The Abandoned Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

should think he had a marvelous position for you, but he won’t disclose—why Julia, whatever is it?”
    Mrs. Bryce looked at her companion with alarm. For the young woman’s milk-white skin had achieved an impossible hue, becoming so leached of color that it appeared to be transparent. Miss Hastings held on to the doorframe, her eyes wide and filled with horror.
    “Julia,” cried Mrs. Bryce, growing quite faint herself at the transformation that had come over the usually serene Miss Hastings. “Whatever has come over you?”
    “ I cannot see him,” Julia said frantically, backing away from the door. “Send him away. I shall not see him.”
    “But why ever not?” Mrs. Bryce demanded, her pique at having this splendid solution to her problems with her companion solved and then ruined in a trice now overriding her concern for the overset young woman.
    The door to the salon swung open.
    “Yes, Miss Hastings,” the gentleman’s voice said coldly, “why ever not?”

 
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    It was not at all well done, not at all socially adroit. The gentleman stood at the doorway to the salon and stared intently at the shaken young woman. She, in turn, gaped back in frank astonishment at him. In the common way, Julia was to think later, it was most irregular for any female of breeding to subject a visitor to such naked, unrelenting observation. But then again, it was not at all correct for the gentleman to stand and gaze at her in such obvious, stark, unblinking appraisal either. She did not know or care to know the reason why he studied her with a growing sneer upon his lips, she only shook her head as she looked at him, wondering whether to disbelieve her eyes or her ears. For surely, one of her senses had betrayed her.
    The gentleman Mrs. B r yce had said was Lord Nicholas Daventry, Baron Stafford, could not be the gentleman of that name who had composed and sent all those insane letters, one of which lay crumpled and twisted in her pocket at this ve r y moment. This gentleman looked as though he had never committed an unconsidered or rash deed in his life. Everything about him was meticulous and correct. His clothes, from his tightly fitting blue jacket to the highly polished half boots which covered his buff-kerseymere-clad legs, fitted his trim, athletic form to an inch. His neckcloth, arranged in a perfect waterfall, was dazzling white, and his linen was no less well cared for than the white hand which held the quizzing glass he observed her through. His hair was dark and curling, his skin cl ear and of a flawless matte texture that any young woman would weep for. The watchful eyes were gray-green and well opened, ringed round with thick dark lashes. But even with these graces there was little else that was effeminate about the haughty face with its well-carved features: the thin aristocratic nose, the strong chin, and the high sculpted cheekline.
    Whatever else this unknown gentleman was, Julia thought, with an admixture of relief and embarrassment at her reaction to his name, he could not be her unwanted correspondent, for he could not be above thirty years of age and he radiated health and fitness. But as she continued to stare at him, as if to reassure herself of the accuracy of her perceptions, the mobile lips opened to speak.
    “Now that you have assured yourself of your ability to recognize me should we meet again, Miss Hastings, do you think you might be able to explain why you cannot have converse with me?” he asked in a chill voice.
    Julia flushed, both in chagrin at her own actions and in anger at his less than gallant reminder of them.
    “I apologize, my lord,” she said stiffly. “Obviously, I mistook you for another.”
    He made no reply save for sketching a brief, ironic bow as Mrs. Bryce, sensing that the potential storm had blown over, rushed to say with evident relief,
    “You see Julia? Just as I said. The baron is here to speak with you about a new position. I shall leave you now, my lord,” she