Read Online Love Letters From a Duke by Elizabeth Boyle - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
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back, even as she pasted a smile on her face. “We went to school with her. Wretched, horrible girl. American. ” She emphasized the last word as if it explained everything.
“She’s quite the bird, isn’t she,” Aunt Minty said, her eyes squinting to catch a better sight of the carriage and its occupants. “Got more money than sense.”
“Unfortunately so,” Miss Thalia muttered.
His aunt’s voice echoed through his thoughts, a proper bride, someone like this Miss Browne, he had to imagine.
He glanced up at this chit and shuddered. She was everything he dreaded about London society. With dark hair and a fair complexion, she was pretty, but there was a predatory air about her that sent the hackles on his back rising.
“Oh, Mother, I told you! It is the Langley sisters and Lady Philippa! As I live and breathe, it is my dearest friends from Miss Emery’s,” Miss Browne gushed. Half rising in her seat, she waved her hand at them, a flowing gesture that swept from one side to the other.
Thatcher had never seen anything so affected and convoluted in his life. “Whatever is wrong with her?”
His answer was a pair of giggles from Miss Thalia and Lady Philippa.
“Look! She’s still doing it!” Lady Philippa whispered.
Miss Langley managed better than her sister or cousin, for she stood with her lips pressed together, though she trembled from head to toe as she did her best not to laugh as well.
“Oh, she looks like a pea goose,” Miss Thalia said, sounding all too triumphant.
“You’ve only yourself to blame,” her sister whispered. “Marie Antoinette, Tally! What were you thinking, telling her that?”
“Marie Antoinette?” Thatcher had to ask, staring first at the grandiose Miss Browne, and then back at Miss Langley.
She heaved a sigh. “My sister told that silly nit that when we were in France, Marie Antoinette liked to greet her subjects thusly, and in French aristocratic circles being able to master such a wave was considered a sign of superior breeding.”
Taking another glance at the ridiculous flutter of the girl’s hand, Thatcher found himself squarely in Miss Thalia and Lady Philippa’s camp—choking back a fit of laughter.
“And that ninnyhammer believed me,” Tally said quite proudly, waving back at their old schoolmate with the same affected gesture.
Pippin turned her head and managed to say between chuckles, “Just be thankful she never made very good marks in history or mathematics because then she might have realized the poor Queen died the same year we were born.”
“Oh, delightful friends!” Miss Browne called out, her hand still fluttering about like a cat with fits. “It is true! You have come to Town from your dreadful exile . But how is this possible? The rumors I’ve heard as to your dire circumstances! Your trials!”
Exile? Dire circumstances? Trials? Yet another layer of mystery fell down around Miss Langley. And as he watched her jaw work back and forth, he knew this Miss Browne had hit a nerve, a raw one.
“Rumors?” Miss Langley replied. She glanced at her companions in wide-eyed innocence, as if such a thing must be as much a shock to them as it was to her. “I can’t imagine why we would be the subject of rumors. And further, I can’t believe you would give credence to gossip, dear Miss Browne. You know Miss Emery thought little of those who carried tales.” This was followed by a cold, plastered smilethat looked capable of cracking the icicles hanging from the eaves.
“Yes, yes, I must have you confused with three other misfortunates,” the girl declared, all smiles as well, but her narrowed gaze suggesting otherwise. “But here you are in Mayfair, and you haven’t called on me. How can this be?” She finished by making a perfect moue.
“We’d heard that you’d returned home…after poor Lord Herrick’s demise,” Lady Philippa replied, her words sounding more like wishful thinking. “But now that we know you are here, we will be
“She’s quite the bird, isn’t she,” Aunt Minty said, her eyes squinting to catch a better sight of the carriage and its occupants. “Got more money than sense.”
“Unfortunately so,” Miss Thalia muttered.
His aunt’s voice echoed through his thoughts, a proper bride, someone like this Miss Browne, he had to imagine.
He glanced up at this chit and shuddered. She was everything he dreaded about London society. With dark hair and a fair complexion, she was pretty, but there was a predatory air about her that sent the hackles on his back rising.
“Oh, Mother, I told you! It is the Langley sisters and Lady Philippa! As I live and breathe, it is my dearest friends from Miss Emery’s,” Miss Browne gushed. Half rising in her seat, she waved her hand at them, a flowing gesture that swept from one side to the other.
Thatcher had never seen anything so affected and convoluted in his life. “Whatever is wrong with her?”
His answer was a pair of giggles from Miss Thalia and Lady Philippa.
“Look! She’s still doing it!” Lady Philippa whispered.
Miss Langley managed better than her sister or cousin, for she stood with her lips pressed together, though she trembled from head to toe as she did her best not to laugh as well.
“Oh, she looks like a pea goose,” Miss Thalia said, sounding all too triumphant.
“You’ve only yourself to blame,” her sister whispered. “Marie Antoinette, Tally! What were you thinking, telling her that?”
“Marie Antoinette?” Thatcher had to ask, staring first at the grandiose Miss Browne, and then back at Miss Langley.
She heaved a sigh. “My sister told that silly nit that when we were in France, Marie Antoinette liked to greet her subjects thusly, and in French aristocratic circles being able to master such a wave was considered a sign of superior breeding.”
Taking another glance at the ridiculous flutter of the girl’s hand, Thatcher found himself squarely in Miss Thalia and Lady Philippa’s camp—choking back a fit of laughter.
“And that ninnyhammer believed me,” Tally said quite proudly, waving back at their old schoolmate with the same affected gesture.
Pippin turned her head and managed to say between chuckles, “Just be thankful she never made very good marks in history or mathematics because then she might have realized the poor Queen died the same year we were born.”
“Oh, delightful friends!” Miss Browne called out, her hand still fluttering about like a cat with fits. “It is true! You have come to Town from your dreadful exile . But how is this possible? The rumors I’ve heard as to your dire circumstances! Your trials!”
Exile? Dire circumstances? Trials? Yet another layer of mystery fell down around Miss Langley. And as he watched her jaw work back and forth, he knew this Miss Browne had hit a nerve, a raw one.
“Rumors?” Miss Langley replied. She glanced at her companions in wide-eyed innocence, as if such a thing must be as much a shock to them as it was to her. “I can’t imagine why we would be the subject of rumors. And further, I can’t believe you would give credence to gossip, dear Miss Browne. You know Miss Emery thought little of those who carried tales.” This was followed by a cold, plastered smilethat looked capable of cracking the icicles hanging from the eaves.
“Yes, yes, I must have you confused with three other misfortunates,” the girl declared, all smiles as well, but her narrowed gaze suggesting otherwise. “But here you are in Mayfair, and you haven’t called on me. How can this be?” She finished by making a perfect moue.
“We’d heard that you’d returned home…after poor Lord Herrick’s demise,” Lady Philippa replied, her words sounding more like wishful thinking. “But now that we know you are here, we will be
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