A Lady's Point of View Read Online Free PDF

on it, but she couldn’t be sure.
Perhaps the crest of the inn, she mused.
    “Yes, indeed, ma’am.” Despite the
correctness of his reply, she heard a puzzled note in the coachman’s voice as
he closed the door.
    The interior was as elegantly
appointed as the rest of the coach. Meg detected no sign of wear in the red
velvet of the squabs. This was superior transportation indeed.
    She hadn’t been able to see the
horses well, but the easy movement of the chaise proved them to be a well-matched,
quick-stepping team. Again, Meg marvelled at the fine service in Manchester.
    Relieved of the fears that had
plagued her at the inn, Meg gazed out with curiosity as they rumbled along.
Impossible to recognize landmarks, but that was only to be expected in her
case. Still, she enjoyed the rich green colours of rural Cheshire.
    The carriage halted much sooner
than she’d expected. She squinted through the windows. They had pulled up in
the driveway of a great Tudor house, its white-painted plaster set off by a
darkened latticework of timbers.
    Wherever they were, this most
certainly wasn’t Derby.
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
     
    The Most Honourable Andrew
Harwood Davis, the Marquis of Bryn, laid aside the quill pen with which he had
been inscribing a letter to his man of affairs in London.
    Surely, he reflected wearily as
he franked the letter, it should not be necessary for him to make a trip
personally on the matter of a marriage settlement. Standish should be able to
send him the necessary figures and considerations by post.
    The marquis rose from behind the
heavy oak desk and moved to the window of his study, gazing through the
many-paned glass and over the broad lawns of Brynwood. He would prefer never to
visit town again, although one could not forever put aside the duty to resume
one’s seat in the House of Lords.
    Once he was married, at least he
might be spared the attentions of ambitious mothers and their insipid, giggling
daughters, Bryn reflected. These past two years, he could barely tolerate the
thought of London society and its petty self-absorption.
    He turned back to face the dark,
masculine room that so perfectly reflected his own appearance. Not a bit of
frippery was to be seen among the leather-covered chairs and stern bookcases.
    What changes would a wife make?
Andrew wondered, leaning back against the desk. None, he hoped, at least not
the wife he planned to take.
    Germaine Geraint was far from
missish, more interested in her horses than in her draperies, he suspected from
their one brief encounter at a house party. She ought to blend into his
countrified existence with scarcely a ripple.
    His interest in her might have
struck the casual observer as perfunctory, but Lord Bryn had no jumped-up
notions of romance. Marriage for a wealthy nobleman must be a means of securing
heirs, with a respectable-enough mate to assure their future acceptance into
society.
    The marquis put no credence in amorous tomfoolery,
and neither, he was pleased to note, did the lady to whom he meant to declare
his intentions. Nevertheless, he must order up some new coats and trousers from
Weston, who had his measure, and boots from Hoby’s. The marquis glanced down at
the aging pair of Hessians he wore. They suited him well enough, but his valet
should have remarked on their condition long ago. If Harry were still alive...
    A vise squeezed the marquis’s
conscience. Harry would indeed have been alive, had it not been for the
vainglory two years ago of a young nodcock named Andrew Davis.
    The butler knocked lightly at the
door and entered. “Begging your pardon, my lord,” said Franklin, “but the
children have vanished.”
    “Vanished?” repeated Bryn.
    “Bertha was tending them—the new
upstairs maid, my lord—and they placed a certain small animal about her
person.” The butler cleared his throat, and Bryn wondered if he might be
covering a chuckle.
    “Small animal?” When it came to
the misdeeds of his niece and