Read Online When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) by Elisa Braden - Free Book Online
Authors: Elisa Braden
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this evening?”
Alarmed at the possibility that they might be prevented from attending a function where he would be present, Viola looked to Aunt Marian’s sleep-pooched features. “She will accompany us if you and I must lift her into the carriage upon our backs.”
“Oh, dear. You are not vexed with Mama, are you?”
“No.” Viola calmly sipped her tea. “I am determined. Tannenbrook will be there.”
“You fancy him.”
Viola nearly rolled her eyes at her cousin’s tendency toward stating the obvious, but she managed to suppress the urge. Instead, she settled for a dry tone. “Rather a lot, actually.”
“He is not handsome.”
Viola disagreed, but she would not argue the point.
“Nor as amusing as my Lord Mochrie.”
Amusing. She supposed Penelope would consider the Scottish baron so, although Viola found him a frightful bore. Further, her cousin had not witnessed the subtle spark of humor in Tannenbrook’s eye, piercing the green like a shaft of sunlight through a woodland canopy. He found humor in odd things, such as Lord Reedham’s obsession with snuff and Lady Jersey’s nickname—Silence, in reference to the woman’s unceasing chatter. Viola often had to stifle her urge to smile and laugh along whenever she spotted the small quirk of his lips.
“And he is quite … large.”
Heat washed her skin. She sighed quietly and closed her eyes, picturing him as he’d been earlier that day, gripping his horse with his thighs, balancing his great, muscled bulk as he deftly grasped the reins of the speeding vehicle. “Yes,” she breathed, her heart even now pounding as the horses’ hooves had done. “He is.”
Every time she saw him, her fascination grew. Charlotte had cautioned her against it, saying he did not bend easily to another’s will, and that Viola was entirely too accustomed to having her own way. That last bit had stung, but Charlotte favored honesty over politeness.
“Well,” continued Penelope, focusing on rethreading her embroidery needle with green floss. “One cannot deny he is gallant. As is Lord Atherbourne. Now, handsome —oh my, yes. That one is positively splendid. Pity he is already married. Still, Lady Atherbourne is most pleasant, as I recall.”
A number of the gentlemen who routinely sought Viola’s favor were handsome, too. Viola did not want their sort of handsome. She did not want fawning compliments or elegant brows or thin, spindly shoulders. She wanted Tannenbrook.
“Penelope.” Viola plastered a bright grin upon her face as her cousin glanced up. “I believe I shall wear the new gown.”
“To the Pennywhistle affair? Oh, but it is only a supper. Surely a ball would be more fitting.”
“It is time Lord Tannenbrook comprehends the seriousness of my regard.”
Blinking slowly, Penelope lowered her embroidery hoop to her lap. “Er—Viola?”
“I must persuade him that we are ideally matched. And this evening, I shall begin that effort in earnest.”
“Oh, I should think—”
Aunt Marian snorted and jerked as a knock sounded upon the paneled drawing room doors. “What—what is all that banging about?” she said, dabbing the usual bit of moisture from the corner of her mouth and pulling herself upright on the sofa.
Owens, their butler-cum-footman-cum-valet, entered the room accompanied by an unwelcome, unannounced guest. “Mrs. Cumberland to see you, miss.”
The woman was ungainly. Tall and mannish with a florid complexion and dark eyebrows that did not match her white-streaked, wheat-colored hair. Additionally, she always wore gray and white. Gray pelisse, white gown. Gray spencer, white gown. White turban, gray gown. Very well, that one had been silver. But now, standing here in Viola’s drawing room, the woman was once again garbed in gray—a dark-gray riding habit with frog closures across the bosom, to be precise. Viola would wager every shilling in her reticule that Mrs. Cumberland wore a white gown beneath the lightweight wool.
Alarmed at the possibility that they might be prevented from attending a function where he would be present, Viola looked to Aunt Marian’s sleep-pooched features. “She will accompany us if you and I must lift her into the carriage upon our backs.”
“Oh, dear. You are not vexed with Mama, are you?”
“No.” Viola calmly sipped her tea. “I am determined. Tannenbrook will be there.”
“You fancy him.”
Viola nearly rolled her eyes at her cousin’s tendency toward stating the obvious, but she managed to suppress the urge. Instead, she settled for a dry tone. “Rather a lot, actually.”
“He is not handsome.”
Viola disagreed, but she would not argue the point.
“Nor as amusing as my Lord Mochrie.”
Amusing. She supposed Penelope would consider the Scottish baron so, although Viola found him a frightful bore. Further, her cousin had not witnessed the subtle spark of humor in Tannenbrook’s eye, piercing the green like a shaft of sunlight through a woodland canopy. He found humor in odd things, such as Lord Reedham’s obsession with snuff and Lady Jersey’s nickname—Silence, in reference to the woman’s unceasing chatter. Viola often had to stifle her urge to smile and laugh along whenever she spotted the small quirk of his lips.
“And he is quite … large.”
Heat washed her skin. She sighed quietly and closed her eyes, picturing him as he’d been earlier that day, gripping his horse with his thighs, balancing his great, muscled bulk as he deftly grasped the reins of the speeding vehicle. “Yes,” she breathed, her heart even now pounding as the horses’ hooves had done. “He is.”
Every time she saw him, her fascination grew. Charlotte had cautioned her against it, saying he did not bend easily to another’s will, and that Viola was entirely too accustomed to having her own way. That last bit had stung, but Charlotte favored honesty over politeness.
“Well,” continued Penelope, focusing on rethreading her embroidery needle with green floss. “One cannot deny he is gallant. As is Lord Atherbourne. Now, handsome —oh my, yes. That one is positively splendid. Pity he is already married. Still, Lady Atherbourne is most pleasant, as I recall.”
A number of the gentlemen who routinely sought Viola’s favor were handsome, too. Viola did not want their sort of handsome. She did not want fawning compliments or elegant brows or thin, spindly shoulders. She wanted Tannenbrook.
“Penelope.” Viola plastered a bright grin upon her face as her cousin glanced up. “I believe I shall wear the new gown.”
“To the Pennywhistle affair? Oh, but it is only a supper. Surely a ball would be more fitting.”
“It is time Lord Tannenbrook comprehends the seriousness of my regard.”
Blinking slowly, Penelope lowered her embroidery hoop to her lap. “Er—Viola?”
“I must persuade him that we are ideally matched. And this evening, I shall begin that effort in earnest.”
“Oh, I should think—”
Aunt Marian snorted and jerked as a knock sounded upon the paneled drawing room doors. “What—what is all that banging about?” she said, dabbing the usual bit of moisture from the corner of her mouth and pulling herself upright on the sofa.
Owens, their butler-cum-footman-cum-valet, entered the room accompanied by an unwelcome, unannounced guest. “Mrs. Cumberland to see you, miss.”
The woman was ungainly. Tall and mannish with a florid complexion and dark eyebrows that did not match her white-streaked, wheat-colored hair. Additionally, she always wore gray and white. Gray pelisse, white gown. Gray spencer, white gown. White turban, gray gown. Very well, that one had been silver. But now, standing here in Viola’s drawing room, the woman was once again garbed in gray—a dark-gray riding habit with frog closures across the bosom, to be precise. Viola would wager every shilling in her reticule that Mrs. Cumberland wore a white gown beneath the lightweight wool.
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