Jennie Kissed Me Read Online Free PDF

when ashore.
    “Don’t get your tail up your back,” she riposted. “I know how to talk to a gentleman.”
    Lord Marndale was hovering at the door of his private parlor and came forward the minute we hit the bottom of the stairs. All the ravages of travel and door battering were removed from his toilette. As he wore a jacket of Bath cloth and a fresh cravat, I assumed his valet was on hand to assist him. “Miss Robsjohn, Mrs. Irvine,” he said, making a graceful bow while he smiled civilly. This new expression removed the air of a savage from him. He was a handsome specimen when he wore civil manners. “So kind of you to join me.”
    Mrs. Irvine curtsied; I offered my hand. Mrs. Grambly once scolded me for shaking hands with a gentleman at the seminary. She said it was out of place in a schoolmistress, as it suggested equality with the parents of our students. I hoped Lord Marndale was aware of its significance. I inquired for Lady Victoria.
    “My daughter is still resting,” he explained. “I have coffee waiting for us.” He lifted one finger, literally—his small finger at that—and a waiter came running to see what we would like with our coffee.
    I don’t know how it is, but I am always as hungry as a horse when travelling. At home I never take more than bread and tea in the morning, but on the road I eat like an infantryman. Like Lord Marndale, I ordered gammon and eggs. He apologized again, and as we tackled our food he stated his real reason for inviting us.
    “As you perhaps know, I am taking my daughter home to Wycherly Park. It is only a few miles out of your way. I would be delighted if you ladies would do me the honor of joining us for luncheon there.”
    I could not have been more surprised if he had asked me to marry him. Surely this was more civility than either our kindness to his daughter or his insults required. It looked like a real overture at friendship. His whole manner was so engaging, his conversation easy and accompanied by an indefinable air of what I can only call admiration when he looked at me. At the school the parents spoke to us teachers as if we were somehow less than human. They did not really look at us. I always felt they could not tell if my eyes were blue or green or red after they walked out the door. But if staring meant anything, Marndale could tell you not only their color, but how many lashes were on my eyelids.
    The friendship of a marquess could not do a young lady any harm in her search for a husband in London. It seemed the doors of society might open wide enough for me to squeak in if I played my cards right. I must not be too eager; on the other hand, I had every intention of accepting.
    To my dismay I heard Mrs. Irvine say, “Very kind, Lord Marndale, but Jennie has us on a rigid schedule. We must reach London by tonight. She has arranged our rooms in advance all along the route. Tonight we have rooms waiting at Rendall’s Hotel.”
    Her reply annoyed me on several scores. I had no intention of being “Jennie,” in London. Jennie is a fit name for a cow, not a lady. All this talk of rigid schedules made me sound a dead bore, and worst of all she had announced our destination as the second-rate Rendall’s Hotel. Such eminences as Lord Marndale would put up at Claridge’s or the Pulteney. Yet to refute her would sound like unbridled eagerness.
    “You could still make it, if you spring your horses,” he said. “Wycherly Park is worth a visit, if it is not immodest in me to say so. It is in all the guidebooks.”
    Before Mrs. Irvine could announce the ineligibility of “springing” the sort of job horses we managed to hire, I spoke up. “How far away is Wycherly Park, Lord Marndale?”
    “Just a little jog south of Woking—practically on your way.”
    “We have to stop for luncheon, Mrs. Irvine,” I pointed out to my recalcitrant friend.
    Lord Marndale spoke on of his house, luring us with tales of its historical associations and physical features. He