Lauren Willig Read Online Free PDF Page B

told herself, have endured the cold with equanimity. She might have smiled with tolerant condescension upon the antiquated furnishings and dour tapestries, graciously endured the drafty chambers, and equably accepted the lack of any local society—any local society worth knowing, that was—within twenty miles, were it not for one small problem.
     
     
Her problem sported dark blue superfine and wore his dark hair cropped close to his head. He was also walking right towards her, moving with a soft stride that seemed to swallow sound rather than create it, a shadowy presence in the dim room. He was Geoffrey, Lord Pinchingdale, Second Viscount Pinchingdale, Eighth Baron Snipe, owner of Sibley Court and all its lands and appurtenances.
     
     
Once upon a time, it had been simply Geoffrey.
     
     
Once upon a time, he hadn’t been married to her sister.
     
     
Pausing in front of her, her new brother-in-law bowed briefly over her hand, their first private contact since the hot days of July, when they had met in the sunshine of Hyde Park while her maid kept lookout three trees away.
     
     
In the drizzling gloom of October, it felt a lifetime ago, like a summer flower found pressed between the pages of a book.
     
     
“Miss Alsworthy,” Geoffrey said softly.
     
     
It did seem a tad formal after “beloved.”
     
     
“Mary,” she corrected demurely, retrieving her hand and smiling as prettily as any young girl at her first Assembly. “After all, you are my brother now.”
     
     
He looked so relieved that Mary almost wished she had said something less conciliatory. She couldn’t have, of course. It would have been bad ton to make a scene. Unlike her sister, she knew what was required of her. But it would have been nice to see even a touch of remorse—or, even better, of regret—rather than pure relief at being so easily released from his former bonds.
     
     
Slicing the wound wider, he said, “Letty and I were both so pleased that you were able to join us here.”
     
     
What was it about married couples that always made them speak for the other person as well? Didn’t he have any thoughts of his own anymore? Or was that not allowed? Letty always did have opinions enough for two.
     
     
“The pleasure is mine,” Mary lied, making her eyes as limpid as nature would allow. “I have always been eager to see Sibley Court.”
     
     
That struck home, at least. She could see guilt flicker across his face as the barb struck—or perhaps it was nothing more than the uneven flick of the candle flame, playing tricks with her eyes.
     
     
Well, he ought to feel guilty. He had been the one who had promised to bring her home to Sibley Court as its mistress. Over dozens of dances he had spun endless stories of the wonders of the family home: the ghost who stalked the battlements, the trees he had climbed, the scent of the ancient herb garden after a spring rain.
     
     
“Miss Alsworthy…” Mindless of the company around them, Lord Pinchingdale looked earnestly down at her, groping for words. “Mary…”
     
     
They had stood that way so often in the past, his dark head bent to hers, a private haven in the midst of a crowded room. Mary lowered her eyes against a sudden pang. Not of the heart, of course. A heart had no business engaging in practical transactions. Half the time, she reminded herself, she hadn’t listened to a word he had said, mentally cataloguing the dances she had already promised and devising new ways to play off her admirers one against the other.
     
     
Call it memory, then, or nostalgia. He might have been dull, but he had still been hers. She had gotten into the habit of him.
     
     
“Mary…” His voice scraped along the back of his throat, as though he spoke only with difficulty. “I’m sorry.”
     
     
Sorry, sorry, sorry. She was sick of sorry. Letty had been sorry, too. They were sorry, but she was alone. So much for sorry.
     
     
“Don’t be. It all turned out for the best.” If