The Earl Claims a Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

in her father’s tone so she said, “I’m sorry, Papa. But see how quiet and well-behaved he is. He hasn’t made a sound since you walked in. I promise he will be no bother to you.”
    “Oh, all right, you can keep him, for now,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve too many other things on my mind at present to deal with this.”
    Angelina threw her arms around her father’s chest and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Papa.”
    “I just hope you will still be thanking me later,” he mumbled near her ear as he hugged her to him for a second before setting her away. “Put him in the room where the others are kept at night and come into the drawing room when you finish. But change your apron first. You look like a ragamuffin. I’ve already asked your grandmother to join us. I have something important to discuss with you.”
    Thrilled that she had won, at least for the time being, Angelina started untying her soiled apron. “I’ll take care of him, wash up, and be right in.”
    A few minutes later Angelina was almost floating with happiness as she walked into the drawing room. Her grandmother Lady Railbridge was sitting in her usual spot on the floral-printed settee.
    “Good afternoon, Granna,” Angelina said to her youthful-looking grandmother. Unlike Angelina who took after her tall and blue-eyed father, Lady Railbridge was petite and brown-eyed with chestnut hair that had only recently begun to show a smattering of silver woven in its thick depths. The only thing that gave away her age was the thick blue veins showing beneath the thin white skin of her hands.
    Her grandmother had come to live with them and help care for Angelina after her mother died four years ago. Lady Railbridge looked so much like her daughter that it had given Angelina tremendous comfort to have her nearby.
    The older woman smiled and reached out her hands to Angelina. “Let’s have a look.”
    Angelina chuckled lightly and placed her palms down in her grandmother’s soft hands. “Very clean, Granna,” she said. “No sign of paint under my nails.” She turned her hands over. “Or in my life lines.”
    “That’s my perfect young lady,” her grandmother said, sporting a pleased smile that always reminded Angelina of her mother.
    For the past year her grandmother had been readying Angelina for the fast-approaching Season. From an early age Angelina had a tutor to teach her writing, reading, and sums as well as the finer things a young lady was supposed to know such as French, embroidery, and playing the pianoforte. But from her very first art lesson, Angelina had fallen in love with painting. She loved to create and re-create scenes from life or her imagination, or sometimes copy from original oils on canvas, ivory, fans, shells, or most anything the paint would adhere to. With the first ball of the Season only a week away, her grandmother was insisting she be more careful when washing the paints off her hands.
    She had teased Angelina a few days ago by saying, “My biggest fear is that you will take your gloves off at a duke’s dinner table and there will be paint stains running up your arms.”
    Angelina kissed her grandmother’s soft cheek and then glanced over at her father. Her stomach tightened. She felt again that something was wrong. He stood in front of the fireplace, his back to them. His head was lowered and the regal tilt of his shoulders slumped. There were times he let grief over losing his wife overwhelm him; today must be one of those times.
    Feeling a spark of guilt for testing his patience about the puppy, she laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder and said, “Papa, don’t worry. I will find another home for Mr. Pete.”
    He sighed heavily and slowly turned toward her. His eyes had narrowed, his forehead was wrinkled into a tight frown, and his lips had formed into a thin grimace. At that moment she thought that he actually looked older than her grandmother.
    He stared at her for so long she became anxious