Read Online Candice Hern by Once a Dreamer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Once a Dreamer
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guess the reasons inany case. We shall disregard the estimable Sir Harold for the moment. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
His eyes had narrowed at the mention of his father, but he smiled at the change of subject. “I have one younger brother, Malcolm.”
“Is he like you?”
The dimples flashed again. “You mean is he a foolish romantic with his head in the clouds?”
“No, I meant is he”—she would not say adorable—“red-haired?”
“You think my hair red? Hmm. I always preferred to think of it as auburn. That sounds so much more exotic.”
It was not exotic. It was practically red.
“But red sounds so schoolboyish, don’t you think?” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “Yes, I can see that you do. Well, luckily for Malcolm, I got all the schoolboy hair in the family. But Malcolm got all the brawn. He is a great strapping fellow and sporting mad. I’m afraid I’ve never been much in the sporting line. Could never hope to measure up to Malcolm in that respect. I was always the skinny, bookish brother. A bit of a scribbler.”
Bookish. What could be more useless during a time of crisis? Eleanor was willing to bet he even wore spectacles in private. And skinny? His height probably made him appear thinner than he was, though he was certainly not brawny. The big, strapping brother would probably have provedmore useful when they caught up with the runaways. He could have pummeled Barkwith into mush while she spirited Belinda away. Instead, she was stuck with the brother who’d kept his head buried in books, a romantic scribbler, a man of words when she needed a man of action.
But the wretched man’s words were partially to blame for this whole beastly business. She must rely on his words to make everything right again. His words and her determination.
“How did you come to write for a ladies’ magazine?” she asked.
He did not answer right away, and Eleanor thought he had not heard. She was just about to repeat the question when he finally spoke.
“I am acquainted with some of the others who write for The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet . They were in need of someone to offer advice to readers on affairs of the heart, and I imagine they figured I—”
“Was the most qualified?”
“I suppose so.”
“Why? Have you had an extraordinary amount of experience in affairs of the heart, Mr. Westover?”
He smiled. “Not extraordinary. Just the usual sort of thing, I should think. No, I was asked to write the column because my friends knew that I had modest literary aspirations and an affinity for…romance.”
“You are a sentimentalist, sir.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug.
“It is a wonder that with such strong inclinationsin that direction, you have never fallen in love and married. At least, I assume you have not.”
“I am still seeking my heart’s desire,” he said, and wry amusement glimmered in his eyes. “I fear I have yet to meet the right woman. Not for want of seeking, I assure you. But I keep a great deal to myself. I don’t go out much into society. My mother will drag me to an affair now and then, but I confess I have never particularly enjoyed ton events.”
“Then I am more than ever astonished that you should take it upon yourself to offer advice to young girls when you have so little experience of society. No wonder that advice is so often misguided.”
“I am not without experience of the world, Mrs. Tennant. In fact, I—”
“You view the world from the lofty heights of your ivory tower. If you lived more in the world, you would understand how unrealistic it is to so cavalierly advise young girls to follow their heart’s desire. The romantic heroes of their fantasies either don’t exist or are completely unsuitable.”
“I write from the heart, Mrs. Tennant, with fond hopes that every young woman, and young man, will set high expectations and strive to achieve them. My responses are based on what I think will bring the most
His eyes had narrowed at the mention of his father, but he smiled at the change of subject. “I have one younger brother, Malcolm.”
“Is he like you?”
The dimples flashed again. “You mean is he a foolish romantic with his head in the clouds?”
“No, I meant is he”—she would not say adorable—“red-haired?”
“You think my hair red? Hmm. I always preferred to think of it as auburn. That sounds so much more exotic.”
It was not exotic. It was practically red.
“But red sounds so schoolboyish, don’t you think?” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “Yes, I can see that you do. Well, luckily for Malcolm, I got all the schoolboy hair in the family. But Malcolm got all the brawn. He is a great strapping fellow and sporting mad. I’m afraid I’ve never been much in the sporting line. Could never hope to measure up to Malcolm in that respect. I was always the skinny, bookish brother. A bit of a scribbler.”
Bookish. What could be more useless during a time of crisis? Eleanor was willing to bet he even wore spectacles in private. And skinny? His height probably made him appear thinner than he was, though he was certainly not brawny. The big, strapping brother would probably have provedmore useful when they caught up with the runaways. He could have pummeled Barkwith into mush while she spirited Belinda away. Instead, she was stuck with the brother who’d kept his head buried in books, a romantic scribbler, a man of words when she needed a man of action.
But the wretched man’s words were partially to blame for this whole beastly business. She must rely on his words to make everything right again. His words and her determination.
“How did you come to write for a ladies’ magazine?” she asked.
He did not answer right away, and Eleanor thought he had not heard. She was just about to repeat the question when he finally spoke.
“I am acquainted with some of the others who write for The Ladies’ Fashionable Cabinet . They were in need of someone to offer advice to readers on affairs of the heart, and I imagine they figured I—”
“Was the most qualified?”
“I suppose so.”
“Why? Have you had an extraordinary amount of experience in affairs of the heart, Mr. Westover?”
He smiled. “Not extraordinary. Just the usual sort of thing, I should think. No, I was asked to write the column because my friends knew that I had modest literary aspirations and an affinity for…romance.”
“You are a sentimentalist, sir.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug.
“It is a wonder that with such strong inclinationsin that direction, you have never fallen in love and married. At least, I assume you have not.”
“I am still seeking my heart’s desire,” he said, and wry amusement glimmered in his eyes. “I fear I have yet to meet the right woman. Not for want of seeking, I assure you. But I keep a great deal to myself. I don’t go out much into society. My mother will drag me to an affair now and then, but I confess I have never particularly enjoyed ton events.”
“Then I am more than ever astonished that you should take it upon yourself to offer advice to young girls when you have so little experience of society. No wonder that advice is so often misguided.”
“I am not without experience of the world, Mrs. Tennant. In fact, I—”
“You view the world from the lofty heights of your ivory tower. If you lived more in the world, you would understand how unrealistic it is to so cavalierly advise young girls to follow their heart’s desire. The romantic heroes of their fantasies either don’t exist or are completely unsuitable.”
“I write from the heart, Mrs. Tennant, with fond hopes that every young woman, and young man, will set high expectations and strive to achieve them. My responses are based on what I think will bring the most
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