Read Online The Bridegroom Wore Plaid by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page A

room as she slept.
    “He might decide to make his residence here, as Her Majesty has.”
    Augusta frowned at the French door. Yes, Ulysses might decide he preferred the earl’s stables to a glorified farmhouse in Oxfordshire, and if he did, she would miss her cat.
    Miss him terribly, which was pathetic.
    Julia moved away from the doors. “Let’s go down to breakfast, or Con and Gil will have eaten all the scones. I think Hester has quite a crush on Gilgallon.”
    “Hester has quite a crush on the breakfast offerings.”
    Augusta found them to her liking as well. The lavish spread of hearty fare was a far cry from the bread, butter, and tea that sustained her at home. Dinners, by contrast, were lighter than their English equivalents, boasting an array of rich, savory sauces and smaller portions.
    Somebody had an eye for presentation, Augusta decided as she filled her plate with eggs, ham, and buttered toast. The cuisine was a fine blend of Continental and local, and a decided improvement over even what was served in Aunt and Uncle’s house.
    For the first time in ages, Augusta’s mind wandered into a corner she’d forbidden it to explore out of sheer self-preservation.
    If I had my own household, a real household, I’d want the food to be like this. To be hearty and flavorful at the same time. Abundant but not wasteful. Food that was relished down to the last crumb, and lovely in its appearance, scent, and taste. I’d want the food in my kitchens to be prepared with genuine caring for those who consumed it and how it was consumed. I’d take a hand in that myself…
    She might even set a table like this, with a blue, brown, and white plaid tablecloth as the centerpiece, and everything from the tea service to the serviettes to the curtains coordinated to match.
    “Tea, Miss Augusta?”
    The earl had appropriated the seat beside her. She’d noticed this about him: he wandered from his expected locations. He’d done it at dinner last night to sit beside Genie for the dessert course, but then he’d engaged her father in discussion, leaving Genie to Gilgallon’s silly teasing. The strategy had worked, because when the ladies departed for the drawing room, it was the earl left holding Genie’s chair and giving her his arm as escort.
    “Tea would be lovely. I was just admiring the skill of your kitchens, my lord.”
    “That’s Ian to you, Miss Augusta.” He’d dropped his voice, and when she glanced up at his face, she saw a hint of mischief in his eye. The man had no notion of how to be a proper earl, but then he was a spare, just finding his way with the role.
    A spare with a delightful and alarming tendency to reciprocate misplaced kisses.
    She took the teapot from where it sat before him and poured for them both. “You are a reluctant earl, aren’t you?”
    The mischief died abruptly, replaced by an appraising light. “I am not reluctant. I am kicking and screaming, lest you be deceived by appearances to the contrary. I’ve considered going to Canada to find my older brother, leaving Gil to manage in my stead. He’s more ruthless than I am, better suited to the title.”
    Oh, for pity’s sake, he was being honest . He stirred his cream into his tea with all the diffidence of a boy waiting for his elders to spring him from the table, and there was a grim set to his mouth that made Augusta wish she’d been less forward.
    “I was a reluctant spinster at first.” The words were not planned, but they seemed to catch his attention. “I’d stirred some interest during my Season, and I had always assumed��what girl from a wealthy family doesn’t assume?—I’d have a husband, children, a household of my own. I did not adjust easily to my new expectations.”
    “And none of your adoring swains saw fit to rescue you from those expectations?”
    He would ask that. Except his voice hadn’t been sardonic or flippant.
    “The swains adored my fortune, I’m afraid.” And then her stupid mouth would not