Read Online Finding Miss McFarland by Vivienne Lorret - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
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she’s out there.” His father slapped his hand across his knee. “Why, if it hadn’t been for a change in my schedule, I’d never have met your mother. Three years I’d waited to remarry, waited to find the right one. The one that stood out from the rest. Then it was like a curtain parted . . . and there she was.”
At his father’s words, Griffin hoped his imagination would conjure a vision of his future bride, pointing him toward the right path. The only thing he saw was a peculiar swath of flame bright red obscuring his view.
It must be the sun shining against his eyelids.
“Of course, I want you to find love or at least a woman you can stand,” his father added, now with a pat on Griffin’s shoulder, “but a healthy woman, not like my first wife. Prudence was a pretty little thing but perhaps too young and far too delicate. Miscarried three babes before she went off to heaven to be with them, rest her soul.”
Last year, Griffin had been asked to find the love of his life. This year, he was asked to find a healthy woman he could stand.
Under other circumstances, he’d laugh. However, he knew the importance of finding a bride. At fifty-seven, his father’s health was fading. The only way for Griffin to give him peace of mind was to find a wife and quickly issue a male heir upon her. That way, if an accident or early demise should befall him , his wife, children, mother, and sisters would be well provided for and not at the mercy of a distant cousin.
He exhaled a deep breath, feeling a weight pressing against him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the desire to marry. Even before his father’s cousin—his great-uncle’s heir—had died of consumption, he’d thought about it. Though before that and before his father had his first heart seizure, it had seemed unlikely that Griffin would inherit. There’d been no rush. He’d simply been waiting for the curtain to part and reveal his future bride.
Now, it was a matter of great urgency, and he couldn’t find one suitable woman who kindled his interest.
“What about that Miss McFarland?” his father asked, startling him. “I realize after the mishap last year that any acquaintance with her is unlikely. As I recall, it caused quite the stir. On the other hand, your mother said she was a charming girl, though not necessarily pretty.”
Ignoring the sudden escalation of his pulse at the mention of that name, Griffin felt a frown pull against his brow. “Mother said she wasn’t pretty?”
“She said something to the effect of a freckled complexion, hair that was too bright and wayward, and eyes a shade or two . . . off .”
“Off,” Griffin found himself murmuring, and he wondered if his mother had seen the same woman.
He hadn’t noticed that her freckles marred her complexion. Actually, he found they added to her vibrancy, the way spices enhance a bland meal. Not only that, but to him, her hair was fascinatingly unruly. Certainly not too bright. As for her eyes, the violet was quite striking and unusual. Especially up close, with her warm breath filling his mouth, the heat of her body under his hands, and . . .
He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind. Off? Never.
Thoughts of the other night in the Dorsets’ conservatory plagued him. Not only the kiss but her conversation with Montwood as well.
His hands tightened on the reins as he fought a swift rise of annoyance. “Regardless of what Mother may think of her charms, Miss McFarland is too maddening a creature for consideration. She’s far too impulsive and reckless and . . . maddening ,” he repeated, just in case his father wasn’t certain where he stood on the matter.
George Croft sat back and rested a hand on the side of the curricle, tapping his fingers to an unheard tune. “Then you’d want to avoid a young woman like that in order to focus on more suitable candidates.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a derisive laugh. “She ensures we are never
At his father’s words, Griffin hoped his imagination would conjure a vision of his future bride, pointing him toward the right path. The only thing he saw was a peculiar swath of flame bright red obscuring his view.
It must be the sun shining against his eyelids.
“Of course, I want you to find love or at least a woman you can stand,” his father added, now with a pat on Griffin’s shoulder, “but a healthy woman, not like my first wife. Prudence was a pretty little thing but perhaps too young and far too delicate. Miscarried three babes before she went off to heaven to be with them, rest her soul.”
Last year, Griffin had been asked to find the love of his life. This year, he was asked to find a healthy woman he could stand.
Under other circumstances, he’d laugh. However, he knew the importance of finding a bride. At fifty-seven, his father’s health was fading. The only way for Griffin to give him peace of mind was to find a wife and quickly issue a male heir upon her. That way, if an accident or early demise should befall him , his wife, children, mother, and sisters would be well provided for and not at the mercy of a distant cousin.
He exhaled a deep breath, feeling a weight pressing against him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the desire to marry. Even before his father’s cousin—his great-uncle’s heir—had died of consumption, he’d thought about it. Though before that and before his father had his first heart seizure, it had seemed unlikely that Griffin would inherit. There’d been no rush. He’d simply been waiting for the curtain to part and reveal his future bride.
Now, it was a matter of great urgency, and he couldn’t find one suitable woman who kindled his interest.
“What about that Miss McFarland?” his father asked, startling him. “I realize after the mishap last year that any acquaintance with her is unlikely. As I recall, it caused quite the stir. On the other hand, your mother said she was a charming girl, though not necessarily pretty.”
Ignoring the sudden escalation of his pulse at the mention of that name, Griffin felt a frown pull against his brow. “Mother said she wasn’t pretty?”
“She said something to the effect of a freckled complexion, hair that was too bright and wayward, and eyes a shade or two . . . off .”
“Off,” Griffin found himself murmuring, and he wondered if his mother had seen the same woman.
He hadn’t noticed that her freckles marred her complexion. Actually, he found they added to her vibrancy, the way spices enhance a bland meal. Not only that, but to him, her hair was fascinatingly unruly. Certainly not too bright. As for her eyes, the violet was quite striking and unusual. Especially up close, with her warm breath filling his mouth, the heat of her body under his hands, and . . .
He shook his head to clear the memory from his mind. Off? Never.
Thoughts of the other night in the Dorsets’ conservatory plagued him. Not only the kiss but her conversation with Montwood as well.
His hands tightened on the reins as he fought a swift rise of annoyance. “Regardless of what Mother may think of her charms, Miss McFarland is too maddening a creature for consideration. She’s far too impulsive and reckless and . . . maddening ,” he repeated, just in case his father wasn’t certain where he stood on the matter.
George Croft sat back and rested a hand on the side of the curricle, tapping his fingers to an unheard tune. “Then you’d want to avoid a young woman like that in order to focus on more suitable candidates.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a derisive laugh. “She ensures we are never
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