Never a Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

previous evening.
    ***
    Good heavens! Even at three parties a night, Mirabella wasn’t sure she could possibly manage to put her finger down the neckcloths of every eligible gentleman Sarah had danced with last Season. Thank goodness Mirabella had narrowed the field by eliminating the tallest men, and she had discounted those who had spent the entire winter away from London.
    The task she’d set for herself was enormous. Sarah had left her so little to go on. The second week of the Season would begin tonight and already Mirabella knew she had to come up with some other plan if she was going to succeed in finding the man who had seduced Sarah. She wouldn’t rest until she found him and had him branded an outcast by all of Society.
    Forcing herself to push all that to the back of her thoughts for the time being, Mirabella knocked lightly on the door frame. “Papa, are you sleeping?”
    “No, Mirabella. Come in.”
    She pushed open the door and walked into the second-story bedroom of their large town house. Bertram Whittingham lay propped up on fluffy pillows, a heavy velvet robe closed snugly around his chest.
    Mirabella was always impressed at how her father managed to look distinguished even though he was pale and gaunt. Although he seldom left his room, she insisted that Newton keep his gray hair and beard neatly trimmed and his clothing and bedding changed each day.
    She wished she could confide in her father about Sarah’s secret, but she couldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t feel the same way she did about finding out who was responsible for Sarah taking her own life. He would be outraged should he ever find out what Mirabella was doing. It was early evening. Dusk lay on the air outside the window. It was that time of day Mirabella disliked most. Too light for lamps and too late for sunshine.
    Mirabella did everything possible to keep her father’s bedroom from looking and feeling like a sickroom. She brought in fresh flowers every other day, and she insisted the windows be opened each morning. She wouldn’t allow his medicine bottles to be left on the night table by his bed.
    “I’m trying to get through the Times, but I don’t know why I bother. There’s seldom anything worth reading in here except the reviews of the latest plays. I always get a chuckle out of those clever writings. When I get better, we’re going back to Drury Lane to see another play.”
    Her spirits lifted. If he was talking of going out, maybe it meant that all the medication he was ingesting was making him better. “That sounds wonderful, Papa. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, we’ll make plans. Everyone is talking about a new satire that is playing now.”
    Bertram folded the paper and laid it on top of a stack of other London newspapers. “There’s a scandal about the Lord Mayor, and everyone’s complaining about the heat when summer is not even upon us yet. I’d much rather read the poetry you write.”
    She smiled. “But it’s not nearly as clever or interesting as what’s written in the newsprint. Would you like for me to bring you a book from the library? You’ve only read that new book of poetry by Lord Byron one time.”
    He placed his index finger on his closed lips for a moment. “Actually I read it twice before I sent it down to the library.”
    “You’re a sly one,” she said, pulling and tugging on the bedcovers, smoothing out every wrinkle. “Shall I bring it up anyway—or something else?”
    “No, no. I’ll get Newton to bring up something for me later tonight. No need for you to worry with it or with the blankets.” He gently pulled the end of the covers out of her grasp.
    Mirabella put a mock expression of surprise in her face and placed her hands on her hips. “When would it be a worry for me to do things for you?” She bent and kissed his forehead, then plopped on the edge of his bed and smiled at him. “I do believe you look better today, Papa. You have more color to your cheeks and there is a