That's the Thornton place up there atop yon hill," the farmer said, pointing.
Lucinda gazed in mounting anger at the large, but unimpressive cottage that was barely visible through the thick trees, then she turned the full force of her authority on the hapless farmer. "You're mistaken, my good man," she said stoutly. "No gentleman of consequence or sense would live in such a godforsaken place as this. Kindly turn this decrepit vehicle around and return us to the village whence we came so that we can ask directions again. There was obviously a misunderstanding."
At that, both the horse and the farmer swung their heads around and looked at her with identical expressions of weary resentment.
The horse remained silent, but the farmer had heard Lucinda's irate complaints for the last twelve miles, and he was heartily sick of them. "See here, my lady," he began, but Lucinda cut him off.
"Do not address me as 'my lady.' 'Miss Throckmorton-Jones' will do very well."
"Aye. Well, whoever ye be, this is as far as I'm takin' ye, and that thar is the Thornton cottage."
"You can't mean to abandon us here!" she said as the tired old man exhibited a surge of renewed energy-obviously brought on by the prospect of ridding himself of his unwanted guests-and leapt off the wagon, whereupon he began to drag their trunks and bandboxes off the wagon and onto the side of the narrow ledge that passed for a road.
Lucinda gazed in mounting anger at the large, but unimpressive cottage that was barely visible through the thick trees, then she turned the full force of her authority on the hapless farmer. "You're mistaken, my good man," she said stoutly. "No gentleman of consequence or sense would live in such a godforsaken place as this. Kindly turn this decrepit vehicle around and return us to the village whence we came so that we can ask directions again. There was obviously a misunderstanding."
At that, both the horse and the farmer swung their heads around and looked at her with identical expressions of weary resentment.
The horse remained silent, but the farmer had heard Lucinda's irate complaints for the last twelve miles, and he was heartily sick of them. "See here, my lady," he began, but Lucinda cut him off.
"Do not address me as 'my lady.' 'Miss Throckmorton-Jones' will do very well."
"Aye. Well, whoever ye be, this is as far as I'm takin' ye, and that thar is the Thornton cottage."
"You can't mean to abandon us here!" she said as the tired old man exhibited a surge of renewed energy-obviously brought on by the prospect of ridding himself of his unwanted guests-and leapt off the wagon, whereupon he began to drag their trunks and bandboxes off the wagon and onto the side of the narrow ledge that passed for a road.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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