Autumn Glory and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF

is as toplofty as you say and cannot be dissuaded?”
    “Then I shall tell him that insanity runs in the family. If he knows about Mama and the War Office, he won’t doubt me for a minute.”
    His own mother hadn’t mentioned anything about Lady Bannister and Whitehall, but that could wait. For now he had to find out what was so objectionable in his suit. “What has you and your sister so set against the poor chap, if there is no other suitor she prefers?”
    “He’s ancient and fusty and never smiles. He speaks eight languages and collects art. Why, Ellie cannot understand a London hackney driver, and she collects broken hearts! Old Iron-Breeches will only intimidate her and make her miserable.”
    Winn swallowed hard. “You are young. Perhaps your parents know what is best for your sister. She has remained unwed all these years, after all.”
    “She still may wish to marry a man of her own choice.” Irma turned to him. “Are you wed?” she asked bluntly.
    “Why, no.”
    “See?” At his blank look she tried to explain. “You have to understand, a man of your parts.” She waved her hand around, unfortunately the one with the pistol she’d belatedly grasped. Wingate stepped back. “Sorry. But look, your expensive horse, your fancy tailoring, and your cultured accents.” His raised eyebrows made her hurry on: “I am not trying to offer Spanish coin, I am just stating facts. You must have had lots of females thrown at your head…unless you are ineligible?” He shook his head, no, smiling again. “There, that proves my point. You have not married out of your own choice. Iselle should have the same right.”
    “Ah, but Glory, there are duties and responsibilities that go beyond one’s own wishes.” He almost reached out to tuck one of her reddish curls back off her forehead. Almost. “Speaking of which, I have stayed too long off the correct road, and I am sure you will be missed. Au revoir, Glory.”
    “Farewell, sir, uh, Lord…?
    “Just call me Iron-Breeches, Glory. And that’s six languages, not eight.”

4
    With so many houseguests at Bannister Grange that week, clandestine visits between bedchambers would not have been surprising. Lady Bannister’s scratching on her husband’s door, however, was enough to give that gentleman severe palpitations. He grabbed for his nightcap, then he grabbed for the decanter of brandy. Whatever Irene wanted in the middle of the night, in her curl papers and face creams, Isa was going to need fortification.
    “Well,” she said, “when are you going to do it?”
    “It?” He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.
    “Bring Wingate up to scratch, you clunch. He’s been here three days already, and nary a sign of an offer. Everyone knows that’s why he came, so why the delay?”
    “Fellow’s been deuced slippery, I can tell you. Whenever I mention the gel’s dowry or hint about all the young bucks coming to call, he changes the subject. Wingate’s a born politico, that’s for sure.”
    “I can’t like it. Letting him spend too much time in Iselle’s company might not be the best idea.”
    “You mean he might realize she’s a beautiful bacon-brain.” He took a swig and made a sour face. “Only fair to let the chap know what he’s getting before stepping into parson’s mousetrap.”
    Lady Bannister ignored both his grimace and what could only be aspersions on their own arranged marriage. “It’s that wretched Irmagard. I ordered her to stay by Iselle’s side, to carry along the conversations, you know. What does the impossible chit do? She turns scarlet the minute Wingate enters the room, then turns tail and hides among the dowagers. Thank goodness I did not take her to London, if this is how she acts at her first introduction to a highly placed peer.”
    Lord Bannister nodded. “I never thought I’d see that brazen chit turn craven. Lud knows she never minded her tongue before. Leastways she hasn’t had a chance to lecture Wingate on