Read Online The Bride of Windermere by Margo Maguire - Free Book Online Page A

regularly, soundly asleep. Kit eased herself back into the hot water and washed away the grit and grime of her journey, thinking of the two maids and their argument.
    Kit wondered who Lady Clarisse was, and why Maggie’s words had upset Annie so. This was a strange place, this Windermere Castle. Kit thought it even stranger than Somerton Manor where Lord Somers spent his days in a drunken haze while his wife bedded every neighbor and visitor who passed through. At least at Somerton, a person knew her status—or lack of it.
    Even Wolf had seemed to quickly gain an understanding of the situation at Somerton. His distaste for Kit’s stepfather was quite clear, and his disgust at Lady Edith’s infernal flirting was obvious.
    It should have been easy to relax in the tub after her days in the saddle, yet thoughts of the taciturn Wolf plagued her: the way he could make her melt with just a glance of those intent gray eyes, then turn around and use words that made her feel like a child, chastised, castigated, effectively put into place.
    She wondered what would happen if he discovered she was the one at the lake. She’d wager her boots he wouldn’t call her “Sprout” again.
    How could he do this to her? Gerhart made her so confused, she could just kick something. He was a tyrant who treated her like a child and even had the gall to call her “Sprout.” She had no use for such a man as Wolf. She had Rupert.
    Rupert, who was never overbearing. He was easygoing and fun and always smiling. He never frowned or scowled the way this Gerhart-Wolf did. Rupert had known her for so many years, he’d be satisfied with her, even though she lacked the sophistication of court. Besides, Kit had loved Rupert for years and as soon as she arrived in London, she would find him and marry him. This marriage was what she’d planned, what had kept her sane while she waited for him to come for her at Somerton. And nothing could change that.
    It was some time later, as she sat in front of the fire drying her hair, that Bridget awoke. “How do you feel, old friend?” Kit asked.
    â€œAs though Edmond Grindcob’s huge cow Mathilda had sat on my chest.”
    Kit laughed. “And well you should. You have a terrible hack and a wheeze as well. But we shall have you cured before long.”
    â€œWhat did those old goats give me?”
    â€œNothing I wouldn’t have given you myself.”
    â€œGood. Don’t let ‘em near me without ye,” she wheezed.
    â€œI wouldn’t, ever.”
    â€œSure and I know ye wouldn’t, Kitty. Come sit by me.” Bridget patted the mattress and coughed. “I fear it will be some time afore I’m cured.”
    Kit got up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Nonsense. You’ll be fine soon enough. And ready to go on to London.”
    â€œYe must dress for dinner with the earl.”
    â€œI suppose,” Kit replied. She knew Bridget was going to insist she wear something presentable and Kit didn’t have the heart to argue with her now, while her cousin was so pale and weak.
    â€œWear the deep green velvet, Kit,” the nurse said, “along with the cream wimple. It does suit ye so.”
    â€œWhat? And not the white?” The white gown with its delicately embroidered bliaut had been her mother’s, saved all these years by faithful Bridget. Kit was surprised her cousin hadn’t suggested wearing her finest tonight.
    â€œYe must save the white and gold until ye are presented to King Henry. Promise me.”
    â€œAll right, old mother,” Kit laughed as she began to dress herself, “I pledge to you that I will wear the white and gold only as you wish.”
    â€œAnd behave yerself,” Bridget exhorted.
    â€œYou know me, my dear,” Kit said in an attempt at reassurance.
    Bridget merely rolled her eyes.
    Â 
    Wolf remembered Philip Colston well. Though his cousin was in his late thirties,