Read Online Three French Hens by Lynsay Sands - Free Book Online

love with him. It was hard not to. He was as handsome as sin, with a voice like Scottish whisky, and kisses just as intoxicating. But even worse, he was a good man. She had been told as much of course, or if not exactly told, she had heard Lady Joan and her cousin discussing what they considered to be his flaws. Which to her were recommendations of his character. The fact that he worked so hard to help his people, that he was determined to better things for them … He put their needs before his own, even in matters of marriage. How could one not admire that?
    Aside from that, he had been nothing but gentleness itself in all his dealings with her. He was no backward oaf or country idiot. Or at least, if he was, Brinna couldn’t tell. Nay, he had treated her sweetly and well, staying near her side during Mass and throughout every day sinceChristmas morning. Despite Sabrina’s interference, she had felt protected. And he had not taken advantage of her reaction to those kisses in the woods, though the Good Lord knows he could have. Brinna suspected that had he wished it, she would have let the man throw her skirts up and have her right there at the side of the path, and all it would have taken was a couple more kisses. She suspected he had known as much too, but he hadn’t taken advantage of that fact. Nay, he was a good man. A man she could easily love with her whole heart. But if she gave her heart to him, it would be lost forever, for he was engaged to Joan, and he had to marry her, else he would lose the dower that his people needed so desperately.
    He couldn’t do that. She knew it. He wouldn’t do it. She had not known him long, but she knew already that he was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. His people needed that dower, so he would marry to attain it and Brinna had no hope of having him. She couldn’t go on with this charade. Couldn’t risk her heart so. Not even for Aggie and the possibility of seeing her comfortable. She would not do this anymore. She had to convince Joan to resign herself to this marriage, but to do that, she had to convince her that he wasn’t the backwards oaf someone had led her to believe he was.
    “Who is it that told you that Lord Thurleah was a country bumpkin and oaf?” Brinna asked determinedly, and Joan got a wary look about her suddenly.
    “Who?” she echoed faintly, then shrugged. “It must have been Sabrina. She questioned people on the journey here to find out more about him for me.”
    Brinna’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “But didn’t she say the day I became your maid that she hadn’t said that he was an oaf—just that he worked hard to improve his lot in life?”
    Joan shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “Then someone else must have mentioned it.”
    “Could it have been Phillip of Radfurn?” Brinna asked carefully, feeling triumph steal up within her as the other girl gave a guilty start, her eyes wide with shock. “It
was
him, wasn’t it? He is deliberately making trouble between the two of you. He visited you at Laythem, told you that Royce was a backward oaf, with no social graces, then went on to his cousin’s to tell him that you were a—”
    When she cut herself off abruptly, Joan’s gaze narrowed. “To tell him that I was what?”
    “Oh, well …” Now it was Brinna’s turn to avoid eye contact. “I don’t really recall exactly.”
    “You are lying,” Joan accused grimly. “What did he say?”
    Brinna hesitated, then decided to follow one of Aggie’s maxims. The one that went,
If
yer in a spot and don’t know what to do or say, honesty is yer best option
. “He told Lord Thurleah that you were a selfish, spoilt brat.”
    “What?” The blood rushed out of Joan’s face, leaving her looking slightly gray for a moment, then poured back in to color her red with rage. “Why, that—” Her eyes, cold and flinty, jerked to Brinna. “Change and return below,” she ordered coldly, moving to the door. “And no more riding or