Read Online For All Eternity by Heather Cullman - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Cullman
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ninnyhammer she was to be thrown off by a minor hindrance like this. Why, she had only to ask to see Julian for him to come and enact her dream exactly as she’d envisioned it. Her wits thus restored, she nodded and said, “Miss Sophie Barrington to see Viscount Oxley on a private matter of the utmost importance.”
“A private matter, is it?” He pursed his lips and swept her length with a critical gaze. Unlike the gentlemen of the ton, who grew calf-eyed at the sight of her, he was utterly unimpressed, glancing away without pausing so much as a beat to admire her numerous feminine charms. Rolling his eyes toward the heavens, he muttered, “They’re always private matters with his lordship.”
Sophie ignored his remark, too affronted by his rude dismissal of her person to ponder its meaning. Insolent old wigsby! As if she cared what he thought. He was clearly too moss-grown to appreciate an Incomparable when he saw one. Promising herself to dismiss him the instant she became Viscountess Oxley, she coolly demanded, “Tell his lordship I’m here. Now.”
“Your card?”
Gracing him with her most withering look, she yanked open her ridicule and extracted one of her gilt-edged calling cards. As she offered it to him, she mentally revised, No. I’ll not wait until Julian and I are married to dismiss the old crosspatch; I shall insist that it be done now, this very hour.
With disapproval tainting every line of his furrowed face, the man seized her card between two fingers, holding it suspended by the corner as if it were a soiled chamber pot rag. After a moment during which he perused it from arm’s length, he intoned, “I shall see if his lordship is receiving.” Without sparing her so much as a parting glance, he closed the door, leaving her standing on the stoop like a tradesman with unsolicited goods.
Sophie glared at the brass knocker, more outraged than she’d ever been in her life. Rude old crank! How dare he treat her so! First he detains her on the stoop, interrogating her as if she were a pickpocket on trial. And now this! It was too much! It really was. Especially after all she’d suffered to get here.
And she had suffered — dreadfully! — being forced as she was to take her first, and hopefully last, public conveyance. Why, if she’d even suspected how poorly hackney coaches were sprung, much less how vile they smelled —
She stamped her foot in impotent rage. Enough was enough!
In that brief instant she seriously considered marching down the stairs and, yes, hailing the first hackney she saw. Then, in a flash of reason, she remembered why she was there and all thought of retreat fled.
She was there to marry Julian.
And wasn’t spending the rest of her life with him worth tolerating an hour or so of travail?
Sighing her resignation, she peered around her to assure herself that she remained free from prying eyes. Just because her scheme wasn’t going exactly as she’d planned was no reason to abandon it. Besides, she’d been a fool to believe that Julian would answer his own door. He was a viscount, after all. Of course he’d have a majordomo …
A majordomo who she was beginning to think had ignored her request. She was about to knock again when the door swung open. Certain it was Julian, she smiled and took a step forward, preparing to fly into his embrace.
To her disenchantment it was the majordomo, and if such a thing were possible, he looked even more censorious than before. Stepping aside to wave her into his inner sanctum, he rasped, “His lordship will receive you now.”
The first thing Sophie noted when she stepped into the foyer was that it was lacking in decoration. Conspicuously so.
At odds with every other foyer she’d seen during the Season, the pearl-gray walls of this one were void of a single picture, mural, or wall hanging. More curious yet, there were no hall chairs, or even the requisite side table with its silver calling-card tray. Why, there wasn’t so
“A private matter, is it?” He pursed his lips and swept her length with a critical gaze. Unlike the gentlemen of the ton, who grew calf-eyed at the sight of her, he was utterly unimpressed, glancing away without pausing so much as a beat to admire her numerous feminine charms. Rolling his eyes toward the heavens, he muttered, “They’re always private matters with his lordship.”
Sophie ignored his remark, too affronted by his rude dismissal of her person to ponder its meaning. Insolent old wigsby! As if she cared what he thought. He was clearly too moss-grown to appreciate an Incomparable when he saw one. Promising herself to dismiss him the instant she became Viscountess Oxley, she coolly demanded, “Tell his lordship I’m here. Now.”
“Your card?”
Gracing him with her most withering look, she yanked open her ridicule and extracted one of her gilt-edged calling cards. As she offered it to him, she mentally revised, No. I’ll not wait until Julian and I are married to dismiss the old crosspatch; I shall insist that it be done now, this very hour.
With disapproval tainting every line of his furrowed face, the man seized her card between two fingers, holding it suspended by the corner as if it were a soiled chamber pot rag. After a moment during which he perused it from arm’s length, he intoned, “I shall see if his lordship is receiving.” Without sparing her so much as a parting glance, he closed the door, leaving her standing on the stoop like a tradesman with unsolicited goods.
Sophie glared at the brass knocker, more outraged than she’d ever been in her life. Rude old crank! How dare he treat her so! First he detains her on the stoop, interrogating her as if she were a pickpocket on trial. And now this! It was too much! It really was. Especially after all she’d suffered to get here.
And she had suffered — dreadfully! — being forced as she was to take her first, and hopefully last, public conveyance. Why, if she’d even suspected how poorly hackney coaches were sprung, much less how vile they smelled —
She stamped her foot in impotent rage. Enough was enough!
In that brief instant she seriously considered marching down the stairs and, yes, hailing the first hackney she saw. Then, in a flash of reason, she remembered why she was there and all thought of retreat fled.
She was there to marry Julian.
And wasn’t spending the rest of her life with him worth tolerating an hour or so of travail?
Sighing her resignation, she peered around her to assure herself that she remained free from prying eyes. Just because her scheme wasn’t going exactly as she’d planned was no reason to abandon it. Besides, she’d been a fool to believe that Julian would answer his own door. He was a viscount, after all. Of course he’d have a majordomo …
A majordomo who she was beginning to think had ignored her request. She was about to knock again when the door swung open. Certain it was Julian, she smiled and took a step forward, preparing to fly into his embrace.
To her disenchantment it was the majordomo, and if such a thing were possible, he looked even more censorious than before. Stepping aside to wave her into his inner sanctum, he rasped, “His lordship will receive you now.”
The first thing Sophie noted when she stepped into the foyer was that it was lacking in decoration. Conspicuously so.
At odds with every other foyer she’d seen during the Season, the pearl-gray walls of this one were void of a single picture, mural, or wall hanging. More curious yet, there were no hall chairs, or even the requisite side table with its silver calling-card tray. Why, there wasn’t so
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