The Luck of the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page B

it sooner rather than later, it might work. If something better comes along after, well…"
    "Aunt Cora!" Rowanne put her cup down with a thump.
    "Don't you go all niffy-naffy on me now, miss. Don't think I didn't hear all the gossip from London, and how you almost blotted your copybook. Only a married woman can smile at all the handsome rogues she wants, if she picks her husband right."
    Rowanne took a deep breath. "That's not the kind of marriage I want. I don't want some man to marry me for my looks—and have him keep looking. And I don't want to become any man's chattel either, or have some wastrel play ducks-and-drakes with my inheritance."
    "Hoity-toity, miss."
    "That's right, I am a managing kind of female. You know how I have been running Wimberly House and taking charge of Gabriel. I am too used to being my own mistress to let any man ride roughshod over me, and I would not respect any man weak enough to let me hold sway over him."
    "Poppycock. What about children? If all you young bubble-brains thought the same the human race would die out and rabbits would take over the world. Biggest regret of my life, it is, not having more nieces and nephews to boss around."
    "Then why did you not remarry and have children of your own?"
    Aunt Cora cupped her hand to her ear. "Merry and half-chilled what? You know I can't hear when you mumble, girl."
    Rowanne smiled. "I think I should like to have children, but there is still no rush. Perhaps when I am an ape-leader at twenty-five I shall consider a marriage of convenience. Meanwhile I am independent, comfortably established, and I have Gabe for protection."
    "Pshaw. Some protection. The boy forgets he has a sister half the time."
    "Yes, but he could not very well get along without me. Can you imagine Gabriel overseeing the servants and keeping household accounts?"
    "Then he should get him a wife of his own, not keep his sister as chatelaine. And you can't humbug me, missy. Your brother is way more than nineteen and I hear no rumors of him dropping the handkerchief either. What's the slowtop about anyway? He owes it to his name. I know that rackety father of yours never spent any time with either of you, but didn't he at least teach his son to carry on the line?"
    "I don't know, Aunt Cora." And she really didn't. Somehow it never occurred to her that Gabe would marry. She had to threaten to burn his papers to get him to socialize, and he never danced more than duty required or took a female out for drives, to her knowledge. But of course he should marry.
    After Uncle Donald, Gabriel, Viscount Wimberly, would be the Earl of Clyme, an ancient title that must not die out because Rowanne's brother forgot to find a bride the same way he forgot to eat dinner when there was an interesting debate at the House. Well, Rowanne had seen to his needs for the last years, she would just have to play matchmaker for him too. Hadn't she just told Aunt Cora what a good manager she was? Her girlfriends had always found him attractive, she knew, and they were always wistfully asking if Gabe was coming along on any outings, so finding a wife for him should not be difficult. On the other hand, finding the perfect wife for her dearly loved brother would take a little more thought.
    That evening, when Rowanne could not fall asleep due to the unfamiliar bed, the early hour Aunt Cora insisted on retiring, and that lady's snores echoing through the walls of the little house, she thought about a bride for Gabe.
    And her own future.
    A milk-and-water schoolroom chit would never do for Gabe. He needed a woman who could anchor him to the world outside his library, oversee his career, and guarantee his comfort. In other words, he needed an organized, managing female, just like Rowanne, one who would resent an interfering sister-in-law. Miss Wimberly could never see herself living as a maiden aunt in such a woman's household either, so she would have to leave Grosvenor Square.
    Perhaps she could move in with Aunt