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Authors: Eloisa James
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said, putting his tousled dark head, so like her brother’s, against her shoulder.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Charlie’s voice was only a thread of sound. “I love you too.”
Chapter Seven
NOTES ON P LOT
~ All London at Flora’s feet.
~ Flora unsure of Count Frederic: Could it be that the count, so assiduous in his intentions, was in reality naught but a Cruel Betrayer?
Frederic: “Who could behold such a picture of Feminine Grace and Sweetness, and not recognize one of Heaven’s Perfect Works?”
~ should he declare himself immediately, at the first ball?
“My heart is madly devoted to you,” the count cried. (Ugh. Exclaimed? Protested?)
“By all that is most sacred to my soul, I swear that my heart is madly eternally devoted to you,” exclaimed the count, his heart beating with love the agony of his emotion he felt .
Not bad.
Rutherford Park
Three days later
T he morning of Mia’s wedding was clear with the promise of unexpectedly sultry late summer sunshine. She woke, disoriented, at five, thinking that it was almost time to see if Charlie was awake.
But as she blinked at unfamiliar wallpaper, she remembered that she had kissed her nephew goodnight the day before and traveled to Vander’s estate. It was only a matter of an hour between their houses, but the duke had ordered that she spend the night at Rutherford Park, and she didn’t think it politic to bicker over such a trivial matter.
Her rebellion was to arrive very late at night, whereupon she was ushered—without a welcome from her husband-to-be—straight to a bedchamber, one she presumed had belonged to the late duchess.
Mia looked around with a twitch of distaste at the lustrous gold tassels hanging from the bedposts, the Lyonnaise silk hangings along the dressing table, the silver urn engraved with the ducal seal poised on the mantel.
The urn was surrounded by a clutter of small animals made of china and lacquer and jade, a collection that was beginning to feel desperate to her. Could it be that her father had given his lover china animals because he could not give her children?
It was a morose thought. The duchess had had asad smile, like a woman with a secret. Perhaps the secret wasn’t her adultery but something sadder. More intimate.
Mia shrugged and hopped out of bed. She would be gone by midday. There was no need to antagonize Vander with her presence more than absolutely necessary. He would be overjoyed to hear that she had no intention of remaining under his roof, and that the marriage was in name only.
Her maid, Susan, popped her head in the door with a smile. “Good morning, miss!” She ushered in footmen carrying cans of steaming water that they took into the adjoining bathing chamber.
For the life of her, Mia couldn’t stop thinking about the late duchess. Why, for example, would Her Grace have wanted a bathtub surrounded entirely by mirrors?
She herself always did her best to not look at her own figure or, indeed, any part of herself. It was impossible not to catch sight of distressing expanses of pink flesh when the walls were adorned with silvered glass wherever one looked.
She refused to soak but washed, climbed out, and wrapped herself in a length of toweling as quickly as she could. Really, she wanted everything about this trip to be got through as quickly as possible.
“What does the household think of this marriage?” she asked Susan.
Her maid’s eyes met hers in the glass and then moved back down to the comb she was drawing through Mia’s long hair. “They daren’t say aught to my face.”
They’d been together for three years, and Susan knew almost everything about her, even the story of that benighted poem. Susan being Susan, shehad hooted with laughter over the “pearly potion,” though she agreed that it was fiendish of Oakenrott to tell the world about her infatuation for
“I love you,” she whispered.
Charlie’s voice was only a thread of sound. “I love you too.”
Chapter Seven
NOTES ON P LOT
~ All London at Flora’s feet.
~ Flora unsure of Count Frederic: Could it be that the count, so assiduous in his intentions, was in reality naught but a Cruel Betrayer?
Frederic: “Who could behold such a picture of Feminine Grace and Sweetness, and not recognize one of Heaven’s Perfect Works?”
~ should he declare himself immediately, at the first ball?
“My heart is madly devoted to you,” the count cried. (Ugh. Exclaimed? Protested?)
“By all that is most sacred to my soul, I swear that my heart is madly eternally devoted to you,” exclaimed the count, his heart beating with love the agony of his emotion he felt .
Not bad.
Rutherford Park
Three days later
T he morning of Mia’s wedding was clear with the promise of unexpectedly sultry late summer sunshine. She woke, disoriented, at five, thinking that it was almost time to see if Charlie was awake.
But as she blinked at unfamiliar wallpaper, she remembered that she had kissed her nephew goodnight the day before and traveled to Vander’s estate. It was only a matter of an hour between their houses, but the duke had ordered that she spend the night at Rutherford Park, and she didn’t think it politic to bicker over such a trivial matter.
Her rebellion was to arrive very late at night, whereupon she was ushered—without a welcome from her husband-to-be—straight to a bedchamber, one she presumed had belonged to the late duchess.
Mia looked around with a twitch of distaste at the lustrous gold tassels hanging from the bedposts, the Lyonnaise silk hangings along the dressing table, the silver urn engraved with the ducal seal poised on the mantel.
The urn was surrounded by a clutter of small animals made of china and lacquer and jade, a collection that was beginning to feel desperate to her. Could it be that her father had given his lover china animals because he could not give her children?
It was a morose thought. The duchess had had asad smile, like a woman with a secret. Perhaps the secret wasn’t her adultery but something sadder. More intimate.
Mia shrugged and hopped out of bed. She would be gone by midday. There was no need to antagonize Vander with her presence more than absolutely necessary. He would be overjoyed to hear that she had no intention of remaining under his roof, and that the marriage was in name only.
Her maid, Susan, popped her head in the door with a smile. “Good morning, miss!” She ushered in footmen carrying cans of steaming water that they took into the adjoining bathing chamber.
For the life of her, Mia couldn’t stop thinking about the late duchess. Why, for example, would Her Grace have wanted a bathtub surrounded entirely by mirrors?
She herself always did her best to not look at her own figure or, indeed, any part of herself. It was impossible not to catch sight of distressing expanses of pink flesh when the walls were adorned with silvered glass wherever one looked.
She refused to soak but washed, climbed out, and wrapped herself in a length of toweling as quickly as she could. Really, she wanted everything about this trip to be got through as quickly as possible.
“What does the household think of this marriage?” she asked Susan.
Her maid’s eyes met hers in the glass and then moved back down to the comb she was drawing through Mia’s long hair. “They daren’t say aught to my face.”
They’d been together for three years, and Susan knew almost everything about her, even the story of that benighted poem. Susan being Susan, shehad hooted with laughter over the “pearly potion,” though she agreed that it was fiendish of Oakenrott to tell the world about her infatuation for
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