Lady Whistledown Strikes Back Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “Do you think we can? I’m just so tired of being sad.”
    “Very well,” he said.
    She watched him, waiting for him to say something more. But
he didn’t. “Er, how was the weather?” she finally asked.
    “Bit of a drizzle,” he replied, “but nothing out of the
ordinary.”
    She nodded. “Was it warm?”
    “Not especially. A bit warmer than last night, though.”
    “Yes, it was a bit chilly, wasn’t it? And here it’s May.”
    “Disappointed?”
    “Of course. It ought to be spring.”
    “Yes.”
    “Quite.”
    “Quite.”
    One-word sentences, Tillie thought. Always the demise of any
good conversation. Surely they had something in
common other than Harry. Peter Thompson was handsome, intelligent, and, when he
looked at her with that smoky, heavy-lidded expression of his, it sent a shiver
right down her spine.
    It wasn’t fair that the only thing they ever seemed to talk
about made her want to cry.
    She smiled at him encouragingly, waiting for him to say
something more, but he did not. She smiled again, clearing her throat.
    He took the hint. “Do you read?” he asked.
    “Do I read!” she echoed,
incredulous.
    “Not can you, do you?” he clarified.
    “Yes, of course. Why?”
    He shrugged. “I might have mentioned as much to one of the
other gentlemen here.”
    “Might have?”
    “Did.”
    She felt her teeth clenching. She had no idea why she should be irritated with Peter Thompson, only
that she should. He’d clearly done something to merit her displeasure, else he
wouldn’t be sitting there with that cat-with-cream expression, pretending to
inspect his fingernails. “Which gentleman?” she finally asked.
    He looked up, and Tillie resisted the urge to thank him for
finding her more interesting than his manicure.
    “I believe his name was Mr. Berbrooke,” he said.
    Not anyone she wanted to marry. Nigel Berbrooke was a good-hearted
fellow, but he was also dumb as a post and would likely be terrified at the
thought of an intellectual wife. One might say, if one were feeling
particularly generous, that Peter had done her a favor by scaring him away, but
still, Tillie did not appreciate his meddling in her affairs. “What did you say
I liked to read?” she asked, keeping her voice mild.
    “Er, this and that. Perhaps philosophical tracts.”
    “I see. And you saw fit to mention this to him because?…”
    “He seemed like the sort who’d be interested,” he said with a
shrug.
    “And—just out of curiosity, mind you—what happened when you
told him this?”
    Peter didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. “Ran right
out the door,” he murmured. “Imagine that.”
    Tillie meant to remain arch and dry. She wanted to eye him
ironically under delicately arched brows. But she wasn’t nearly as
sophisticated as she hoped to be, because she positively glared at him as she
said, “And what gave you the idea that I like to read philosophical tracts?”
    “Don’t you?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” she retorted. “You can’t go around
frightening off my suitors.”
    “Is that what you thought I was doing?”
    “Please,” she scoffed. “After touting my intelligence to Mr.
Berbrooke, don’t attempt to insult it now.”
    “Very well,” he said, crossing his arms and regarding her
with the sort of expression her father and older brother adopted when they
meant to scold her. “Do you really wish to pledge your troth to Mr. Berbrooke?
Or,” he added, “to one of the men who rushed out the door to throw money on a
horse race?”
    “Of course not, but that doesn’t mean I want you scaring them
away.”
    He just looked at her as if she were an idiot. Or a woman. It
was Tillie’s experience that most men thought they were one and the same.
    “The more men who come to call,” she explained, somewhat
impatiently, “the more men who will come to call.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “You’re sheep. The lot of you. Only interested in a woman if
someone else is as