An Early Engagement Read Online Free PDF

your father loved you very much and he wanted the best for you. But you are not even seventeen; you cannot set up your own household. Arcott Hall is your home, your uncle is now its owner, therefore it is reasonable for him to be one of your trustees. I, ahem, was honored by the duke to be the other. According to the terms of your father’s will, you will have a generous allowance, and of course the whole of your inheritance will be turned over to you when—”
    “Just like that damn fool brother of mine,” Morgan muttered, “handing a fortune over to a female! Soft-hearted, he was. More like soft-headed.”
    Emilyann jumped up, indignant to the slur to her father, and nearly tripped on the unfamiliar wide skirts of her mourning gown. “At least he had enough sense not to leave it all to you to gamble away, you .. . you basket-scrambler!”
    “And you wonder why you need a trustee? Unmannered brat, you need a keeper! I’ve a mind to—”
    Mr. Baxley interrupted hastily. “As I was saying, Lady Emilyann, you will receive control of the principle when you come to your majority, which is the age of twenty-five for females, somewhat older than for males.” He paused while Em’s unladylike snort told what she thought of that piece of jurisprudence, conceived by a man, no doubt.
    “Yes, well, as I was saying, when you come of age, or when you marry, whereupon the management of said capital will devolve to your husband.”
    “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I get my own money then?”
    Uncle Morgan grinned. “Ignorant chit. A woman’s property always becomes her husband’s.”
    “Aunt Ingrid’s didn’t,” she answered sweetly, changing his grin to a scowl. “But no matter, I shall simply remain unwed until I am twenty-five and then I can be my own woman.”
    Morgan had gotten up to pour himself a glass of his brother’s excellent brandy. “That should be easy,” he said between sips. “No sane man would have you. Tongue like a viper, temper of a shrew, about as much sense of decorum as a mayfly, and looks ...” He just shrugged.
    Emilyann and even Mr. Baxley, who was fond of her, had to agree with the last affront. Good grief, her father wasn’t dead a fortnight, of course she wasn’t in looks, what with the original shock and the funeral to get through. She had lost weight, giving her face a close, pinched look, with no color to speak of; she’d also lost her ready good humor and sunny disposition, having Uncle Morgan and his family thrust upon her in her grief.
    And her dress, well, it had to be black, of course, but it did not have to be the heaviest, scratchiest stuff ever made, with high neck, long sleeves, wide waist, and acres of skirt. The matching poke bonnet did not have to cover her ears, her forehead, and every strand of her hair, but it did. Suffice it to say, Aunt Ingrid had the dressing of her now.
    Mr. Baxley tut-tutted in sympathy. “It’s early days to be worrying overmuch of marriage. You’ll be in mourning for a year, naturally, and then you will have to be presented, et cetera.”
    Emilyann’s mind wandered, wondering what kind of come-out she could look forward to, with Aunt Ingrid as chaperone. No dancing, no theater parties, no pretty dresses. No, she may as well wait for her twenty-fifth birthday. The only bright spot she could see, her thoughts coming back to the present, was that Uncle Morgan was not looking all that elegant himself. Surely that coat was second-rate and the pouches under his eyes were more noticeable, especially when he’d turned that greenish tint on hearing the terms of his brother’s will. At least he was no happier about it than she was. Good.
    Lord, how she despised the man. For years he had been bearing tales to her father about her misbehavior: sneaking off in the bushes with the Stockton boys, when they were only digging worms for fishing; boxing Bobo’s ears, when she had been teaching the clunch to leave her possessions alone. She had been