Read Online My Notorious Gentleman by Gaelen Foley - Free Book Online
Authors: Gaelen Foley
Tags: Romance
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might be just the thing to rejuvenate the cynical, world-weary spy.
She had no doubt he’d be good for Callie, too. Back in the village, the girl was like a younger sister to her, and so she could say without any ill will that the headstrong debutante needed a grown man to take her in hand, not a rakish cub as spoiled as herself.
Dear, silly George wouldn’t like losing out to Lord Trevor, of course, but for all his protestations of devotion to Callie, Lord Bratford had a lot of growing up to do before he was anywhere near ready to take a wife.
Yes, this would be best for everyone.
Excellent, Grace concluded, quite pleased with her plan, for George’s words earlier this evening had been right. Solving other people’s problems was her forte.
It was so much easier than pondering her own.
Then George gestured toward the dance floor as the musicians returned from their break.
Grace smiled back at her rascally young friend and thrust Lord Trevor out of her mind as off-limits, a man destined for another.
Forcing her attention back to her present task of keeping Lord Bratford out of trouble, she took George’s offered arm, and off they went off to dance.
Chapter 4
P eaceful .
Ten days later, Trevor sat in the middle of a sunny meadow chewing a long blade of grass and staring intently at the Grange.
He was not entirely sure what he was doing here. This had to be the worst time in history to buy a farm, what with the weather all at sixes and sevens.
But at least there was sunshine today, and besides, he was confident that Nature would get back to normal by next year. In the meanwhile, anyone with eyes could see that the country needed food, and he was the sort to attack big problems like that head-on, not run away from them.
This could be a good move, he mused, staring at the building. A cheap one, too, under the circumstances.
At any rate, curiosity had got the best of him, along with a lack of anything useful to do—torture for a man whose every moment in life had had a purpose, goal, and strategy up till now.
He had to admit it was blissful to escape all the prying eyes in London. To be sure, he could not imagine a place farther removed from his whole former existence of intrigue, danger, and betrayal. Miss Kenwood’s village was so tiny and quaint, nestled in the English countryside, that it pained him vaguely, like a soldier’s dream of home.
It had taken all of sixty seconds to drive through downtown Thistleton, even counting the delay when a shepherd boy had halted their carriage to prod a few straggling sheep across the cobbled lane.
Trevor had studied this unfamiliar world in a quizzical mood as they drove on. They passed a row with all the necessary shops: cobbler, weaver, draper, butcher, baker, blacksmith. On the corner sat the Gaggle Goose Inn that Reverend Kenwood had mentioned, across from the dry goods store with a post office inside.
There were a few simple homes in the village, as well. These were of varying ages, some stone with thatched roofs, others timber-framed. A sturdy guild hall and a large almshouse.
Old men played chess in the shade of a giant oak tree on the village green across from Reverend Kenwood’s church. The white steeple gleamed against the azure sky. Then they were through the village, just like that, and he was glad he hadn’t sneezed, or he’d have missed the whole thing.
Leaving downtown Thistleton, or Thimbleton, as he had already renamed it, he drove on with the land agent directing him half a mile north, up a country road.
A lazy river wended its way through patchwork farmlands divided up by hedgerows; this they crossed, rising over the hump of an ancient Roman bridge. They clattered on, until the land agent told him to turn his carriage to the right. There was no gate or marker, but they were now on the property that was for sale.
The agent informed him that the previous owner, one Colonel Avery, had been an eccentric old man who had used his moderate
She had no doubt he’d be good for Callie, too. Back in the village, the girl was like a younger sister to her, and so she could say without any ill will that the headstrong debutante needed a grown man to take her in hand, not a rakish cub as spoiled as herself.
Dear, silly George wouldn’t like losing out to Lord Trevor, of course, but for all his protestations of devotion to Callie, Lord Bratford had a lot of growing up to do before he was anywhere near ready to take a wife.
Yes, this would be best for everyone.
Excellent, Grace concluded, quite pleased with her plan, for George’s words earlier this evening had been right. Solving other people’s problems was her forte.
It was so much easier than pondering her own.
Then George gestured toward the dance floor as the musicians returned from their break.
Grace smiled back at her rascally young friend and thrust Lord Trevor out of her mind as off-limits, a man destined for another.
Forcing her attention back to her present task of keeping Lord Bratford out of trouble, she took George’s offered arm, and off they went off to dance.
Chapter 4
P eaceful .
Ten days later, Trevor sat in the middle of a sunny meadow chewing a long blade of grass and staring intently at the Grange.
He was not entirely sure what he was doing here. This had to be the worst time in history to buy a farm, what with the weather all at sixes and sevens.
But at least there was sunshine today, and besides, he was confident that Nature would get back to normal by next year. In the meanwhile, anyone with eyes could see that the country needed food, and he was the sort to attack big problems like that head-on, not run away from them.
This could be a good move, he mused, staring at the building. A cheap one, too, under the circumstances.
At any rate, curiosity had got the best of him, along with a lack of anything useful to do—torture for a man whose every moment in life had had a purpose, goal, and strategy up till now.
He had to admit it was blissful to escape all the prying eyes in London. To be sure, he could not imagine a place farther removed from his whole former existence of intrigue, danger, and betrayal. Miss Kenwood’s village was so tiny and quaint, nestled in the English countryside, that it pained him vaguely, like a soldier’s dream of home.
It had taken all of sixty seconds to drive through downtown Thistleton, even counting the delay when a shepherd boy had halted their carriage to prod a few straggling sheep across the cobbled lane.
Trevor had studied this unfamiliar world in a quizzical mood as they drove on. They passed a row with all the necessary shops: cobbler, weaver, draper, butcher, baker, blacksmith. On the corner sat the Gaggle Goose Inn that Reverend Kenwood had mentioned, across from the dry goods store with a post office inside.
There were a few simple homes in the village, as well. These were of varying ages, some stone with thatched roofs, others timber-framed. A sturdy guild hall and a large almshouse.
Old men played chess in the shade of a giant oak tree on the village green across from Reverend Kenwood’s church. The white steeple gleamed against the azure sky. Then they were through the village, just like that, and he was glad he hadn’t sneezed, or he’d have missed the whole thing.
Leaving downtown Thistleton, or Thimbleton, as he had already renamed it, he drove on with the land agent directing him half a mile north, up a country road.
A lazy river wended its way through patchwork farmlands divided up by hedgerows; this they crossed, rising over the hump of an ancient Roman bridge. They clattered on, until the land agent told him to turn his carriage to the right. There was no gate or marker, but they were now on the property that was for sale.
The agent informed him that the previous owner, one Colonel Avery, had been an eccentric old man who had used his moderate
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