Read Online Once Upon A Wedding Night by Sophie Jordan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sophie Jordan
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generous amount of cream. "Here you are, Father." She set the cup in front of him, warning, "It's hot."
Ignoring her, he took a noisy sip, puckering his lips when he singed them with the scalding liquid.
"Careful," Meredith chided, rubbing her father's back.
Paying her no heed, he tackled his cup of coffee again. She sighed and exchanged knowing looks with Maree. Her father loved his coffee too much to exercise caution.
Amid this noisy slurping, Nick entered the room.
"Good morning," he greeted, his gaze skipping over her to the selection of food at the sideboard.
"Good morning," she responded, ignoring the stab of disappointment at the brief glance he sent her way.
Her father looked up from his coffee to stare broodingly at Nick's back. Meredith's breath suspended, anxious to see if her father would behave or not. She breathed easy when he resumed eating, indifferent to their presence as he turned to gaze out the window at the sunlight glinting off the vast landscape of green lawn.
Seating herself at the twenty-foot dining table, she forced her eyes on her plate, battling the temptation to stare at the man occupying far too much of her thoughts. Peeking beneath lowered lids, she discreetly watched him move along the sideboard. Her attention lingered on the superb fit of his breeches. Mortified by the direction of her thoughts, she wrenched her eyes away, pulled apart her sticky sweet roll and stuffed a generous portion into her mouth.
Cheeks burning, she was still chewing when he took the seat directly across from her, snapping his napkin once in the air before laying it over his lap. As she reached for her cup of tea, his gaze caught her. He watched her intently as he bit into a slice of jam-slathered toast. Dropping her eyes, she stared into the milky brown contents of the steaming cup she held with both hands.
"You look fetching this morning, Meredith."
Her gaze dropped to her dress. It was the finest of her mourning gowns, the one reserved for church, but still depressing. Only a few more frills and some black beads graced the modest neckline.
Nothing about the gown could be described as
fetching
. And she sincerely doubted her person lended any beauty to its moroseness.
"Your hair is lovely in that arrangement," he added.
Her hand flew to her hair self-consciously. She usually wore it in a softer fashion for church, taking the time and effort to arrange it into one of her less severely knotted buns. The effort had not been taken on account of him.
Then, horrified that he might draw that very conclusion, she blurted, "Thank you. I always wear it so for church."
He gave a small nod and returned to his breakfast, digging in with gusto. Clearly, he was a man who enjoyed his food. Meredith liked to cook and believed herself to be a fair hand in the kitchen. True, not many ladies could attest to such knowledge—nor would they want to. But she had not been a countess all her life. Before Oak Run her family had only two servants, and when Cook needed a hand in the kitchen, the task fell to Meredith. She watched as he bit into a sweet roll. He closed his eyes with a look of deep appreciation, and she wondered what he would think if he knew she had helped prepare them.
After several moments of awkward silence, she thought to announce, "We depart for the village church at nine, my lord."
Nick blinked once before replying. "That is very well, my lady, but do not mistake that I shall be accompanying you."
Meredith felt the heat rise in her face and suppressed the urge to snap back that she had not presumed to think he would. But that would be a lie. Of course she had thought he would accompany them to church. It was what respectable Society did on Sundays.
Instead, she merely said, "Your arrival will be known to all of Attingham by now. Your presence will be expected. There will be… talk if you are not there."
Setting his utensils on his plate with a soft clink, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a long,
Ignoring her, he took a noisy sip, puckering his lips when he singed them with the scalding liquid.
"Careful," Meredith chided, rubbing her father's back.
Paying her no heed, he tackled his cup of coffee again. She sighed and exchanged knowing looks with Maree. Her father loved his coffee too much to exercise caution.
Amid this noisy slurping, Nick entered the room.
"Good morning," he greeted, his gaze skipping over her to the selection of food at the sideboard.
"Good morning," she responded, ignoring the stab of disappointment at the brief glance he sent her way.
Her father looked up from his coffee to stare broodingly at Nick's back. Meredith's breath suspended, anxious to see if her father would behave or not. She breathed easy when he resumed eating, indifferent to their presence as he turned to gaze out the window at the sunlight glinting off the vast landscape of green lawn.
Seating herself at the twenty-foot dining table, she forced her eyes on her plate, battling the temptation to stare at the man occupying far too much of her thoughts. Peeking beneath lowered lids, she discreetly watched him move along the sideboard. Her attention lingered on the superb fit of his breeches. Mortified by the direction of her thoughts, she wrenched her eyes away, pulled apart her sticky sweet roll and stuffed a generous portion into her mouth.
Cheeks burning, she was still chewing when he took the seat directly across from her, snapping his napkin once in the air before laying it over his lap. As she reached for her cup of tea, his gaze caught her. He watched her intently as he bit into a slice of jam-slathered toast. Dropping her eyes, she stared into the milky brown contents of the steaming cup she held with both hands.
"You look fetching this morning, Meredith."
Her gaze dropped to her dress. It was the finest of her mourning gowns, the one reserved for church, but still depressing. Only a few more frills and some black beads graced the modest neckline.
Nothing about the gown could be described as
fetching
. And she sincerely doubted her person lended any beauty to its moroseness.
"Your hair is lovely in that arrangement," he added.
Her hand flew to her hair self-consciously. She usually wore it in a softer fashion for church, taking the time and effort to arrange it into one of her less severely knotted buns. The effort had not been taken on account of him.
Then, horrified that he might draw that very conclusion, she blurted, "Thank you. I always wear it so for church."
He gave a small nod and returned to his breakfast, digging in with gusto. Clearly, he was a man who enjoyed his food. Meredith liked to cook and believed herself to be a fair hand in the kitchen. True, not many ladies could attest to such knowledge—nor would they want to. But she had not been a countess all her life. Before Oak Run her family had only two servants, and when Cook needed a hand in the kitchen, the task fell to Meredith. She watched as he bit into a sweet roll. He closed his eyes with a look of deep appreciation, and she wondered what he would think if he knew she had helped prepare them.
After several moments of awkward silence, she thought to announce, "We depart for the village church at nine, my lord."
Nick blinked once before replying. "That is very well, my lady, but do not mistake that I shall be accompanying you."
Meredith felt the heat rise in her face and suppressed the urge to snap back that she had not presumed to think he would. But that would be a lie. Of course she had thought he would accompany them to church. It was what respectable Society did on Sundays.
Instead, she merely said, "Your arrival will be known to all of Attingham by now. Your presence will be expected. There will be… talk if you are not there."
Setting his utensils on his plate with a soft clink, he leaned back in his chair and gave her a long,
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