aware of his own privileged upbringing.
“She looks like a King Charles spaniel, beribboned and curled.” Adam tucked his spyglass into its leather case. Guiding his horse down to the curved gravel drive, he suggested, “Shall we go greet my bride?”
What sort of symbolism prompted the two gentlemen to watch their guests’ arrival from the top of the rise? Silhouetted against the setting sun, the horsemen and the partially finished chapel offered a sight that chilled Bronwyn. One of those men was her fiancé. One of them would have the right to control her behavior, her dress, her body.
Olivia divined Bronwyn’s chaotic emotions and offered compassion without succor. “It won’t be so bad. Many men are affectionate with their wives. Look at Da. He dotes on Maman.”
“Yes, and look at our King George,” Bronwyn snapped. “They say he divorced his wife, locked her up in a German castle, ignored her pleas for clemency. She hasn’t seen her children in twenty years.”
“He divorced her for infidelity.”
“His crime was the greater. He lifts every skirt he can, they say, and he had his wife’s lover assassinated.” Grimly Bronwyn contemplated her fate. “I tell you, sister, I wish Da hadn’t insisted we be married from oldest to youngest. Lord Rawson would much rather have you, I’m sure.”
“Don’t say that!” Olivia cried. “I don’t want him.”
Startled, Bronwyn faced her sister. “Have you heard something I haven’t?”
“No!” Olivia placed her hand on her breast and took a calming breath. “No. I just…I don’t want to marry yet.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Bronwyn assured her. “The marriage settlement Lord Rawson offered should keep Da and Maman in silks for another few years. Who knows, perhaps Da will invest in something useful this time and make his fortune.”
“Perhaps.” Olivia’s hopeless tone clearly told her opinion of that. “Here they come. Which one is he, do you suppose?”
With one glance, Bronwyn knew. He was the gorgeous one. He was the one whose sculptured face was the epitome of male beauty. He was the one with the fashionable sneer. One glance, and she looked at him no more. As her father, with his good-fellow-well-met voice, greeted Adam, she kept her eyes trained below his collar.
The talk washed over her, but she could no longer ignore him when he took her hand. “Lady Bronwyn. You’re a breath of fresh air in my unexceptional life.”
Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t a compliment, for all he made it sound as smooth and charming as a sonnet. She looked at him then, and his remote disapproval stole her breath. His glacial eyes rested on her regally. His lips pinched into a tight line, and his nostrils quivered with disdain.
Chiming like a bell, her mother said, “Thank HisLordship, Bronwyn. Greet His Lordship! After all, you’ll have years of marital bliss ahead. You must begin correctly.”
“Lord Rawson, I’m well aware of the honor you confer on me with your”—the words stuck in her throat—“your offer. I’m sure I’ll never forget it.”
The last sentence sounded a little sarcastic. She smoothed her expression into that of a placid sheep—no small achievement, for he still held her hand. She wanted to adjust her wig, to press her velvet beauty patch more firmly on her cheek. She settled for licking her lips. He watched her, close and attentive as a prospective bridegroom. Which he was, she reminded herself.
He gave her a chilly smile. “All is in anticipation of your coming. The manor gleams from top to bottom. The housekeeping staff is assembled by the door, waiting to meet you.”
She stared at him, jolted with the reminder that the worst of her ordeal remained. With a twist of her wrist, she tried to retrieve her hand, but he refused to allow her even so small a retreat.
He said, “My mother can barely restrain her impatience.”
Her palm began to sweat.
“She’s a most opinionated lady, used to having her
“She looks like a King Charles spaniel, beribboned and curled.” Adam tucked his spyglass into its leather case. Guiding his horse down to the curved gravel drive, he suggested, “Shall we go greet my bride?”
What sort of symbolism prompted the two gentlemen to watch their guests’ arrival from the top of the rise? Silhouetted against the setting sun, the horsemen and the partially finished chapel offered a sight that chilled Bronwyn. One of those men was her fiancé. One of them would have the right to control her behavior, her dress, her body.
Olivia divined Bronwyn’s chaotic emotions and offered compassion without succor. “It won’t be so bad. Many men are affectionate with their wives. Look at Da. He dotes on Maman.”
“Yes, and look at our King George,” Bronwyn snapped. “They say he divorced his wife, locked her up in a German castle, ignored her pleas for clemency. She hasn’t seen her children in twenty years.”
“He divorced her for infidelity.”
“His crime was the greater. He lifts every skirt he can, they say, and he had his wife’s lover assassinated.” Grimly Bronwyn contemplated her fate. “I tell you, sister, I wish Da hadn’t insisted we be married from oldest to youngest. Lord Rawson would much rather have you, I’m sure.”
“Don’t say that!” Olivia cried. “I don’t want him.”
Startled, Bronwyn faced her sister. “Have you heard something I haven’t?”
“No!” Olivia placed her hand on her breast and took a calming breath. “No. I just…I don’t want to marry yet.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” Bronwyn assured her. “The marriage settlement Lord Rawson offered should keep Da and Maman in silks for another few years. Who knows, perhaps Da will invest in something useful this time and make his fortune.”
“Perhaps.” Olivia’s hopeless tone clearly told her opinion of that. “Here they come. Which one is he, do you suppose?”
With one glance, Bronwyn knew. He was the gorgeous one. He was the one whose sculptured face was the epitome of male beauty. He was the one with the fashionable sneer. One glance, and she looked at him no more. As her father, with his good-fellow-well-met voice, greeted Adam, she kept her eyes trained below his collar.
The talk washed over her, but she could no longer ignore him when he took her hand. “Lady Bronwyn. You’re a breath of fresh air in my unexceptional life.”
Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t a compliment, for all he made it sound as smooth and charming as a sonnet. She looked at him then, and his remote disapproval stole her breath. His glacial eyes rested on her regally. His lips pinched into a tight line, and his nostrils quivered with disdain.
Chiming like a bell, her mother said, “Thank HisLordship, Bronwyn. Greet His Lordship! After all, you’ll have years of marital bliss ahead. You must begin correctly.”
“Lord Rawson, I’m well aware of the honor you confer on me with your”—the words stuck in her throat—“your offer. I’m sure I’ll never forget it.”
The last sentence sounded a little sarcastic. She smoothed her expression into that of a placid sheep—no small achievement, for he still held her hand. She wanted to adjust her wig, to press her velvet beauty patch more firmly on her cheek. She settled for licking her lips. He watched her, close and attentive as a prospective bridegroom. Which he was, she reminded herself.
He gave her a chilly smile. “All is in anticipation of your coming. The manor gleams from top to bottom. The housekeeping staff is assembled by the door, waiting to meet you.”
She stared at him, jolted with the reminder that the worst of her ordeal remained. With a twist of her wrist, she tried to retrieve her hand, but he refused to allow her even so small a retreat.
He said, “My mother can barely restrain her impatience.”
Her palm began to sweat.
“She’s a most opinionated lady, used to having her
Similar Books
Peak Oil
Arno Joubert
Love Me Crazy
Camden Leigh
Hammer & Nails
Andria Large
American Detective: An Amos Walker Novel
Loren D. Estleman
The Reluctant Suitor
Kathleen E. Woodiwiss
Jitterbug
Loren D. Estleman
Redeemed
Margaret Peterson Haddix
Red Handed
Shelly Bell
Broker, Trader, Lawyer, Spy
Eamon Javers