Charming the Duke Read Online Free PDF Page B

Francis,” Ethel Sheldon replied.
    Fran Sheldon stuck his hands in his pockets.
    “My banker paid me a call today,” Ethel said to her son. “Had some interesting information for me.”
    “Old Julius. How is that bear of a man, Mother?”
    “Still capable of rational thought. Something I worry about for my own son. He told me you’ve invested quite a sizable chunk of our money in some moving iron beast that will transport people and not just coal,” Ethel said warily.
    “Most fortuitous investment for the Sheldons,” Fran replied.
    “How would that be, Francis?” his mother asked.
    “He didn’t tell you? He may not have known. That’s the only answer for it.”
    Ethel and Matilda watched as the Earl of Bisset’s thoughts spewed from his mouth.
    “What are you talking about, Father?” Matilda asked.
    “Well, well. I’m sure he didn’t tell you.” Francis smiled broadly. “Twenty-two percent return on our investment. Capital, I’d say. Thought I’d give each of the girls a bit of it for their dowry.”
    Matilda stared at her father. She could hear Ethel muttering something about falling down and smelling like roses. She reached to still her Grandmother’s hand. “An increase to my dowry or my pin money, Father?”
    “Whatever you like my dear,” he said and smiled.
    “Francis,” a guest called from the door.
    Her mother hurried to the newcomer, her hand out swept in welcome. “Heigh ho, Filbert, be right there,” Matilda’s father said and turned. He excused himself and went to the portly man in the entrance, just as his wife arrived. They all dissolved into laughter moments later.
    Matilda’s eyes closed.
    “They still laugh about that, do they?” Ethel said. “Simpletons.”
    “But Ethel,” Matilda said in a whisper. “Perhaps Father’s investment will be the amount I need to complete my plans for the orphanage.”
    Ethel’s eye roamed the room as the guests began to converge on the food. “Sly devil, you are, Matilda. I’m proud of you.”
     
    * * *
     
    Thornsby stood to the side of the room beside Smithly. The Earl of Bisset and his wife stood center stage in front of a massive floral display. Thornsby had been told the heir and his affianced stood beside them.
    “What has Athena so miserable?” Smithly asked. “She has barely made a scathing remark to me all evening.”
    “Probably something I said,” Thornsby said as he nodded to a woman passing. Her ostrich feathers nodded in reply. “God, what an assemblage.”
    Smithly turned to him. “What did you say?”
    “I said what a miserable assembly of England’s finest.”
    “No, about Athena. What did you say to her? You said ‘probably something I said’,” Smithly asked.
    Thornsby stared at Smithly. “When you left her bed chamber,” he paused long enough for Smithly’s face to pale, “I attempted to have a long overdue chat with my sister.”
    “Concerning what topic?”
    Smithly had that look when something he was clearly not meant to have or hear, he fully intended to obtain or know. “A delicate topic, Smithly. I have no intention of discussing it with you.”
    “A delicate topic? What topic could be delicate to your formidable sister? Explain what topic could possibly exceed her knowledge,” Smithly said with a huff. “She is the most contrary, know-it-all to grace the kingdom. She rants and raves . . .”
    “Enough,” Thornsby hissed. “I attempted to explain why a man, you, to be exact, should not be allowed in her bed chamber. She misunderstood. I believe I may have hurt her feelings.”
    “Hurt her feelings? What did you say?”
    Thornsby rounded on his friend. “That women are more selective about whom they romp with whereas men are rarely discriminating.”
    “True enough.”
    “When I tried to point out that you are indeed a man, she took issue.”
    Smithly’s eyes widened. “I am a man, Thornsby. What did she think?”
    Thornsby envisioned the wounded look he saw briefly in his