Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

reason for her upset.
    She stomped up the steps of her brother’s townhouse. Carmichael, the family butler with his uncanny ability to know when visitors had arrived, pulled open front doors and she sailed through the entrance.
    “My lady, Miss Winters is here. I took the liberty of having her wait in the Yellow Parlor.”
    That brought Emmaline up short. She looked at the butler and smiled her first smile since…since…
    Two very arrogant males had shattered her attempt at solitude. Her smile fell.
    “Thank you , Carmichael.” She marched to the parlor. A visit with Sophie Winters was just the thing she needed.
    Emmaline entered the room.
    Her friend sat on the sofa, covetously eyeing an array of pastries and various other confections Cook had prepared.
    The tray rested beside an unopened copy of the London Times .
    ”Hullo, Sophie.”
    Sophie looked up. A smile wreathed her full, heart-shaped cheeks. “Em, I hope you don’t mind my early….” Her brow furrowed. “What is it?”
    Emmaline plopped into the seat beside Sophie. She drummed her fingernails on the arm of the chair. She could say with a great degree of certainty that in her twenty years she’d been wrong on many scores.
    At this precise moment, some things stood out more than others.
    She’d been confident that upon reaching the advanced age of twenty she would have at least three things settled.
    Firstly, she would have a home of her own.
    Secondly, there would be a dog to cuddle with on cold days.
    And, lastly, a husband to also cuddle with on cold days.
    As it was, sitting on the chintz sofa in her brother’s parlor, she did not have a home of her own. Nor, for that matter did she have a dog. And most of all, she unequivocally did not have a husband. What she did have, as she had for the better part of her life, was a betrothed.
    “Em?”
    Emmaline shook her head. “I came upon a brute cutting the heads off a bed of forget-me-nots.”
    Sophie wrinkled her nose. “What cad would do such a thing?”
    Finally, a rational person.
    “Lord Avondale.” She chose not to mention Lord Drake’s involvement. Giving her fingers something to do, she snapped up the copy of the Times .
    “Avondale,” Sophie muttered. “He was one of the gentlemen Mother hoped I’d make a match with in my first Season.”
    “Consider yourself spared.” Emmaline scanned the front of the London Times before flipping to the next story. Her eyes snagged on a name at the center of the page and she bolted upright.
    It appeared a certain Marquess of D had secured the affections of the recent Opera sensation from Italy, Signora Nicolleli. The papers reported her to be talented, vivacious, and stunningly elegant. etcetera, etcetera…
    Emmaline tossed the paper aside, her eyes boring into the offensive sheets.
    Thinking on it, she picked up the paper and crushed it into a sloppy ball and threw it to the floor. Since it did not make her feel better, she reached for it again.
    Sophie snatched the copy, intercepting Emmaline’s efforts. “I’ll take that.” She unwrinkled the ball and ran a smoothing hand over the surface several times and read for herself. She muttered something a lady of good Quality should never think, let alone breathe aloud. “I’ve seen her. She really isn’t that beautiful.” She smiled unconvincingly at Emmaline.
    Emmaline’s eyes narrowed. “Liar.” There was something disheartening in going through life being considered tolerably pleasing , as the papers had labeled Emmaline in her first Season. She waved a hand over herself. “It is no wonder he has no interest in marrying me.” That, and as he’d pointed out, the fact he’d had to rescue her on two separate occasions. She snorted. As though she needed rescuing. Why, with his scandalous pursuits and history, he probably needed rescuing a good deal more than Emmaline ever had or would.
    Emmaline sighed. “Thank you for your support, Sophie but it isn’t necessary. I know what I look