Read Online The Lie and the Lady by Kate Noble - Free Book Online

mentioned the opposite sex once. But there wasn’t a nineteen-year-old in the world who didn’t at least ponder the subject.
    And instantly, Leticia knew she had struck gold. Because while Margaret had been blushing at the praise Leticia had ladled upon her, she turned positively scarlet at the mention of men.
    â€œUnless of course . . . your attention has already been captured,” Leticia said, a smile taking over her features. And she was rewarded by watching Margaret turn a deeper red still. “Oh, it has . . .” she said in a whisper, conspiring.
    Margaret hunched over so far she looked as if she was trying to hide inside herself. “My attention hasn’t been captured. I . . . I just have no desire to go to London, that’s all.”
    â€œNow, Margaret, don’t be silly,” Leticia replied. “Every girl wishes to go to London. And it’s perfectly all right to have a beau. Or beaux! In fact, it’s expected.”
    â€œHe’s not my beau.”
    â€œSo there is someone.” Leticia grinned, and Margaret covered her face with her hands, realizing her misstep. “Now, this is something for which you might find a friend useful. Someone you can talk to about him. And who can help arrange circumstances where you might meet, and flirt . . . or dance.”
    Margaret seemed to consider that. So Leticia decided to go for the ultimate confidence.
    â€œNow, who is he? Have we been introduced?”
    Margaret’s head shot up. “I’m not telling you that!”
    â€œWell I should like to know who it is so I don’t make a cake of everything with him accidentally. Forewarned is forearmed, after all.”
    â€œOh God . . .” Margaret buried her face in her hands again. But Leticia had the small suspicion that the girl was laughing.
    â€œAppropriate for a churchyard, but not necessarily in this context,” Leticia concluded. “All right, you don’t have to tell me who he is. Instead, I will guess. I assume he’s a local gentleman, given your reluctance to travel, and therefore is quite likely to be here now. Could it be Mr. Fisher? No, too old for you, I should think. And attorneys have no appreciation for growing things. The vicar is married . . . there’s a young man over there by the gate, he’s quite tall and looks handsome . . .”
    At that Margaret turned a red so deep it was a wonder her skin remained—her insides practically being worn on her outsides.
    â€œThat’s him, isn’t it?” Leticia felt triumphant. “That’s . . .”
    And suddenly, Leticia felt all the blood drain from her face.
    It was as if the ground gave way beneath her feet and left her grasping for purchase. Because approaching from the entrance to the churchyard, walking with the older woman they had passed on the road before (Helen, was it?), was the one man who could undo her tenuous grasp on the life she was so close to having here.
    And what’s more, he saw her too.
    His name is Mr. John Turner,” Margaret said in a small voice, her cheeks remaining scarlet. “He owns the windmill.”

5
    J ohn Turner was not someone who could be easily surprised. After all, he’d spent time on the battlefield, where one was always on edge, waiting for the next surprise in the form of cannon fire. Then he’d spent several years as the secretary to his friend the Earl of Ashby—and what Ned got up to when he was bored was enough to keep a clairvoyant guessing.
    Finally, John Turner had faced the accidental burning of his family business—not once, but twice. So, suffice to say, while John Turner might have had the worst luck known to man, he had the benefit of never, ever being surprised by anything.
    Until now.
    Because for some reason, Leticia, Lady Churzy—his Letty—was standing under the great oak tree in St.