Determined to build a new life for herself, povertystricken Meg Smiles takes a job as companion to the madcap sister of her handsome nextdoor neighbor, but her employmentand her lifeis soon threatened by a series of strange accidents. By the author of French Quarter. Simultaneous.
All Smiles
By Stella Cameron
DH Audio
Copyright © 2000
Stella Cameron
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9781552042045
Chapter One
"Single ladies should not discuss eligible gentlemen
so ... intimately," Sibyl Smiles told her sister, Meg.
Seated on the very shabby rose-colored chaise in the parlor at
7B Mayfair Square, Meg rearranged the black lace mantilla with
which she'd draped her head and face and said, "Who should
discuss them intimately, then? Married ladies?"
"Oh, fiddlesticks," Sibyl said. "I think you want to shock me
and it's really too bad of you."
"I want to say whatever I'm thinking—when I'm thinking
about it. That is whenever I'm forced to abandon my meditation
for matters of the mundane world. And it isn't as if I were discussing
an actual man, for goodness sake. Simply men in general
and why one might or might not find one man in particular more
attractive than another man in particular. These are things I must
be clear about, and very soon."
"Why?" Blond and ethereal, lovely Sibyl fluttered over Meg.
This was where caution became imperative. "Don't worry so,
Sibyl. There is no absolutely clear direction for all this. I'm gathering
information, simply gathering to broaden my understanding."
Slight understatements, or even fabrications could occasionally
be justified. "I should think a man's hands would be most
important, shouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"But why do you think so, Sibyl?"
"I ... Well, if you must know, I do not at all care for men with
soft hands. There, now you know. They are not manly to me.
And I do not like small hands. That is more difficult to explain
except to say that I should prefer a man's hands—if I were interested
in him at all—that is, if I noticed him at all—I should
prefer a man's hands to be larger than mine. Much larger. There
is something inside me that insists this is important, yet I don't
know why. Yes, large, strong, well-shaped, long-fingered—perhaps
blunt at the nail—yes, yes, that is what I prefer."
Meg watched her sister's deep concentration and smiled.
"Hmm. I agree." And all this from dear Sibyl, who didn't think
they should as much as have an opinion on a gentleman's person.
"I also dislike those small, neat feet some gentlemen seem to
take pride in. But again, the reason is beyond my reach. It's just
that I know it could be important"
"Hmm. Yes."
"Height is not of such great importance. But a good carriage
is essential, and fine, strong-looking shoulders—legs that look
well without padding, particularly when the gentleman is on
horseback and the muscle is flexed. Yes, very pleasant. One
doesn't, of course, tend to see a gentleman's chest other than when
he adjusts his waistcoat, but there are those moments. A solid-looking
chest. Firm, with good muscles again, Oh, yes, that is
quite the thing. And I do warm to a charming smile. I shouldn't
care for a man who smiled all the time since I prefer a serious
side in all acquaintances, but a charming smile so becomes a
handsome gentleman's face, don't you think? And dimples here?"
She touched her own face just below each cheekbone.
Meg scarcely dared move one of her own muscles, or take the
smallest breath for fear of diverting Sibyl from this absolutely
wonderful revelation. Sibyl was human. Sibyl had longings. Sibyl
was no different from Meg in reacting to certain qualities in the
male.
"Meg?" Sibyl said. "Do you agree?"
"Oh, I do, I most definitely do. Oh, very much so, I assure
you. But do go on."
"Go on? What do you mean?"
Fiddle dee dee, the spell was broken. "Nothing. I didn't want
to interrupt if you had more to say. I thought you might have an
opinion on, um, well, a gentleman's ... derriere?"
Aghast came close to describing Sibyl's expression.
"No," Meg said rapidly, "I see you don't. But I do. Muscle
is important there, too—only to ensure the fit of the trouser, of
course. But, moving on to another subject, I'm going to make
certain our affairs turn out well. It's just that I have things to
learn, and quickly. Because I do have a plan."
Sibyl's blue eyes sharpened with worry. "Oh, no, no, Meggie.
I don't know what you intend, but already you frighten me. This
is all part of this, this—" she waved a hand at Meg "—this new
preoccupation with strange, foreign notions. Oh, do take that thing
off your head, Meggie. I can't think what's come over you of
late. You are quite changed."
"A grateful parishioner brought the mantilla back for Papa,"
she said, still hoping to deflect any alarm. "From a long sea
journey. It never had any purpose before. But it does now. It
calms my inner serf and helps me achieve a serene state. Familiar
objects can do that, Sibyl. And if I am changed it's because the
world has changed me—for the better, I prefer to think. I am a
woman of spirit, a woman with a backbone. I am a woman who
will not sit with her hands crossed, waiting for disaster—waiting
to become destitute. I am." She closed her eyes and took a deep
breath.
"You are what?" Sibyl whispered.
Meg breathed in again, long and deep through her nose, and
repeated, "I am, that's all. One day, when you are ready and no
longer frightened of anything you don't understand, one day I
shall begin your instruction in abstraction."
"I cannot bear it," Sibyl said, pacing the drab floral carpet "If
Papa were alive he would put a stop to it. This is what comes of
women attending lectures by foreigners. They get foreign ideas.
I'm not at all certain all this abstracted thinking, and muttering
of mantram, or whatever you call these meaningless words you
chant, isn't, well ... I'm just not sure, that's all. I thought you only
chanted when you assumed you were alone, but now you are
perfectly content to worry me with your muttering and humming,
and with assuming such completely unladylike poses at any moment
at all. They just—"
"Are," Meg finished for her sister.
"There, you see?" Sibyl planted her feet and pointed at Meg.
"You do it all the time. Dear, dear. I'm just not sure what to do
about you. We won't discuss the subject further at this time,"
"Good for you," Meg said. "Now do sit, Sibyl. I have something
wonderful to tell you. I was going to wait, but perhaps it
will cheer you, and since I am expecting a message on the subject,
we might as well get the explanation out of the way."
Sibyl shook her head. Her serviceable gray morning gown became
her, but then, anything became Sibyl. "You are afraid,"
she said. "No, don't interrupt me, please. You were experimenting
with this strangeness before, but now—since the ... you know
what—you've only become so, so obvious since that."
Since she had been pushed into the path of a coach near the
Burlington Arcade. "I will not lie to you," she said. "There are
moments when I want to make my mind so busy there is no room
in there for being frightened."
"If we only think good thoughts," Sibyl said, "then we cannot
possibly be frightened."
With a great deal of effort, Meg held back a retort that would
upset dear, good, Sibyl.
"There, you see now?" Sibyl sounded triumphant. "You can't
argue with the troth. Papa—God rest his soul—would be so
pleased and proud of you that you are willing to examine your
motives in this."
"I wish Papa were here now," Meg said.
"Oh, so do I."
"If he were," Meg continued, "I should give him a piece of
my mind and he would not be at all pleased with that."
"Meggie, you are disrespectful."
Continues...
Excerpted from All Smiles
by Stella Cameron
Copyright © 2000 by Stella Cameron.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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