Read Online The Bluestocking and the Rake (The Regency Gentlemen Series) by Norma Darcy - Free Book Online

first she did not recognise the man, thinking him a visitor to her aunt. But when he swung easily from the saddle and looked about him as if calculating the worth of what he saw, Miss Blakelow recognised the tall, powerful frame of Lord Marcham. He turned and walked languidly into the house as if he already owned every blade of grass on the front lawn.
    Miss Blakelow, torn between hope that he had changed his mind and anger at his arrogance, hurried back down the path towards the house. In the hall she handed her basket to the butler, one of the few remaining servants they could afford to keep at Thorncote since her father’s death.
    “Lord Marcham is visiting with your aunt in the parlour, Miss.”
    “Thank you, John.”
    The servant discreetly coughed and directed a pointed stare at her blackberry stained apron.
    She smiled and untied the bow at her waist. “Not fit to be seen, am I John?”
    “You are without your glasses, Miss.”
    “Oh yes, thank you.” She fished in the pocket of her gown for the hated spectacles and put them on. The cap followed, smothering her mass of red-brown curls under its frills until not a wisp of hair could be seen. Tying the white cotton strings under her chin, she was almost instantly transformed, and wondered not for the first time, how society was so easily duped by her simple disguise. It had served her well over the years and she was not about to undo all her hard work by giving in to vanity in a weak moment. She sighed, satisfied that she had once more assumed the role of prim Miss Blakelow of Thorncote and moved towards the door.
    His lordship was standing by the fireplace when she entered the room, a cup and saucer in his hands, looking as if he were having a tooth pulled. His eyes shot to her face as she opened the door and for a moment he looked so intensely relieved by her arrival that she was amused. Her Aunt Blakelow was keeping him up to date on the latest health discoveries she had made when she was last in Bath. These had been many and by the look on his lordship’s face he was looking desperately for a means of escape. He set down his cup and saucer and bowed, opened his mouth to greet her but his words were drowned out by her aunt’s unstoppable tide.
    “…mustard plasters are the thing for that… and of course I do recommend the waters at Bath for the gout, you know,” remarked the elder Miss Blakelow. “They taste quite awful but I believe it to be very beneficial to a man suffering from that affliction. Do you suffer from gout, my lord?”
    His lordship looked so much taken aback by this very direct question that Miss Blakelow, softly closing the door, was hard pressed not to laugh.
    “Er, no ma’am. I am fortunate enough to be in the possession of excellent health,” he replied.
    “Hmm. Well I wonder at it,” continued Aunt Blakelow. “From all I hear, it is a wonder to me that you are not riddled with it. Drink and idleness are the enemies of a gentleman, you know. A man should be busy. And if he cannot keep himself busy then he should find other things to occupy his mind and his time.”
    His lordship, wrestling with the urge to give this impertinent woman a much deserved set down, happened to glance at Miss Blakelow and saw that she was extremely close to laughter. She was so in danger of losing control that she resolutely refused to meet his gaze and a devil lurked in his own eyes at the thought that he would overset her gravity if it took him the rest of his visit to do it.
    “Oh, I have no difficulty occupying my time,” said the Earl and darted a swift look at Miss Blakelow to see how she bore it.
    She did not mistake his meaning; women, drinking and all night orgies. A gleam stole into her eyes. “I think my aunt meant philanthropy ,” said Miss Blakelow.
    “I am sure she did,” he murmured. “But I am very philanthropic. I provide a good living and plenty of work for those under my roof.”
    “Plenty of work, sir?” she asked, meeting