Read Online The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
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at Mary. “But that will leave you at home all alone.”
“Only alone in the sense that none of the family will be in residence.” Mary waved at Hudson, standing by the sideboard. “I’ll have the staff all round while here, and Amanda and Martin and Amelia and Luc are just a few streets away.”
“Still . . .” Henrietta sighed. “I wouldn’t go, but James must, and it really would be better if I got some idea of the situation at Whitestone Hall before I arrive as the new lady of the manor.”
“It’s too good an opportunity to pass up,” Mary assured her. She took a bite of her toast, chewed, then said, “I truly can’t see why you’re so anxious. Mama and Papa will be back the day after tomorrow. Amanda is going to accompany me to Lady Hopetoun’s musicale this evening, and Amelia will do duty at Lady Bracewell’s tomorrow night, and then Mama will be back and all will roll on as usual. There’s absolutely no reason you shouldn’t go, and Simon and Portia, too.”
Henrietta studied Mary’s face. “Well, if you’re sure.” Henrietta held up a hand. “And yes, I can see that you are—it was a rhetorical statement.”
Mary grinned. “So when do you leave?”
“Within the hour.” Henrietta glanced at the clock. “Oh, blast!” She picked up her teacup and drained it, then tossed her napkin on the table and rose. “I have to hurry.” She met Mary’s eyes. “Be good and take care.”
Mary laughed and waved her off. “Just go!”
Henrietta whirled and went.
Left to her own amusements, Mary took her time savoring her tea, then ate a second slice of toast and jam.
While she considered just where her plan to find her hero currently stood.
Her instinctive reaction to Ryder’s interference was to redouble her efforts and even more adamantly forge ahead on her predetermined path, to cling even more tenaciously to her direction. But she was growing too old to react thus blindly to opposition; she hoped she was growing wise enough to acknowledge that sometimes she might not be entirely correct in her assumptions.
And, in truth, it wasn’t Ryder’s behavior the previous night that was leading her to question her until-now unwavering certainty but Randolph’s. He’d all but pushed her into Ryder’s arms and run away.
Definitely not hero-worthy behavior.
The more she dwelled on that moment, the less amused she was.
Setting down her teacup, she looked down at her chest—at the necklace visible above the scooped neckline of her pale blue morning gown. The rose quartz pendant dangling between her breasts wasn’t visible, but she could feel it, sense its weight.
If, now you’re wearing the necklace, you don’t feel something special for this mystery gentleman of yours, if he doesn’t sweep you off your feet, or get under your skin to the point you simply can’t shrug him off, then please, promise me you’ll listen to The Lady’s advice.
Her cousin Angelica’s words, uttered at Henrietta and James’s engagement ball—the first evening she’d worn the necklace. Of all her cousins, Angelica, also the youngest of one branch of the family, was most like Mary in temperament; everyone acknowledged that. The necklace had worked for Angelica, and Mary still believed it would work for her.
But with Randolph she’d felt nothing beyond exasperation arising out of frustrated expectations.
That didn’t necessarily mean that Randolph was not her one true hero, but he certainly wasn’t now, and, it seemed, might not attain that status for years. . . .
One hand rising to trace the necklace, she whispered, “I’m not going to wait years, and that with no guarantee.” After several moments of thinking, of absentmindedly tapping a fingernail against one of the amethyst beads, she grimaced and lowered her hand. “I have to accept that Randolph might not be my hero. I can use tonight’s musicale—at which Ryder will definitely not appear, thank God—to test Randolph one last time,
“Only alone in the sense that none of the family will be in residence.” Mary waved at Hudson, standing by the sideboard. “I’ll have the staff all round while here, and Amanda and Martin and Amelia and Luc are just a few streets away.”
“Still . . .” Henrietta sighed. “I wouldn’t go, but James must, and it really would be better if I got some idea of the situation at Whitestone Hall before I arrive as the new lady of the manor.”
“It’s too good an opportunity to pass up,” Mary assured her. She took a bite of her toast, chewed, then said, “I truly can’t see why you’re so anxious. Mama and Papa will be back the day after tomorrow. Amanda is going to accompany me to Lady Hopetoun’s musicale this evening, and Amelia will do duty at Lady Bracewell’s tomorrow night, and then Mama will be back and all will roll on as usual. There’s absolutely no reason you shouldn’t go, and Simon and Portia, too.”
Henrietta studied Mary’s face. “Well, if you’re sure.” Henrietta held up a hand. “And yes, I can see that you are—it was a rhetorical statement.”
Mary grinned. “So when do you leave?”
“Within the hour.” Henrietta glanced at the clock. “Oh, blast!” She picked up her teacup and drained it, then tossed her napkin on the table and rose. “I have to hurry.” She met Mary’s eyes. “Be good and take care.”
Mary laughed and waved her off. “Just go!”
Henrietta whirled and went.
Left to her own amusements, Mary took her time savoring her tea, then ate a second slice of toast and jam.
While she considered just where her plan to find her hero currently stood.
Her instinctive reaction to Ryder’s interference was to redouble her efforts and even more adamantly forge ahead on her predetermined path, to cling even more tenaciously to her direction. But she was growing too old to react thus blindly to opposition; she hoped she was growing wise enough to acknowledge that sometimes she might not be entirely correct in her assumptions.
And, in truth, it wasn’t Ryder’s behavior the previous night that was leading her to question her until-now unwavering certainty but Randolph’s. He’d all but pushed her into Ryder’s arms and run away.
Definitely not hero-worthy behavior.
The more she dwelled on that moment, the less amused she was.
Setting down her teacup, she looked down at her chest—at the necklace visible above the scooped neckline of her pale blue morning gown. The rose quartz pendant dangling between her breasts wasn’t visible, but she could feel it, sense its weight.
If, now you’re wearing the necklace, you don’t feel something special for this mystery gentleman of yours, if he doesn’t sweep you off your feet, or get under your skin to the point you simply can’t shrug him off, then please, promise me you’ll listen to The Lady’s advice.
Her cousin Angelica’s words, uttered at Henrietta and James’s engagement ball—the first evening she’d worn the necklace. Of all her cousins, Angelica, also the youngest of one branch of the family, was most like Mary in temperament; everyone acknowledged that. The necklace had worked for Angelica, and Mary still believed it would work for her.
But with Randolph she’d felt nothing beyond exasperation arising out of frustrated expectations.
That didn’t necessarily mean that Randolph was not her one true hero, but he certainly wasn’t now, and, it seemed, might not attain that status for years. . . .
One hand rising to trace the necklace, she whispered, “I’m not going to wait years, and that with no guarantee.” After several moments of thinking, of absentmindedly tapping a fingernail against one of the amethyst beads, she grimaced and lowered her hand. “I have to accept that Randolph might not be my hero. I can use tonight’s musicale—at which Ryder will definitely not appear, thank God—to test Randolph one last time,
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