Read Online Two Little Lies by Liz Carlyle - Free Book Online

not bullying me into this, Alice, if that is what you fear,” he answered. “With Father gone, I need to marry. I know that. I do not need Mamma to urge me on.”
    Alice pressed her lips together, as if something pained her. “But why now?” she asked. “Why Miss Hamilton, if you do not love her? Why can you not take a few months and look about you? Perhaps you will fall in love, Quin.”
    Quin studied her for a moment, then nudged his horse on. “I want what you had, Alice,” he said. “I want a marriage with someone who is compatible. With someone I can respect.”
    “You are persuaded, then,” she said sadly. “There is nothing I can say?”
    Quin shook his head and wondered what on earth his sister was thinking. His mother had hinted that Miss Hamilton would make him a worthy wife, yes. But he had been the one who had seized upon the notion. The announcement had already been printed in half the kingdom’s newspapers, and the ensuing ribald remarks in all of its scandal rags. Some forty friends, relations, and neighbors were coming to dinner tomorrow night in honor of his betrothal. There was no backing out of it now.
    To his relief, his sister changed the subject. “Great-aunt Charlotte has moved up from the gatehouse for a few days,” she said with false brightness. “Mamma thought it would be more enjoyable for her to be in the midst of all the excitement.”
    Quin was feeling a little like a bug beneath someone’s quizzing glass. “And so it will be, I’m sure,” he said. His great-aunt Charlotte was his grandfather’s sister, a prying, prodding, somewhat impertinent old lady whom he nonetheless admired, if for nothing more than her tenacious grip on life.
    “Mamma is fretting over Aunt Charlotte again,” Alice went on. “She seems to regard her as some sort of living link to Papa. I do hope she lives a good, long life.”
    “My God, Alice, she is ninety years old!” said Quin. “She has already lived a good, long life—two or three, by some counts.”
    They were approaching the gatehouse now. Alice tossed him a speaking glance. “You know what I mean, Quinten,” she said. “Mamma could not bear another loss just now. But yes, you are right. Aunt Charlotte isn’t getting any younger. Her heart is weak, you know.”
    “Charlotte shall likely outlive us all,” he muttered. Then, more loudly, “Look, Alice, at the size of that thing!” He pointed across the village road to the soaring roofline of the new mill, which sat behind the village, along the river.
    Alice gave him a bemused smile. “Did you not notice it when you arrived?”
    He had not. His mind, apparently, had been elsewhere.
    Soon they were dismounting along the edge of the pond, which Herndon had dammed for his vast operation. The waterwheel was turning at a brisk pace, making a rhythmic shush, shush, shush sound, whilst the deep vibrations of the grist wheels seemed to make the very earth tremble. The great mill had been designed to serve not just the estate, but the village—which also belonged to the earldom of Wynwood—as well as anyone in the surrounding countryside who wished to use it. For a small fee, of course. Thus the mill, Herndon had calculated, would pay for itself in five short years.
    Herndon was observing the carpenters as they made some finishing adjustments to the hinges of the double doors—doors wide enough to permit a cart to be backed fully inside the mill. Upon seeing Quin, however, Herndon touched his hat brim and came up the slope toward him. When he noticed Alice, however, his demeanor changed. He snatched off his hat and softened his normally businesslike expression.
    “Lady Alice. Wynwood.” He nodded to them in turn. “Come for a tour of the new mill?”
    “We have indeed,” said Quin.
    They went down the hill and entered the shadowy depths of the mill. Inside, the air was thick with dust, the floorboards were covered with grit, and the very soles of Quin’s boots seemed to vibrate as