Charity Read Online Free PDF

in a cracked leather chair was a nondescript balding man, rather younger than she’d imagined. She cleared her throat and turned to face him. “I am Eloise Gardner, my lord. F-from the village.” She curtsied prettily.
    “Why are you here?”
    There seemed no point in beating around the bush. Gathering her courage, she said, “I seek a Season in London, but don’t know of anyone who might sponsor me. I hoped you might do so, my lord.”
    “London.” It was a statement, not a question, and Eloise waited for him to say something else. He seemed lost in thought. After a few moments, she began to wonder if he’d even heard of the city.
    Just as she was about to offer explanation, he spoke again. “I’ve never been there. And I cannot sponsor you.”
    Eloise’s face fell, and she looked down. She’d been so sure he would help once he saw how beautiful she was. It had always been thus.
    Unbeknownst to her, Andrew Kimball had watched disappointment cloud the ravishing girl’s face. She’d obviouslydressed her best for the arduous climb to the castle and yet managed to arrive looking fresh. Her hair was a light gold, and probably glowed when she wasn’t in such a dull setting, and even the dim light couldn’t hide the brilliant emeralds that were her eyes. For the first time ever, he felt the stirrings of desire.
    “Why do you seek a Season, please?” he asked.
    Eloise looked up, her eyes probing the shadows for a better look at her host’s face. She couldn’t read his expression and said, “I do not wish to marry beneath my station.”
    Her bearing was indeed regal; almost haughty. Andrew rubbed his chin. “And what is your station?”
    “My father is the most successful merchant in the village,” she explained.
    Unfortunately, Andrew knew what her father had already tried to impress upon her: a merchant’s daughter, no matter her wealth, would never be accepted by the aristocracy. He sighed. “I cannot sponsor you,” he repeated.
    Eloise curtsied. “Thank you, anyway,” she said, and turned to go.
    “If you haven’t—” The marquess stopped midsentence, then continued in a rush, as though he had to force his words out quickly or not say them at all. “If you find yourself without a better alternative for wedlock, you might consider me.”
    Eloise froze. “Consider . . . you ?”
    The man in the corner said nothing.
    She thought about it for a bare second and then lifted her chin. Inside, she shuddered at the thought of marrying the odd, unattractive man with the thick loathsome Scottish accent. Certainly he was titled, but he had no apparent connections, his home was ghastly, and his appearance, from what she could tell, was less than desirable. “Thankyou, my lord. I will give it some thought.” Carefully keeping the revulsion she felt from showing on her face, she curtsied again and left the room, walking swiftly down the hall and out the door.
    Once she’d gained the open air, it was all she could do to keep from breaking into a run. She was far less careful on her way down the hill and, as a result, stepped on some loose rocks. Her ankle turned, and she fell, crying out in sudden shock and pain. Overwhelmed by the events of the morning, though she wasn’t seriously hurt, she sat on the side of the hill and cried. She cried for the death of all her hopes and dreams, for the knowledge that she would really never be anything more than the prettiest girl in the village, and for the futility she’d refused to accept in the first place. And then, when her tears dried up, she just sat, glaring up the hill at the old building from whence she had just come.
    “Are you okay, miss?”
    Surprised, wincing at the twinge in her ankle, Eloise scrambled to her feet and turned to face the person who had spoken, realizing as she did that the voice was male, cultured, and decidedly English. “I’m fine,” she said, and took a step back.
    Her mouth fell open in shock. Coming toward her on the path was