In My Wildest Dreams Read Online Free PDF

Would she be accepted, or would she be hustled away to hide in the servants’ quarters?
    Surely even infatuated Ellery had to see she must go. Paris society be damned; in the English ton, one’s only association with the gardener’s daughter was to instruct her to pull a weed.
    With the intention of adding to Ellery’s dismay, Throckmorton drawled, “Very good, Ellery. Very democratic of you to invite the gardener’s daughter to your betrothal party. If one didn’t know better, one might mistake you for an American.”
    A tactical error, Throckmorton saw at once. Ellery must be truly infatuated—or truly rebellious, for he said, “A woman as beautiful as Celeste doesn’t need the deceitful approval of the ton.”
    Herne stood rooted in place, tray extended.
    â€œChampagne?” Throckmorton queried his brother. “Strawberry?”
    Ellery glared. “I hate champagne, and strawberries give me the mange.”
    â€œDo you still break out in those disgusting scaly patches?” Throckmorton asked. “The ones that make you itch?”
    â€œI hardly think this is the occasion to talk about it,”Ellery snapped. “Now, where’s the brandy? Where’s the cheese? Why are we serving this?”
    â€œChampagne and strawberries are Lady Hyacinth’s favorites.” As he spoke to Ellery, Throckmorton fixed Celeste with a meaningful gaze. “You remember Lady Hyacinth. She’s your betrothed.”
    â€œShe should have remembered that Ellery is allergic to them. I did.” Celeste nibbled on the ripe red fruit. “The strawberries are wonderful, Mr. Throckmorton. Did they come from my father’s greenhouse?”
    For all the notice Ellery took, Throckmorton might not even have mentioned Hyacinth. No, all Ellery’s attention was fixed on the vision of Celeste with her rosy lips around the strawberry.
    With winsome coquettishness, she finished the fruit, placed the stem on Herne’s tray, and laid her hand on Ellery’s arm. “You’re very kind, Ellery. I’ve always worshipped you from afar, did you know that?”
    Know that? He didn’t even know you were alive. But Throckmorton had learned his lesson, and he clamped his mouth shut.
    Ellery lost all the starch in his spine as he gazed at the slip of a girl beside him. “Worshipped me? That’s a persuasive claim.”
    â€œFrom afar. I used to watch the parties from over there”—waving her tall champagne glass, she indicated a small marble alcove in the garden—“and you were always so charming, so handsome. I fell in love with you while watching you dance. The only gnat in the soup was—you weren’t dancing with me.”
    â€œI can make that up to you right now. Miss Milford, will you dance with me?” Ellery extended his gloved hand.
    Eager to assist her, Herne snatched away her champagne.
    She thanked him with a smile. Putting her hand into Ellery’s, she let him sweep her into a waltz.
    â€œChampagne, Mr. Throckmorton?” Herne asked.
    â€œHm. Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” He accepted a glass, then stopped Herne when he would have hurried off. “Celeste is a lovely woman.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Herne answered. “So sweet an’ kind, willing t’ help, an’ smart! Schooled by yer own instructor, sir, an’ that gennaman said he’d never seen a child as quick as her, lad or lass. We’re proud of her.” He bowed. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
    By that little speech the footman warned him and informed him.
    Throckmorton took a strawberry and waved Herne away.
    Sipping his champagne, Throckmorton admired Celeste’s dancing, which unfortunately was as light and skilled as any English noblewoman’s.
    Lady Philberta’s chilly voice spoke from just behind him. “Who is she?”
    â€œMother.” Wrapping his arm around her