Just One Season in London Read Online Free PDF Page B

Miranda Ryecroft? Something dodgy, I’ll be bound. But as long as you swear on your mother’s Bible that you’re not trying to match up your ridiculously pretty Sophie with my boy—”
    â€œI swear it,” Miranda said. And she had the virtuous reassurance that she was, at that moment, telling the absolute and complete truth.
    For a change.
    ***
    Portia took off her outdoor things, neatened her hair, and plucked a wayward violet from under her collar, where it had lodged somehow when that fortune-hunting oaf had almost knocked her into the street.
    She had to admit the collision had been only an accident—the sort of thing that could have happened to anyone. But the way he’d let go of her and ducked away the instant he’d realized she was nothing more than a paid companion… now that had been intentional. Insulting, even, because he wouldn’t have dropped her arm like a hot coal if she’d been one of the heiresses Lady Stone had promised him. He’d have bowed and scraped and begged her pardon and flattered her…
    And you’d have hated it, she reminded herself.
    So it was just as well that he knew right up front she was a mere companion. And it was just as well that she knew he was a mere fortune hunter. Because otherwise…
    Because otherwise she might have kept believing that eyes as dark and warm and sincere as his were, in that long instant when he’d looked down at her, must belong to a true gentleman. She might have kept thinking about how strong his grasp was when he held her, and how soft his touch had been against her temple as he untangled the violet from her eyelashes, and how his height had made her feel as fragile as a flower…
    â€œA violet, perhaps,” Portia jeered at herself. “Just like that bunch he was holding. And look what happened to them—trampled in the street.” Except for the one that lay on her dressing table now.
    She smiled at her foolishness, dismissed the thought of Viscount Ryecroft, and tapped on the door of Lady Stone’s boudoir to ask if her employer would like her to read the next chapter of Mansfield Park .
    â€œNot just now,” Lady Stone said. “Come and talk to me instead.”
    Portia took a chair near the chaise where Lady Stone was reclining. “What shall I talk about, ma’am?”
    â€œWhatever is on your mind. Lord Ryecroft, I expect.”
    â€œWhy would I be thinking about him ? What inspired you to take him up, anyway?”
    Lady Stone shot a shrewd look at her. “Do you think him too young for me?” she simpered.
    â€œI think he’d be too young for your daughter, if you had one,” Portia said under her breath.
    â€œI heard that, miss. My ears are as sharp as they ever were.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. Are you certain it’s not misplaced maternal instincts that you’re feeling?”
    Lady Stone gave a rusty laugh. “You might be right. He did seem to treat his mother well, so perhaps I felt envious. At the time, however, I merely thought it might be amusing to have a tame young man around the house.”
    â€œThe blush having worn off the idea of having a companion?”
    â€œIndeed it has. You’ve been here all of six weeks, Portia, and you’re no longer showing me proper respect. I should turn you off and find someone new.”
    â€œNo one else would put up with you for six weeks, ma’am. But I still don’t understand why Viscount Ryecroft has commanded your attention.”
    Lady Stone shrugged. “When I met him at that assembly down in Surrey, I felt sorry for him. He’s got this huge manor house that’s falling to rack and ruin, or so it’s said in the neighborhood. In short, he needs to marry an heiress, and a whomping great one too.”
    â€œSo you decided to be his fairy godmother and introduce him to Summersby’s eldest daughter?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œYou