Weather Witch Read Online Free PDF Page B

gaze to his daughter. “Your rank is all you have.” He paused then, eyes scouring her face. “Your rank and your beauty.”
    She glanced down, gaze pinned to the careful stitching of his close-fitted frock coat. He was the picture of perfection with his broad shoulders, manicured mustache, and bold eyebrows. His jaw had the same strength as that more commonly found in Rowen’s lower rank, but she thought him even more striking because of it. Here was the man who had dandled her on his knee when she was but a babe, the man who wanted nothing but the best for her.
    The man warning her away from what Rowen might offer.
    Jordan sighed. “I will make the appropriate choice if and when it is offered.”
    “That’s my girl,” Lord Astraea proclaimed, dropping his hands to her arms. “You will make a fine match. To a fine fellow.” He leaned in and kissed her, his whiskers tickling her cheek so she smiled. “Now go, have a wondrous time!”
    Rowen stood statue still, hand yet extended waiting for her.
    With a swallow, she got her racing heart under control.
    “My lady,” Rowen whispered, his eyes snaring hers as he caught and raised her hand, his lips skimming the top of her knuckles. A tremble ran the length of her arm.
    Her dress was too tight—it was obviously cutting off circulation to her arm and causing it to shake.
    “Don’t you look dashing,” Catrina said, raising her hand for Rowen.
    He released Jordan’s hand long enough to pick up Catrina’s, give it a cursory kiss, and drop it again to retrieve Jordan’s. “Come, my lady,” he said, guiding her past his parents, her parents, and many of the gathering guests.
    Catrina trailed behind them.
    Everyone had arrived as expected. Although the Astraeas were Fifth of the Nine, their parties were touted in the papers as events to be seen at. The entertainment was always first-rate as no expense was spared.
    If you weren’t known for your rank, you had to be known for something. The Astraeas chose to be known for their hospitality.
    Jordan, knowing her limitations, chose to be known for her beauty.
    Such as it was.
    Both seemed to work in the family’s favor, lower-ranked guests curtseying to Jordan and Rowen as they passed by and offering hearty compliments on her hair, her visage, her grace … as higher-ranked guests inclined their heads ever so slightly and murmured quiet words of praise for what promised once again to be a memorable event.
    “So how long have you been here?” Jordan asked, adjusting her arm to drape more comfortably across Rowen’s. It was not hard to be comfortable with Rowen. He was well-shaped enough by the muscles he’d developed fencing, hunting, and horse riding but still a little soft from imbibing on his evenings spent socializing with his fellow gentlemen. Potentially tending toward a slight jowliness like his father, Rowen was still quite pleasant to look upon now.
    Jordan tipped up her chin. Considering her well-proportioned features and appropriate bone structure, and respectable rank, she could choose nearly any man of like rank she wanted.
    Still, here was Rowen. Already attained. Safe, bright enough for pleasant conversation, and good enough looking to provide her with a suitable escort to events. And—she looked him up and down from beneath her eyelashes—the man knew how to dress. If nothing else could be said of Rowen, he at least cut a sharp figure in trousers, vest, and coat.
    Catrina cleared her throat.
    “Oh. Yes, Catrina made a gift of this dress for me.”
    Rowen raised his eyes to Catrina for a moment. “It’s lovely. French lace and metallic thread from the Orient, yes?”
    “You’re so perceptive, Rowen.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Thank you, Catrina.”
    A seventeenth birthday celebration was one of the sweetest events of a young person’s life, so sweets were showcased in quiet recognition of a person’s escape from a most ominous possibility—that of being a Witch. And their caterer, an ex-slave