Read Online The Bridal Season by Connie Brockway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Connie Brockway
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so
intensely aware of a woman. He flexed his hand, seeing the tanned outline of
his fingers imprinted on her lace gown. He could feel her waist beneath his
palms as hed lifted her down from the wall. He could hear her laughter, see
the merry tilt of her lips, smell the fragrant warmth of her rising from her
skin ...
He shook his hand, as if in doing so he could shake off his
awareness of her. She couldnt be an imposter, a filthy confidence trickster.
He scoured his mind for some other explanation for her
extraordinary behavior. Perhaps shed come here on a wager. He remembered
enough of his days amongst the ton to know it wasnt impossible that in their
boredom or mischievousness or both, one of her set had dared her to impersonate
Lady Agatha. Perhaps Lady Agatha herself.
Or maybe she was Lady Agatha and simply a confirmed eccentric.
Certainly the reports hed heard of her suggested such. And that might account
for her occasional startling lapses into street argot. Though it couldnt
account for her dress. Even the oddest lady he knew would rather die than
remain a moment longer than necessary in the gown in which shed traveled.
And how to explain her youth? For not all the creams and
salves in the world could imbue the buoyancy in her step, the porcelain
whiteness to her eye, or the rich sheen to her hair.
And finally, tellingly, how did one account for the fact that
Lady Agatha Whyte did not know that her grandmother, the eighth daughter of an
inconsequential Irish landowner, had, through judicious console and blameless
reputation, become one of Queen Victorias ladies-in-waiting?
Clearly this Lady Agatha thought hed been speaking of
some disgrace attached to her grandmother.
There was none.
Hed referred to the fact that even though shed begun so
humblylike AngelaLady Agathas grandmother had risen to be not only accepted
but also feted by Society. No breath of scandal had ever touched her. Indeed,
shed been famous for her virtue. Nothing in her history had ever been referred
to as something so lurid.
The woman had to be an impostor.
Didnt she? Unless shed been referring to her other
grandmother... About whom he knew nothing.
He moved away from the stables, heading for the house, his
face set. Tomorrow hed telegraph London and begin making some discreet
inquiries. The answer, he knew, could be some time coming. In the meantime,
hed stay very, very close to this lady.
Whoever she was.
Letty spread her arms wide and fell straight back, sinking
deep into the feather mattress. Fagin, bounced rudely awake, grumbled and
settled down again.
Letty glanced at the mantel clock. Two oclock in the morning
and shed just finished unpacking Lady Agathas things. Shed been too
wide-awake after her evening stroll with Sir Elliot to even think of sleeping.
She looked around with satisfaction.
Strewn over every surface in the room were dresses and
materials, some still in bolts of yardage and others in tissue-wrapped parcels:
Sheerest batiste, thick polished brocades, glimmering faille and shimmering
silk, dense lustrous satin, rippling crepe de chine, and gauzy muslin, tissues
and sarcenets, moirés and tulles. The variety was amazing. And the colors
endless!
Letty had never imagined so many whites existed. Shed
unwrapped hard, gleaming nacre white and white as soft as a doves wing;
brilliant snow-white and white as mellow as ancient ivory. Dense chalk-white
and thin, milky-white. Silvery-white and cool alabaster-white.
And after the material, shed started on the trunks.
Shed unpacked every decorative accoutrement a woman could
want. There were kidskin gloves with four buttons or six in half a dozen
colors, silk stockings so sheer they seemed transparent, silk tassels for hats
and birds wings for headdresses, tippets and scarves to drape around the neck,
sashes and ribbons to tie about the waist.
Lady Agatha hadnt scrimped on the underpinnings, either.
Cartons of
intensely aware of a woman. He flexed his hand, seeing the tanned outline of
his fingers imprinted on her lace gown. He could feel her waist beneath his
palms as hed lifted her down from the wall. He could hear her laughter, see
the merry tilt of her lips, smell the fragrant warmth of her rising from her
skin ...
He shook his hand, as if in doing so he could shake off his
awareness of her. She couldnt be an imposter, a filthy confidence trickster.
He scoured his mind for some other explanation for her
extraordinary behavior. Perhaps shed come here on a wager. He remembered
enough of his days amongst the ton to know it wasnt impossible that in their
boredom or mischievousness or both, one of her set had dared her to impersonate
Lady Agatha. Perhaps Lady Agatha herself.
Or maybe she was Lady Agatha and simply a confirmed eccentric.
Certainly the reports hed heard of her suggested such. And that might account
for her occasional startling lapses into street argot. Though it couldnt
account for her dress. Even the oddest lady he knew would rather die than
remain a moment longer than necessary in the gown in which shed traveled.
And how to explain her youth? For not all the creams and
salves in the world could imbue the buoyancy in her step, the porcelain
whiteness to her eye, or the rich sheen to her hair.
And finally, tellingly, how did one account for the fact that
Lady Agatha Whyte did not know that her grandmother, the eighth daughter of an
inconsequential Irish landowner, had, through judicious console and blameless
reputation, become one of Queen Victorias ladies-in-waiting?
Clearly this Lady Agatha thought hed been speaking of
some disgrace attached to her grandmother.
There was none.
Hed referred to the fact that even though shed begun so
humblylike AngelaLady Agathas grandmother had risen to be not only accepted
but also feted by Society. No breath of scandal had ever touched her. Indeed,
shed been famous for her virtue. Nothing in her history had ever been referred
to as something so lurid.
The woman had to be an impostor.
Didnt she? Unless shed been referring to her other
grandmother... About whom he knew nothing.
He moved away from the stables, heading for the house, his
face set. Tomorrow hed telegraph London and begin making some discreet
inquiries. The answer, he knew, could be some time coming. In the meantime,
hed stay very, very close to this lady.
Whoever she was.
Letty spread her arms wide and fell straight back, sinking
deep into the feather mattress. Fagin, bounced rudely awake, grumbled and
settled down again.
Letty glanced at the mantel clock. Two oclock in the morning
and shed just finished unpacking Lady Agathas things. Shed been too
wide-awake after her evening stroll with Sir Elliot to even think of sleeping.
She looked around with satisfaction.
Strewn over every surface in the room were dresses and
materials, some still in bolts of yardage and others in tissue-wrapped parcels:
Sheerest batiste, thick polished brocades, glimmering faille and shimmering
silk, dense lustrous satin, rippling crepe de chine, and gauzy muslin, tissues
and sarcenets, moirés and tulles. The variety was amazing. And the colors
endless!
Letty had never imagined so many whites existed. Shed
unwrapped hard, gleaming nacre white and white as soft as a doves wing;
brilliant snow-white and white as mellow as ancient ivory. Dense chalk-white
and thin, milky-white. Silvery-white and cool alabaster-white.
And after the material, shed started on the trunks.
Shed unpacked every decorative accoutrement a woman could
want. There were kidskin gloves with four buttons or six in half a dozen
colors, silk stockings so sheer they seemed transparent, silk tassels for hats
and birds wings for headdresses, tippets and scarves to drape around the neck,
sashes and ribbons to tie about the waist.
Lady Agatha hadnt scrimped on the underpinnings, either.
Cartons of
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