The Perfect Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

strewn with huge black boulders at the base of soaring black cliffs.
    â€œMy l-lady,” Meg chattered. “It’s so c-cold.”
    Blanche closed the window, simply breathless. “I am sorry, Meg.” Was she actually excited by this adventure? It seemed so!
    Meg nodded at the other, still-open, window. Blanche was about to close it when she saw the sheep and cattle now grazing upon the moors. They had to be close to Land’s End. As she was anticipating her arrival there, clearly, she had been in town for far too long.
    She had yet to visit Penthwaithe, her father’s estate. The moment she had realized that her friends were right and she must escape the crush of suitors, and that a holiday in Cornwall would be perfect—she had never been to the south—she had decided she would use the opportunity to call on Sir Rex. She was not interested in Sir Rex in the way Bess had suggested. That was absurd. Calling on him was socially correct—and a failure to do so was socially insulting. Of course, it was even more correct to go directly to Penthwaithe, settle in and then call at Land’s End. However, the decision to take a holiday in the south had been made so spontaneously that they had not had a chance to send word to Penthwaithe’s manager, informing him of her arrival. In fact, it was somewhat uncertain as to who that manager was. Her solicitors had only just discovered the manor’s existence, as the title had been lodged between drawers, perhaps for years. Bess was the one who had decided they would go directly to Land’s End, spend the night there, and then settle in at the neighboring manor.
    It seemed logical to go directly to Land’s End and ask Sir Rex for lodging for the night. But Blanche was traveling alone except for her maid, Meg. At the last possible moment, Felicia had become ill—a ploy, Blanche knew, as she had no wish to leave Lord Dagwood. But Bess’s daughter had taken a nasty spill from her hack. Bess had clearly wished to rush home and Blanche had assured her she wouldn’t mind taking the holiday alone.
    And she didn’t mind. The solitude was striking, but it was oddly pleasing, too. She had been surrounded by friends and callers each and every day of her entire life. When she wasn’t entertaining or making calls, she was immersed in her charitable duties, which involved numerous appointments and meetings.
    They had spent two entire days traveling from London. Every day, the villages had become fewer and farther between. Every day, they had begun passing fewer travelers and fewer estates. Today, they hadn’t seen a single vehicle other than their own. They had passed the last village several hours ago.
    The isolation was magnificent, Blanche thought, and it was also a terrible relief. It wasn’t just escaping the headache of entertaining so many single gentlemen every day—and deciding which one she would marry. There were no more meetings with her agents, trying to unravel her father’s complex affairs. There were no callers and no calls. For this brief holiday, she had no duties and it was very enjoyable, indeed. She had the most surprising sense of freedom.
    Blanche had been taking in every detail of the countryside for some time now. She was beginning to wonder if everyone was wrong about Land’s End. They had taken the turnoff marked Land’s End and Bodenick an hour past. The road they were now traveling on was very well maintained—and in far better condition than the main highway. Grazing cattle and sheep dotted the moors and they were fat and well fed, unlike most of the livestock she had previously seen.
    Beside her, her maid shifted restlessly.
    â€œMeg?” she asked.
    Meg grimaced. “It’s so cold, my lady. So cold and so ugly!”
    Blanche shook her head. “It is a chilly day, but how can you say the moors are ugly? There is beauty in their stark desolation, beauty and power.