Read Online A Baron in Her Bed by Maggi Andersen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggi Andersen
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apothecary suggested?”
“I try everything, but little seems to help save laudanum.”
“Are you pleased to have your relative returned?” Horatia was surprised he had not mentioned the possibility of an heir when last he’d come to the manor.
He smiled. “But of course. A handsome man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“I hoped you’d think so.”
Curious as to what Eustace thought of him, she said, “A decent sort, I trust.”
His brows rose. “Decent? I do hope so. He has been unable to supply me with proof that he is Baron Fortescue.”
“Really? But he must be.” Horatia had never doubted it. Guy knew so much about the Fortescue history and the estate.
“He might have been a servant of the baron’s.” Eustace shrugged. “I need to be convinced.”
Horatia eyed Lord Fortescue doubtfully as he moved gracefully through the room. He looked every inch the aristocrat. “Could a servant be so much at ease in society?”
“There are upstarts everywhere, my dear.”
“But the family likeness…”
Eustace shrugged. “His father’s hair was brown. Not coal black.”
“But his mother was French,” Horatia said. “What about his eyes? Are they not unusual?”
“The family does produce blue-eyed children, but they are common enough.”
Horatia didn’t think the color of Guy’s eyes at all common. “Should you ask him, he would most likely tell you more about his family.”
Eustace raised his brows. “You seem determined to defend him. But think about it. He might be the child of a servant and grew up in that household. I require concrete proof before I am convinced.”
Horatia gave a start. “I believe he has a sister. She lives in Paris.”
“Oh? And how do you know that?”
“He told Fanny, or her mother.” Horatia blushed at the lie.
“I have written to his sister. She will be able to throw more light on his authenticity.” Eustace gave a sad smile. “Poor girl, this whole business has concerned you too much. You are wasted stuck away here in the country. You should persuade your father to allow you to go to London.”
“He refuses to let me stay with Aunt Emily.”
“He doesn’t trust your aunt’s ability to care for you, thinks her a bit of a flibbertigibbet. But I shall be in London. Perhaps that might sway his opinion?”
Horatia doubted it. It would be delightful to visit when Eustace was there, but her father had never agreed. She saw no reason why he would now. She buried the faint hope that had risen in her breast. Watching her godfather wander the room, she marveled at how he put others at ease. Even Sophie, the doctor’s shy daughter, blossomed under his attention.
The guests seemed to be more animated than usual tonight. Lady Kemble had been correct; the village of Digswell had never seen Lord Fortescue’s like, at least not since his father had lived here, for those who could remember those scandalous times. At two-and-twenty, Horatia didn’t. He moved among the guests, bowing gracefully, and, after a brief conversation, left spellbound expressions behind him. He approached the small group where her father stood chatting. She gasped, fearing he would mention Simon to her father. His lordship would be surrounded all evening, but she must find a way to speak to him.
Fanny rushed up to her, dainty in a gown of jonquil satin with an over-dress of spider-gauze, her blonde ringlets bouncing. “How lovely you look, Horatia.” She peered and frowned. “But what’s that thing on your head?”
“A bit of net. You look like an angel, Fanny. That gown is perfect for you.”
“Mama had it made by a dressmaker in London,” Fanny said, hitching a glove up her arm.
Horatia smiled fondly at Fanny, then her gaze swept the room, as she searched for an opportunity to speak to the baron alone.
Lady Kemble sailed toward them like one of Nelson’s frigates, on which her husband had once fought. She gave her daughter some unspoken direction with a lifting
“I try everything, but little seems to help save laudanum.”
“Are you pleased to have your relative returned?” Horatia was surprised he had not mentioned the possibility of an heir when last he’d come to the manor.
He smiled. “But of course. A handsome man, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“I hoped you’d think so.”
Curious as to what Eustace thought of him, she said, “A decent sort, I trust.”
His brows rose. “Decent? I do hope so. He has been unable to supply me with proof that he is Baron Fortescue.”
“Really? But he must be.” Horatia had never doubted it. Guy knew so much about the Fortescue history and the estate.
“He might have been a servant of the baron’s.” Eustace shrugged. “I need to be convinced.”
Horatia eyed Lord Fortescue doubtfully as he moved gracefully through the room. He looked every inch the aristocrat. “Could a servant be so much at ease in society?”
“There are upstarts everywhere, my dear.”
“But the family likeness…”
Eustace shrugged. “His father’s hair was brown. Not coal black.”
“But his mother was French,” Horatia said. “What about his eyes? Are they not unusual?”
“The family does produce blue-eyed children, but they are common enough.”
Horatia didn’t think the color of Guy’s eyes at all common. “Should you ask him, he would most likely tell you more about his family.”
Eustace raised his brows. “You seem determined to defend him. But think about it. He might be the child of a servant and grew up in that household. I require concrete proof before I am convinced.”
Horatia gave a start. “I believe he has a sister. She lives in Paris.”
“Oh? And how do you know that?”
“He told Fanny, or her mother.” Horatia blushed at the lie.
“I have written to his sister. She will be able to throw more light on his authenticity.” Eustace gave a sad smile. “Poor girl, this whole business has concerned you too much. You are wasted stuck away here in the country. You should persuade your father to allow you to go to London.”
“He refuses to let me stay with Aunt Emily.”
“He doesn’t trust your aunt’s ability to care for you, thinks her a bit of a flibbertigibbet. But I shall be in London. Perhaps that might sway his opinion?”
Horatia doubted it. It would be delightful to visit when Eustace was there, but her father had never agreed. She saw no reason why he would now. She buried the faint hope that had risen in her breast. Watching her godfather wander the room, she marveled at how he put others at ease. Even Sophie, the doctor’s shy daughter, blossomed under his attention.
The guests seemed to be more animated than usual tonight. Lady Kemble had been correct; the village of Digswell had never seen Lord Fortescue’s like, at least not since his father had lived here, for those who could remember those scandalous times. At two-and-twenty, Horatia didn’t. He moved among the guests, bowing gracefully, and, after a brief conversation, left spellbound expressions behind him. He approached the small group where her father stood chatting. She gasped, fearing he would mention Simon to her father. His lordship would be surrounded all evening, but she must find a way to speak to him.
Fanny rushed up to her, dainty in a gown of jonquil satin with an over-dress of spider-gauze, her blonde ringlets bouncing. “How lovely you look, Horatia.” She peered and frowned. “But what’s that thing on your head?”
“A bit of net. You look like an angel, Fanny. That gown is perfect for you.”
“Mama had it made by a dressmaker in London,” Fanny said, hitching a glove up her arm.
Horatia smiled fondly at Fanny, then her gaze swept the room, as she searched for an opportunity to speak to the baron alone.
Lady Kemble sailed toward them like one of Nelson’s frigates, on which her husband had once fought. She gave her daughter some unspoken direction with a lifting
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