Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

to. I don’t like him.’
    Now Edward’s mouth drooped open. ‘But he’s an Earl.’
    ‘I wouldn’t care if he were a Duke. Papa can keep me n my room as long as he likes, I’m not marrying him.’
    The expression on nineteen-year-old Edward’s face brightened. ‘He can’t keep you in your room for ever. You’re not there today.’
    ‘That’s because he said I was to do my needlework in the morning room and learn my manners from Cousin Thomasina.’
    ‘Good heavens.’
    ‘I know. If everyone insists I’ll run away.’
    The nineteen years became heavily sensible in advice to seventeen years. ‘Don’t be a goose. You’d starve. Or worse.’
    ‘What could be worse than starving?’
    ‘Well . . .’ He pulled his heel over a small cluster of grass blades that had seeded themselves between two slabs. ‘You don’t need to know.’
    ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t starve. I have a scheme. I shall be a milliner and trim bonnets.’ She turned an engaging face towards him. ‘And you’d help me, wouldn’t you? You’re my oldest friend.’
    Edward bounced up. Primrose yelped and cowered in Amabelle’s arms. ‘I most certainly would not. It’s a stupid idea. And Papa is a Member of Parliament. I’ll take his place eventually. Helping you run away would stop that for certain.’
    Tears bloomed into Amabelle’s eyes. ‘I think you’re horrid. And not a true friend. A true friend would help me all he could.’
    ‘I am your true friend.’ He pointed at Primrose. ‘I brought you her.’
    Words caught in Amabelle’s throat. She blinked. She sniffed. She stamped her foot. She turned a shoulder to her oldest friend.
    Edward drew a deep breath. He bowed. ‘Please give my respects to Miss Quigley and Rowena.’ He bowed again and walked away leaving Amabelle open-mouthed on the garden seat.

Chapter Five
    W hile Amabelle was snuggling Primrose’s ears and sniffling over Edward’s mean dismissal of her scheme, Thomasina was dozing under several shawls before the morning room fireplace. Small snores reached Rowena sitting at the table. Lying before her were two books. A grey, linen-bound one with a few dark thumbprints on the front cover and a larger, dark brown one.
    Rowena nerved herself for the task. She would much rather be sitting in the shade of one of the beech trees and reading poetry than sitting here with the household books. Determined not to sigh, she opened the grey one well past its centre.
    On the right-hand page Mrs Kesgrave had written her menus for the following week. Mrs Kesgrave was an excellent cook. Her only drawback was a deep superstition of sauces. To her mind there was a good white parsley sauce for fish, a mint one for lamb and a thick gravy for everything else. Her gammon hams, however, were magnificent and her raised pies and sirloin in onions were renowned countywide.
    Rowena had progressed through Sunday’s suggestions to Monday’s nuncheon when the door opened and Phillips, the butler, entered. In his left hand he carried a silver platter. He progressed in measured paces to Thomasina.
    ‘A letter, ma’am.’
    ‘Oh, my.’ Thomasina opened her eyes, untangled her mittened hands from her lap and picked up the missive. She held it at arms length, squinting at the superscription.
    ‘It’s for Miss Rowena,’ Phillips said.
    ‘Oh, well, dear, you had better open it.’ Thomasina flapped the letter in her hand.
    Phillips rescued it and presented it to Rowena.
    She slid her finger under the fold. The wafer parted. A large embossed card slid out. Scrolled writing covered the front. ‘It’s from my aunt.’
    Thomasina clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, how exciting. What does dear Lady Tiverton say?’
    Phillips progressed towards the door rather more slowly than usual.
    ‘It’s an invitation for Amabelle and me to attend her country ball.’ She turned the card over. Thin writing, almost illegible, meandered across the back. ‘She asks us to spend the next few days with her at