffee was taken, but he lunged into the parlor and took up a seat. “I believe there might be a set of skittles in the shed,” he said.
    “I must go to the village this morning,” Lucy said at once, to be rid of him. “Cook and the servants have given me a long list of items they require.”
    “I’ll take you,” he offered promptly. “The greatest luck. I was going to hack over, but I drove my curricle instead, hoping I might induce you to drive out this afternoon.”
    As this scheme at least got him out of her aunt’s hair, Lucy agreed. They jaunted off to Ashford in the curricle. She was happy for Bigelow’s arms to tote her purchases. Bowls and brushes, a broom, and ten yards of cheapest muslin for dust rags, turpentine and beeswax, candles and lamp oil were piled one on top of the other. When Bigelow was laden to the eyes, they returned to the curricle to stow the wares.
    It was at that moment that Lucy spotted a most interesting gentleman coming toward them. A blue jacket of Bath cloth clung to his broad shoulders. From the immaculate cravat at his throat to his well-polished topboots he exuded elegance. This was no simple country squire! She had been in town long enough to recognize the tailoring of Weston. He was tall and dark, almost swarthy, with a frowning countenance that would be handsome if it were more pleasantly arranged. Perhaps it was the sun in his face that caused that frown. She hoped Tony would know him and make her acquainted.
    Bigelow did not see his uncle, as a shiny new tin pail obstructed his vision. Avedon recognized his nephew’s bucksins and topboots and was not slow to realize that the dasher with him must be the new widow. Making a pack animal of him already in front of half the town! This was worse than Lacey and her brats.
    His eyes skimmed over a fetching bonnet trimmed with yellow primroses, the same one of which Sal had complained. Beneath the brim he beheld a pair of laughing brown eyes and a pretty face that his anger soon imagined to be bold. The gown today was not pink but a blue mulled muslin that not even a vicar could find fast. That annoyed Avedon, too, that she should try to disguise herself as a decent woman to con his nephew.
    He reined in his short temper to prevent giving Tony a blast in public. He stopped abreast of them and said curtly, “You should have brought Jinny along, if you mean to set up as a traveling peddler, Tony.”
    “Oh, good morning, Uncle,” Tony said, peering around the side of the pail. “Jinny’s the ass,” he explained to Lucy.
    A brush clattered to the ground, striking Avedon’s boot as it fell. “And you are the jackass,” he exclaimed before he quite knew what he said. His anger was exacerbated as town folks passed, smirking at his nephew, who performed an ungainly ballet in an effort to balance his load.
    Bigelow ignored the remark. “I’d like you to meet my new tenant, Uncle. This is Mrs. Percy.”
    “So I gathered,” Avedon said, through stiff lips.
    “How do you do.” Lucy curtsied. He nodded briefly but said nothing, nor did he try to lighten his frown.
    Lucy felt all the discomfort of his ill humor, if the