Read Online Last Chance Beauty Queen by Hope Ramsay - Free Book Online
Authors: Hope Ramsay
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you calling the senator and saying things like that. The fact is, I’ve been very helpful. I’m introducing you around. I’m helping you to see the facts. And I talked my brother out of arresting you tonight.”
“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” He said the words in his stuffy accent as if he didn’t really appreciate the fact that she’d pulled out all the stops for him. Her brother could be kind of serious-minded.
She held her tongue. There were any number of choice things she could think of saying, but none of them would be acceptable. He was going to really screw up her life, wasn’t he?
Lord Woolham opened the passenger side door and stepped out into the hot and humid night. The porch light burned brightly, silhouetting him as he walked toward the old house. He was tall and well built, and arrogant as the day was long.
She hated him.
Hugh strolled down the walk toward Miriam Randall’s boardinghouse, trying not to be amused by the gravel Caroline had kicked up with her sudden, ferocious departure.
Granddad certainly wouldn’t have been amused. Granddad had been grumpy and unpleasant and often quite mean to people. Granddad would have called the senator by now and demanded that Caroline be removed from her job.
But of course, Hugh had no intention of calling the senator and complaining. A complaint might just unsettle things further. The pixie-like Miss Rhodes would definitely fight for her job, and in the process, she might discover how flimsy his financing was. And then where would he be?
No, it was best to let things lie and see what the senator’s dishy aide could come up with as a solution. He was getting the feeling she was actually quite competent at her job.
She had done a marvelous job of sweet-talking that copper out of arresting him. And really, he had seriously overreacted this evening. Given all of that, Caroline had been remarkably civil and helpful. That wouldn’t have mattered to Granddad, of course. Granddad was a terrible snob—he would have looked right through a working-class girl like Caroline and steamrollered over her and her father’s golf course.
And that, in a nutshell, was the difference between Hugh and his granddad.
He stepped up on a creaky porch step. The old Victorian home was just a little shabby—kind of like Woolham House, although on a much smaller scale. He reached the top step and realized that he wasn’t alone.
A little white-haired lady sat rocking patiently on the porch. “Good evening,” he said in his best public school voice. “You must be Miriam Randall. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“Sit down and visit a spell. It’s Hugh, isn’t it?” She gestured toward an adjoining rocker.
Granddad would have sniffed at this woman using his first name. But Hugh kind of liked the fact that she’d been so familiar.
And besides, he was in a different land, with different mores, and he’d gotten into quite a bit of mischief. So he sat in the rocker and rested his head against its back. His companion kept up her steady motion, an old floorboard protesting with each transit of the rocker. The sound of the squeaky board provided a counterpoint to the buzz of insects and the deeper song of the frogs.
Boxwood and summer perennials perfumed the balmy night. “Your garden is quite lovely,” he remarked in a bald-faced attempt to get on her good side. Gardeners, he knew from long experience, could be easily wooed into long, benign conversations.
“Well, thank you, son, but it’s not my garden. I have a brown thumb when it comes to plants. Lord knows what will happen when Harry leaves me.”
“Harry?”
“My husband of fifty-one years. I’m afraid the Lord means to take him from me soon.” She gazed out toward the screen of pines that hid her home from the street. She seemed melancholy, and Hugh decided to remain silent until he could politely get away to his room, where a great deal of work awaited him. His prototype had been built, of course,
“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” He said the words in his stuffy accent as if he didn’t really appreciate the fact that she’d pulled out all the stops for him. Her brother could be kind of serious-minded.
She held her tongue. There were any number of choice things she could think of saying, but none of them would be acceptable. He was going to really screw up her life, wasn’t he?
Lord Woolham opened the passenger side door and stepped out into the hot and humid night. The porch light burned brightly, silhouetting him as he walked toward the old house. He was tall and well built, and arrogant as the day was long.
She hated him.
Hugh strolled down the walk toward Miriam Randall’s boardinghouse, trying not to be amused by the gravel Caroline had kicked up with her sudden, ferocious departure.
Granddad certainly wouldn’t have been amused. Granddad had been grumpy and unpleasant and often quite mean to people. Granddad would have called the senator by now and demanded that Caroline be removed from her job.
But of course, Hugh had no intention of calling the senator and complaining. A complaint might just unsettle things further. The pixie-like Miss Rhodes would definitely fight for her job, and in the process, she might discover how flimsy his financing was. And then where would he be?
No, it was best to let things lie and see what the senator’s dishy aide could come up with as a solution. He was getting the feeling she was actually quite competent at her job.
She had done a marvelous job of sweet-talking that copper out of arresting him. And really, he had seriously overreacted this evening. Given all of that, Caroline had been remarkably civil and helpful. That wouldn’t have mattered to Granddad, of course. Granddad was a terrible snob—he would have looked right through a working-class girl like Caroline and steamrollered over her and her father’s golf course.
And that, in a nutshell, was the difference between Hugh and his granddad.
He stepped up on a creaky porch step. The old Victorian home was just a little shabby—kind of like Woolham House, although on a much smaller scale. He reached the top step and realized that he wasn’t alone.
A little white-haired lady sat rocking patiently on the porch. “Good evening,” he said in his best public school voice. “You must be Miriam Randall. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“Sit down and visit a spell. It’s Hugh, isn’t it?” She gestured toward an adjoining rocker.
Granddad would have sniffed at this woman using his first name. But Hugh kind of liked the fact that she’d been so familiar.
And besides, he was in a different land, with different mores, and he’d gotten into quite a bit of mischief. So he sat in the rocker and rested his head against its back. His companion kept up her steady motion, an old floorboard protesting with each transit of the rocker. The sound of the squeaky board provided a counterpoint to the buzz of insects and the deeper song of the frogs.
Boxwood and summer perennials perfumed the balmy night. “Your garden is quite lovely,” he remarked in a bald-faced attempt to get on her good side. Gardeners, he knew from long experience, could be easily wooed into long, benign conversations.
“Well, thank you, son, but it’s not my garden. I have a brown thumb when it comes to plants. Lord knows what will happen when Harry leaves me.”
“Harry?”
“My husband of fifty-one years. I’m afraid the Lord means to take him from me soon.” She gazed out toward the screen of pines that hid her home from the street. She seemed melancholy, and Hugh decided to remain silent until he could politely get away to his room, where a great deal of work awaited him. His prototype had been built, of course,
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