Read Online Fallen Angel by Charlotte Louise Dolan - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Louise Dolan
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she has been shooting at me,” he replied. “Or perhaps it is because the tea she poured for me is stone cold.”
Before Verity could reply, the door was thrust open and Ralph, Lord Wasteney, entered the room, obviously intent upon ejecting the unwelcome visitor in person.
Instead he stopped so quickly that his wife crashed into him, almost knocking him to the floor. Keeping his balance with difficulty, he goggled at Mr. Sherington. There was no other possible way to describe it—his eyes positively bulged out of his head.
Before Verity could recover from her astonishment at such unusual behavior, her brother-in-law hurried across the room and bowed deeply. “Sherington, this is an honor. I had not heard you were back in London. Welcome to my humble abode.” Turning to his wife, he beckoned her forward. “My dear, you should have warned me Lord Sherington was coming to visit.”
Petronella recovered nicely and immediately rang for a pot of fresh tea, but Verity sat as if turned to stone. Even she had heard of Gabriel Rainsford, Lord Sherington, the darling of London society ever since his return from abroad at the beginning of the Little Season.
His was one of the oldest and most respected titles in the land, and as if that were not enough, he was as rich as Croesus, or so people said in the most reverent tones.
Ralph had filled many a dinner hour waxing eloquent in praise of his lordship, at the same time bewailing the fact that the nabob held himself aloof, refusing to take his seat in the House of Lords and turning down almost every social invitation extended to him.
And she had called him Mr. Sherington. And had sat on his lap! And had dared to dream about kissing him.
Feeling totally, abjectly, dismally miserable, Verity looked at him, wishing there were some way she could apologize to him in private, but Lord Sherington did not so much as glance in her direction. How he must despise her!
“We are so grateful you have taken such good care of our little sister,” Petrone ll a said in a cloyingly sweet voice. “You must allow us to show our appreciation—to reciprocate in some small measure. London is so sparse of company, perhaps you would be pleased to take pot-luck with us this evening? We will just be dining en famille, but you are more than welcome to join us. Shall we say eight?”
“Thank you, I accept your kind hospitality,” Lord Sherington said, rising to his feet. “And now if you will excuse me, I have pressing business matters to attend to.”
With Verity trailing along behind, Lord and Lady Wasteney escorted their guest out. No sooner had the front do o r shut behind him, than they began to make their plans.
“Otterwall,” Petronella commanded, “send a footman to fetch Antoinette home. Of all the days for her to decide to spend the night with a friend, I am sure she could not have picked a worse time.”
“And send all the rest of the footmen to find Bevis and Cedric,” Ralph added, rubbing his hands together.
“Whatever are you doing?” Verity asked in dismay. “Surely you do not mean to make such blatant use of a guest in this house after you have offered him your hospitality?”
“You are talking utter rubbish,” her brother-in-law snapped out, eyeing her crossly. “It is clearly my duty to further my nephews’ careers.”
“And I should find myself quite unable to hold up my head in society if I did not make a push to capture Lord Sherington for my daughter. Really, Verity, you are being much too particular. Instead of criticizing your elders, you had best bestir yourself, for we have not a moment to lose. I am counting on you to speak to Cook at once. Plan something especially tasty for his lordship—but no, we must not make it look as if we went to any extra effort. But on the other hand, we would not wish to insult him by offering him mutton. Oh dear, such a dilemma, I vow I do not know how we shall manage in such a short time. But you are a clever puss, and I
Before Verity could reply, the door was thrust open and Ralph, Lord Wasteney, entered the room, obviously intent upon ejecting the unwelcome visitor in person.
Instead he stopped so quickly that his wife crashed into him, almost knocking him to the floor. Keeping his balance with difficulty, he goggled at Mr. Sherington. There was no other possible way to describe it—his eyes positively bulged out of his head.
Before Verity could recover from her astonishment at such unusual behavior, her brother-in-law hurried across the room and bowed deeply. “Sherington, this is an honor. I had not heard you were back in London. Welcome to my humble abode.” Turning to his wife, he beckoned her forward. “My dear, you should have warned me Lord Sherington was coming to visit.”
Petronella recovered nicely and immediately rang for a pot of fresh tea, but Verity sat as if turned to stone. Even she had heard of Gabriel Rainsford, Lord Sherington, the darling of London society ever since his return from abroad at the beginning of the Little Season.
His was one of the oldest and most respected titles in the land, and as if that were not enough, he was as rich as Croesus, or so people said in the most reverent tones.
Ralph had filled many a dinner hour waxing eloquent in praise of his lordship, at the same time bewailing the fact that the nabob held himself aloof, refusing to take his seat in the House of Lords and turning down almost every social invitation extended to him.
And she had called him Mr. Sherington. And had sat on his lap! And had dared to dream about kissing him.
Feeling totally, abjectly, dismally miserable, Verity looked at him, wishing there were some way she could apologize to him in private, but Lord Sherington did not so much as glance in her direction. How he must despise her!
“We are so grateful you have taken such good care of our little sister,” Petrone ll a said in a cloyingly sweet voice. “You must allow us to show our appreciation—to reciprocate in some small measure. London is so sparse of company, perhaps you would be pleased to take pot-luck with us this evening? We will just be dining en famille, but you are more than welcome to join us. Shall we say eight?”
“Thank you, I accept your kind hospitality,” Lord Sherington said, rising to his feet. “And now if you will excuse me, I have pressing business matters to attend to.”
With Verity trailing along behind, Lord and Lady Wasteney escorted their guest out. No sooner had the front do o r shut behind him, than they began to make their plans.
“Otterwall,” Petronella commanded, “send a footman to fetch Antoinette home. Of all the days for her to decide to spend the night with a friend, I am sure she could not have picked a worse time.”
“And send all the rest of the footmen to find Bevis and Cedric,” Ralph added, rubbing his hands together.
“Whatever are you doing?” Verity asked in dismay. “Surely you do not mean to make such blatant use of a guest in this house after you have offered him your hospitality?”
“You are talking utter rubbish,” her brother-in-law snapped out, eyeing her crossly. “It is clearly my duty to further my nephews’ careers.”
“And I should find myself quite unable to hold up my head in society if I did not make a push to capture Lord Sherington for my daughter. Really, Verity, you are being much too particular. Instead of criticizing your elders, you had best bestir yourself, for we have not a moment to lose. I am counting on you to speak to Cook at once. Plan something especially tasty for his lordship—but no, we must not make it look as if we went to any extra effort. But on the other hand, we would not wish to insult him by offering him mutton. Oh dear, such a dilemma, I vow I do not know how we shall manage in such a short time. But you are a clever puss, and I
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