Read Online The Bachelor's Bargain by Catherine Palmer - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Palmer
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guessed. “You hail from Tiverton, and your house is filled with books which you delight to read.”
“My father’s occupations are none of your concern, Lord Blackthorne. We are not under your jurisdiction. Our family dwells in Nottingham.”
“You are a long way from home. What brings you to Devon, then? Surely you could find employment in Nottingham.”
Anne swallowed. She could never tell this man about her father’s imprisonment with the Luddites. As a parson, Mr. Webster had been expected to preach, tend the ill, take tea with his parishioners, but little more.
That he had joined a secret group of men who met in Sherwood Forest and followed the orders of their leader, who called himself General Ludd, had brought utter disgrace to the Webster family. That he had broken into factories and smashed machinery had besmirched his own name forever. He had lost his position with the parish, of course, though the church had allowed his family to go on living in the parsonage until someone could be found to replace him.
Captured and thrown into prison, Mr. Webster had expected the usual sentence for destruction of private property— transportation to Australia. Exile from England for fourteen years would have been bad enough, but during the time he was awaiting trial, the House of Lords passed a bill making such violence a capital offense. Without a skilled attorney to plead his case, he would be hanged.
No, Anne could not have found employment in Notting- ham. If Miss Webster’s sister had not recommended her to the Duke of Marston, she would have joined her mother and sisters in destitution. As it was, her wages barely kept them alive.
“My presence in Devon can be of no concern to a man such as yourself,” she told the marquess. “I am employed to serve your family and guests in the House along with dozens of other young women no different from myself.”
“I beg to point out, Miss Webster, that yesterday you stated in no uncertain terms your very great difference from the dozens of other young women in Slocombe House. You claimed to be a better lace designer and pattern pricker than anyone in Tiverton.”
“Oh, Anne,” Prudence muttered. “Surely you did not say such a thing.”
By now there was no hope that he would abandon the two women and return to his chaise. The hilly, wooded property belonging to the Duke of Marston had closed them in on either side, a glorious display of budding trees dressed in pale green. Along the hedgerows at either side of the road sprung bright white snowdrops and purple crocuses. The scent of newly turned earth mingled with the perfume of spring buds. Birds, busy with nest building, chirped and sang and fought over fat worms they pulled from the soft dirt at the side of the road. Anne would have given anything to be able to drink in the morning and dream out a lace pattern to reflect its glory.
Instead she was shackled by him . Vile man. She glanced at the marquess from beneath the brim of her straw bonnet. Oh, he was handsome, of course. No woman could deny that. His high-crowned black felt hat added imposing height to his already tall physique. The cut of his clothing, the width of his shoulders, the length of his legs—everything about him was the picture of the manly aristocrat. Only the brownness of his skin gave his face the cast of a pirate. But the twinkle in his gray eyes and the amused angle of his lip showed him for the scoundrel he was.
“As you surely have discovered,” Anne said, “by observing my lace panel, which you wear around your neck, I truly am a skilled designer.”
“Indeed, Miss Webster, you are talented. In fact, it is this quality about you that intrigues me more than any other. Not only are you lovely, articulate, and mannered, but you possess a skill most remarkable.” His fingers touched the crest on the lace. “May I inquire where you learned such technique? Surely no common lace school could teach a young woman how to create a
“My father’s occupations are none of your concern, Lord Blackthorne. We are not under your jurisdiction. Our family dwells in Nottingham.”
“You are a long way from home. What brings you to Devon, then? Surely you could find employment in Nottingham.”
Anne swallowed. She could never tell this man about her father’s imprisonment with the Luddites. As a parson, Mr. Webster had been expected to preach, tend the ill, take tea with his parishioners, but little more.
That he had joined a secret group of men who met in Sherwood Forest and followed the orders of their leader, who called himself General Ludd, had brought utter disgrace to the Webster family. That he had broken into factories and smashed machinery had besmirched his own name forever. He had lost his position with the parish, of course, though the church had allowed his family to go on living in the parsonage until someone could be found to replace him.
Captured and thrown into prison, Mr. Webster had expected the usual sentence for destruction of private property— transportation to Australia. Exile from England for fourteen years would have been bad enough, but during the time he was awaiting trial, the House of Lords passed a bill making such violence a capital offense. Without a skilled attorney to plead his case, he would be hanged.
No, Anne could not have found employment in Notting- ham. If Miss Webster’s sister had not recommended her to the Duke of Marston, she would have joined her mother and sisters in destitution. As it was, her wages barely kept them alive.
“My presence in Devon can be of no concern to a man such as yourself,” she told the marquess. “I am employed to serve your family and guests in the House along with dozens of other young women no different from myself.”
“I beg to point out, Miss Webster, that yesterday you stated in no uncertain terms your very great difference from the dozens of other young women in Slocombe House. You claimed to be a better lace designer and pattern pricker than anyone in Tiverton.”
“Oh, Anne,” Prudence muttered. “Surely you did not say such a thing.”
By now there was no hope that he would abandon the two women and return to his chaise. The hilly, wooded property belonging to the Duke of Marston had closed them in on either side, a glorious display of budding trees dressed in pale green. Along the hedgerows at either side of the road sprung bright white snowdrops and purple crocuses. The scent of newly turned earth mingled with the perfume of spring buds. Birds, busy with nest building, chirped and sang and fought over fat worms they pulled from the soft dirt at the side of the road. Anne would have given anything to be able to drink in the morning and dream out a lace pattern to reflect its glory.
Instead she was shackled by him . Vile man. She glanced at the marquess from beneath the brim of her straw bonnet. Oh, he was handsome, of course. No woman could deny that. His high-crowned black felt hat added imposing height to his already tall physique. The cut of his clothing, the width of his shoulders, the length of his legs—everything about him was the picture of the manly aristocrat. Only the brownness of his skin gave his face the cast of a pirate. But the twinkle in his gray eyes and the amused angle of his lip showed him for the scoundrel he was.
“As you surely have discovered,” Anne said, “by observing my lace panel, which you wear around your neck, I truly am a skilled designer.”
“Indeed, Miss Webster, you are talented. In fact, it is this quality about you that intrigues me more than any other. Not only are you lovely, articulate, and mannered, but you possess a skill most remarkable.” His fingers touched the crest on the lace. “May I inquire where you learned such technique? Surely no common lace school could teach a young woman how to create a
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