Her Officer and Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page A

Grandfather’s voice and reached over to pat his hand. “I miss Father, too.”
    Grandfather grasped her hand tightly, meeting her gaze almost fiercely. “It’s what he would want, Beth. What I should have done but—” His brows lowered. “I shall not rest until you have had at least one season.”
    The determined gleam in Grandfather’s eyes sent a wave of alarm though Beth. He was deadly serious, almost as if he thought this was his last chance—
    She couldn’t finish the thought. Grandfather had been parent, mentor, family, friend, and more since Father’s death. She looked down at Grandfather’s hand where it was clasped over hers. White and heavily veined, it appeared remarkably fragile. When had that happened? When had he grown so feeble?
    She bit her lip against an onslaught of tears. Beth suddenly knew she could not let him down. She didn’t wish to go to London, but if it would make him happy and set his mind at ease, what would be the cost? It wasn’t as if taking a season meant she had to marry. And that was the one thing she did not wish to do.
    When her responsibilities here at Massingale House were no more, she’d be free to taste real freedom, perhaps travel a bit and have adventures of her own. A husband could hamper all her plans.
    Still…if it made Grandfather happy, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to pretend to look for a husband.
    He must have sensed her capitulation for he gave a grateful sigh. “You will be the belle of the season.”
    “I am far too old for that.”
    “Nonsense. I met and married your grandmother at your same age, God bless her soul.” Grandfather’s face softened as he looked at the portrait over the fireplace. It was of a tall, slender woman, wearing a costly gown of red silk, her blond hair adorned with flowers. She was a beautiful woman by any accounts, her face heart-shaped, her expression sweet.
    “I loved your grandmother from the moment I saw her.” He tilted his head to one side, smiling up at the portrait.
    The door opened and Jameson came in with a tea tray. Beth put a finger to her lips and nodded to the table. The butler, upon seeing the elderly duke gazing upon his wife’s portrait, quietly set the tray on a side table and then withdrew.
    Beth poured two cups of tea and placed one at her Grandfather’s elbow.
    He pulled his gaze from the portrait with obvious difficulty and picked up his teacup, the dish rattling slightly against the saucer. His eyes twinkled over the cup at her. “I have to say that I expected you to argue.”
    “Me? Argue?”
    He cackled. “You certainly took your time coming. I thought you’d guessed what I wished to ask you.”
    “No. I fear it was nothing so prescient. I was merely reading. Had I known you were down here, tossing crockery and planning my launch into society, I would have slipped out my window and gone to live in the stable.”
    Grandfather chuckled. “Cheeky wench.”
    “Crotchety old man,” she returned, grinning over her cup.
    A tremulous smile touched his mouth. “Ah, Beth! You’ll enjoy London, see if you don’t! With your looks and spirit, not to mention the dowry I plan to put behind you, every duke, earl, and marquis will be tripping over his feet to win your favor.”
    She replaced her cup into the saucer so quickly, the china clacked noisily. “Dowry?”
    “Of course you’ll have a dowry!”
    Beth sighed. Why was it that the simplest of plans was never really simple? The idea of hordes of suitors panting after her dowry made Beth wince inwardly. She would have to be very crafty to turn the tide of that enticement. “At least it will be good for Charlotte to serve as chaperone. She will—”
    “No.” Grandfather’s mouth took on a mulish twist. “Your stepmother will have nothing to do with this.”
    “You are much too severe on poor Charlotte.” Grandfather had never liked Charlotte. Beth was at a loss to understand why; Grandfather was not usually so judgmental.
    “I rue the day