Read Online Laurie Brown by Hundreds of Years to Reform a Rake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hundreds of Years to Reform a Rake
Ads: Link
present any threat of emotional entanglement. Deverell
probably knew her better than she knew herself. “You are not here for companionship, but rather for your professional expertise.”
Josie stiffened at his rebuff. He knew he had hurt her, but it had been necessary. As the elder party...Hah! There was an
understatement. The mantle of responsibility was his. He must confine their relationship to that of teacher and student.
“I shall bid you good evening.” Deverell rose and hesitated until she nodded.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He would not allow himself to turn around to see whether the tears that had glistened
in her eyes had fallen down her cheeks. Still, with his back to her, he offered her the explanation she sought.
“Sir Robert was the former ghost of the castle. After completing his task of counting every stone in the castle, not an easy
job because the family was forever building and rebuilding one part of the castle or another, Sir Robert recruited me to take
his place. He cleverly set a task that would insure the family a guardian through eternity.”
Josie called his name. Deverell hesitated, but forced himself to remain facing the door.
“If you go back in time, won’t you meet Sir Robert again?”
“Egad, I hope not. It might prove difficult to kill a man who had already been dead for five hundred years, and I would surely
want to murder him.”
Deverell could not resist turning at the sound of her laughter. Josie sat cross-legged on the chaise, the edges of her kimono
tucked under her toes, the ever present notebook open in her lap. She looked even younger than her years, somehow more vulnerable,
as she gazed at him with sparkling eyes.
He raised one eyebrow in query.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” she said, stifling another giggle with her fingertips.“It’s just that you sounded so macho, as if
you wanted to challenge him to a duel with pistols at dawn, or to run him through with your sword.You may be dead, but you’re
still a man.”
Deverell didn’t bother to open the door, but walked straight through the oak panel. Josie had verbalized the very crux of
his dilemma. She was an intelligent woman, a perceptive, beautiful, vibrantly alive woman.
And he was still a man, even if he was a ghost.
Four
“ O UCH,” J OSIE SAID. S HE DROPPED HER embroidery hoop and stuck her finger in her mouth.
“You don’t want to get any blood on your sampler,”Amelia said as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve with the flair
of a magician. “Here.”
Josie shook her head at the proffered item, not wanting to stain the delicate lace-trimmed square...though Amelia seemed to
have more than enough of them. She had one tucked into every pocket, one in each sleeve, and tons more stashed about the house.
“You didn’t tell me needlework was dangerous,” Josie mumbled. Or tedious. Or boring. She picked up the hoop that had fallen
to the floor and eyed the uneven stitches with a frown. She was not accustomed to new things being difficult for her to learn.
In three hours she’d managed a wobbly J and a lopsided O. She seriously considered shortening her nickname.
“Sewing was an important part of every Regency gentlewoman’s day. Even if she had only a few spare minutes, she picked up
her thimble and thread. She carried a bit of work with her when she made social calls.The ladies did not just do decorative
needlework. They made clothes for themselves and their family.”
“What about tailors and dressmakers.”
“In the country a seamstress would visit seasonally with prints of the latest fashions, and she might spend several weeks
in residence while sewing new dresses.The women of the family made their own aprons, caps, underclothes, nightwear, shirts
for the men, and outfits for the children. Girls started sewing items for their trousseau at quite a young age.Then there
was the making and mending of all the household linens, and
probably knew her better than she knew herself. “You are not here for companionship, but rather for your professional expertise.”
Josie stiffened at his rebuff. He knew he had hurt her, but it had been necessary. As the elder party...Hah! There was an
understatement. The mantle of responsibility was his. He must confine their relationship to that of teacher and student.
“I shall bid you good evening.” Deverell rose and hesitated until she nodded.
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He would not allow himself to turn around to see whether the tears that had glistened
in her eyes had fallen down her cheeks. Still, with his back to her, he offered her the explanation she sought.
“Sir Robert was the former ghost of the castle. After completing his task of counting every stone in the castle, not an easy
job because the family was forever building and rebuilding one part of the castle or another, Sir Robert recruited me to take
his place. He cleverly set a task that would insure the family a guardian through eternity.”
Josie called his name. Deverell hesitated, but forced himself to remain facing the door.
“If you go back in time, won’t you meet Sir Robert again?”
“Egad, I hope not. It might prove difficult to kill a man who had already been dead for five hundred years, and I would surely
want to murder him.”
Deverell could not resist turning at the sound of her laughter. Josie sat cross-legged on the chaise, the edges of her kimono
tucked under her toes, the ever present notebook open in her lap. She looked even younger than her years, somehow more vulnerable,
as she gazed at him with sparkling eyes.
He raised one eyebrow in query.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” she said, stifling another giggle with her fingertips.“It’s just that you sounded so macho, as if
you wanted to challenge him to a duel with pistols at dawn, or to run him through with your sword.You may be dead, but you’re
still a man.”
Deverell didn’t bother to open the door, but walked straight through the oak panel. Josie had verbalized the very crux of
his dilemma. She was an intelligent woman, a perceptive, beautiful, vibrantly alive woman.
And he was still a man, even if he was a ghost.
Four
“ O UCH,” J OSIE SAID. S HE DROPPED HER embroidery hoop and stuck her finger in her mouth.
“You don’t want to get any blood on your sampler,”Amelia said as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve with the flair
of a magician. “Here.”
Josie shook her head at the proffered item, not wanting to stain the delicate lace-trimmed square...though Amelia seemed to
have more than enough of them. She had one tucked into every pocket, one in each sleeve, and tons more stashed about the house.
“You didn’t tell me needlework was dangerous,” Josie mumbled. Or tedious. Or boring. She picked up the hoop that had fallen
to the floor and eyed the uneven stitches with a frown. She was not accustomed to new things being difficult for her to learn.
In three hours she’d managed a wobbly J and a lopsided O. She seriously considered shortening her nickname.
“Sewing was an important part of every Regency gentlewoman’s day. Even if she had only a few spare minutes, she picked up
her thimble and thread. She carried a bit of work with her when she made social calls.The ladies did not just do decorative
needlework. They made clothes for themselves and their family.”
“What about tailors and dressmakers.”
“In the country a seamstress would visit seasonally with prints of the latest fashions, and she might spend several weeks
in residence while sewing new dresses.The women of the family made their own aprons, caps, underclothes, nightwear, shirts
for the men, and outfits for the children. Girls started sewing items for their trousseau at quite a young age.Then there
was the making and mending of all the household linens, and
Similar Books
