Read Online The Ideal Bride by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
Tags: Historical
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the others. With a wide gesture, she directed all attention to the brilliant blue swath of water before them, the surface ruffled by a gentle breeze. “It’s going to be a glorious day!”
It certainly started out that way. Once Elizabeth , Michael, and Geoffrey were safe aboard, the gangplank was drawn in and the ropes untied; a trio of swarthy sailors swarmed up the rigging, then the sails were unfurled and the yacht leapt before the wind.
With “oohs” and “aahs” and shining eyes, all the guests clung to the bow rails and watched the waves rush to meet them. Fine spray kicked up as the yacht gained speed, sending the ladies back from the rails to the chairs grouped behind the forecastle. Leaving Elizabeth to her own devices—she had strict instructions on what line to take—Caro linked her arm in Geoffrey’s and set out to stroll, determined to stay clear of Michael and Ferdinand both.
It was easy to pass among the ladies, to share the enjoyment as the yacht sped smoothly down the western shore of the estuary. Other than when they crossed the wake thrown up by a larger commercial ship, the journey was relatively calm.
While passing the spot along the port bow where Michael, Elizabeth , and the Driscoll girls stood chatting, Caro listened in.
Elizabeth , eyes shining, was holding forth. “The suppers are really nothing at all to comment on, but the dancing, especially close by the rotunda, is quite thrilling—one can never be sure whom one is rubbing shoulders with!”
Vauxhall. Caro smiled. The pleasure gardens did not rate highly among the political and diplomatic set. As she and Geoffrey moved on, she saw Elizabeth lean against a rope to steady herself; when she tried to straighten, the ruffle at her shoulder caught on the rough hemp. One of the Driscoll girls came to her rescue.
Elizabeth had already tried to open her parasol. Michael had had to grab it, wrestle it closed, then explain to her why she couldn’t use it.
Caro risked a quick peek at his face; he was looking a trifle harassed, even a touch grim. Subduing her smile, she glided on.
As Ferdinand had to play the host, it would be some time before he would be free to chase her. She was aware of his intent, but confident of her ability to tend him off. As Camden Sutcliffe’s much younger wife, she’d been the target of far more experienced seducers—rakes, roués, and licentious noblemen—for more than a decade; Ferdinand stood no chance with her. Indeed, no man stood any chance with her; she had absolutely no interest in what they were so eager to offer. In fact, they wouldn’t be so eager to offer if they knew…
Beside her, Geoffrey cleared his throat. “You know, m’dear, I’ve been meaning to ask.” From beneath his heavy brows, he studied her face. “Are you happy, Caro?”
She blinked.
“I mean,” Geoffrey rushed on, “you’re not that old and you haven’t opened up the London house and, well…” He shrugged. “I just wondered.”
So did she. Smiling lightly, she patted his arm. “I haven’t opened the house because I’m not sure what I want to do with it—whether I really want to live there at all.” That much she could explain. Indeed, voicing her feelings solidified the strange equivocation she felt about the house in Half Moon Street. She and Camden had used it as their London residence; located in the best part of town, it was neither too big nor too small, had a pleasant rear garden, and was filled with exquisite antiques, yet… “I’m honestly not sure.”
She liked the house, but now when she went there… something simply wasn’t right.
“I, ah, wondered whether you were thinking of marrying again.”
She met Geoffrey’s gaze. “No, I’m not. I have no intention of remarrying.”
He colored slightly, patted her hand as he looked forward. “It’s just
It certainly started out that way. Once Elizabeth , Michael, and Geoffrey were safe aboard, the gangplank was drawn in and the ropes untied; a trio of swarthy sailors swarmed up the rigging, then the sails were unfurled and the yacht leapt before the wind.
With “oohs” and “aahs” and shining eyes, all the guests clung to the bow rails and watched the waves rush to meet them. Fine spray kicked up as the yacht gained speed, sending the ladies back from the rails to the chairs grouped behind the forecastle. Leaving Elizabeth to her own devices—she had strict instructions on what line to take—Caro linked her arm in Geoffrey’s and set out to stroll, determined to stay clear of Michael and Ferdinand both.
It was easy to pass among the ladies, to share the enjoyment as the yacht sped smoothly down the western shore of the estuary. Other than when they crossed the wake thrown up by a larger commercial ship, the journey was relatively calm.
While passing the spot along the port bow where Michael, Elizabeth , and the Driscoll girls stood chatting, Caro listened in.
Elizabeth , eyes shining, was holding forth. “The suppers are really nothing at all to comment on, but the dancing, especially close by the rotunda, is quite thrilling—one can never be sure whom one is rubbing shoulders with!”
Vauxhall. Caro smiled. The pleasure gardens did not rate highly among the political and diplomatic set. As she and Geoffrey moved on, she saw Elizabeth lean against a rope to steady herself; when she tried to straighten, the ruffle at her shoulder caught on the rough hemp. One of the Driscoll girls came to her rescue.
Elizabeth had already tried to open her parasol. Michael had had to grab it, wrestle it closed, then explain to her why she couldn’t use it.
Caro risked a quick peek at his face; he was looking a trifle harassed, even a touch grim. Subduing her smile, she glided on.
As Ferdinand had to play the host, it would be some time before he would be free to chase her. She was aware of his intent, but confident of her ability to tend him off. As Camden Sutcliffe’s much younger wife, she’d been the target of far more experienced seducers—rakes, roués, and licentious noblemen—for more than a decade; Ferdinand stood no chance with her. Indeed, no man stood any chance with her; she had absolutely no interest in what they were so eager to offer. In fact, they wouldn’t be so eager to offer if they knew…
Beside her, Geoffrey cleared his throat. “You know, m’dear, I’ve been meaning to ask.” From beneath his heavy brows, he studied her face. “Are you happy, Caro?”
She blinked.
“I mean,” Geoffrey rushed on, “you’re not that old and you haven’t opened up the London house and, well…” He shrugged. “I just wondered.”
So did she. Smiling lightly, she patted his arm. “I haven’t opened the house because I’m not sure what I want to do with it—whether I really want to live there at all.” That much she could explain. Indeed, voicing her feelings solidified the strange equivocation she felt about the house in Half Moon Street. She and Camden had used it as their London residence; located in the best part of town, it was neither too big nor too small, had a pleasant rear garden, and was filled with exquisite antiques, yet… “I’m honestly not sure.”
She liked the house, but now when she went there… something simply wasn’t right.
“I, ah, wondered whether you were thinking of marrying again.”
She met Geoffrey’s gaze. “No, I’m not. I have no intention of remarrying.”
He colored slightly, patted her hand as he looked forward. “It’s just
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