How to Impress a Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page A

porcelain dolls in their make up and finery. Lindsay cared nothing for the fun and frivolity. What she had hoped for was to turn her fair face and graceful dancing into a smart match. What a difference an hour had made!
    Rehashing the past minutes, Lindsay tried to trace her lack of popularity back to its source. What had she done wrong? After tucking and pinning an ebony curl back beneath her elegant white wig, Lindsay began to examine her dress. She turned to see Eleanor step into the room.
    Eleanor drew Lindsay’s hands from the hem of her dress to clasp them tightly in her own. Lindsay became instantly attuned to her grandmother. Physical contact was rare and to be taken seriously in her family.
    “It has come to my attention that your mother’s frailty is common knowledge among the London set. Charlotte Reynold’s mother found it necessary to eliminate the competition for bachelors from the local gentry by warning their mammas that the Beaumont girls would make poor breeding stock.”
    Eleanor stated this course bit of information quietly and levelly as if she were saying, “They’ll be no scones for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
    Lindsay’s mind reeled. “So, you are saying I’ll likely not find a match among the country gentry?”
    “What I’m saying, Lindsay, is that you may not find a beau that will risk marrying you and having his heirs turn out like your mother. You may have to steel yourself for a tough, perhaps fruitless season of husband hunting.”
    “But I’m only seventeen! Surely some gentleman will risk partnering me for a dance without worrying they’ll be forced to marry me!”
    Lindsay knew her voice had taken on the whining petulance of a young child, but there was no help for it. She’d come here to get away, to escape the painful ghosts of her past, and, mayhap, have some fun, for once.
    God help her! Even in London, she was unable to escape her mother’s sullen shadow. For the first time, she tasted the same bitter disgust and resentment for her mother’s condition that so often coated Eleanor’s tongue.
    Suddenly, Lindsay’s lungs tightened up. Gasping for air, she felt as if she were peering down a long, dark tunnel. Her grandmother’s deeply creased forehead was the last sight she saw before collapsing in a dead faint.
    Slowly, Lindsay became aware of someone patting her hand lightly and rapidly. “Lindsay?” queried the deep, kind voice. “Lindsay? Lindsay, Dear, wake up. Ah, here she comes around, you see? I told you loosening her stays would help.”
    “Thank you, Doctor Evers. Oh, bless you!” breathed Lady Beaumont.
    Peering over at her, the cherubic Jonathan Evers smiled. “Are you feeling more the thing?” he queried. Lindsay couldn’t help but return his lopsided grin.
    “Yes, thank you,” she sighed, attempting to sit up on the chaise lounge in which she’d been placed. “I must have gotten overheated.”
    “Yes, well, I think it best you return to your room upstairs and get some rest.”
    Just then two young ladies entered the powder room. Gasping, one stated in a loud stage whisper, “You see! Just like her mother, having panic attacks and needing a doctor-and not even one full night in town, mind you,” as they turned back to walk out the door. Mortified, Lindsay turned to Eleanor for guidance.
    “Don’t worry about those two nitwits.” Eleanor chided. “They are just petty, jealous little things.”
    “That’s right,” Doctor Evers reassured her, patting her hand gently. “You just head up to bed tonight, get a good night’s rest, and we will see you at Mrs. Reynold’s soiree tomorrow evening. My son will be there and will be more than happy to partner such a lovely young lady for a dance. What do you say?”
    “I’m no object for pity,” Lindsay replied stiffly, her spine straightening and her eyes brimming afresh with unshed tears.
    “Who said anything about pity? This is strategy, my dear. Currently you are the metaphorical social leper.