Read Online When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) by Elisa Braden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elisa Braden
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but not bad. Then, there is Lord Reedham’s son. The teeth are a bit unfortunate, but deep pockets compensate for any number of ills, I daresay.”
Again, she smiled as though he’d said something silly. In fact, this was not the first time he’d advised looking elsewhere in her husband hunt. For that matter, he was not the first person to suggest cultivating alternatives—Charlotte had done so only days ago. But, as Viola had explained, her hunt was not for a husband in general. If it had been, she could have landed a duke’s son on the first outing of her first season. No, her hunt was for a particular husband. Tannenbrook. Thus far, her Tannenbrook Hunt, as she’d dubbed it, had met with only minor success—an introduction, a handful of “chance” encounters, such as today’s serendipitous meeting. But she had only just begun her pursuit.
“Mark my words, Papa. I shall be Lady Tannenbrook before the leaves begin to fall.”
Papa smiled, his eyes soft and fond. “If that is what you want, then I’ve little doubt. He’d have to be mad to resist you, my beautiful girl.”
*~*~*
CHAPTER FOUR
“Size is not important. Cleverness. Character. These are the qualities one must seek in a … oh, very well. It matters. Are you happy, now?” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Berne after enduring said lady’s unseemly laughter during a discussion of potential matches and desirable attributes.
He was ignoring her. Sitting right there, four chairs away, across the Pennywhistle dining table, he had not looked at her once. Not once.
“Best plan a trip to Angelo’s, Bennett,” Lord Reedham’s son, who sat to her left, sneered at the gentleman on her right. “Your rapier could use some sharpening.”
“Rapier? Perhaps your sword is deserving of that description. Mine is more nearly a broadsword, I daresay.”
Viola set her spoon precisely next to her small lump of strawberry trifle and gathered her patience.
They had been at it for the entire meal—two hours of incessant sparring and insufferable boasting with her playing the bone between two dogs. She was tempted to dump the silver tureen of béchamel sauce over both their heads.
I did not wear my new gown for this, she thought . No, she had worn layers of delicately embroidered indigo silk for him . Her eyes wandered again across the table to Tannenbrook’s shadowed crags and flexing jaw. Tonight, he wore gray. Dark gray and white. Across those broad shoulders, somehow, the colors were not objectionable in the slightest. But he refused to look at her, casually taking another bite of fish and nodding at something Mrs. Pennywhistle said. Of course, she’d noticed how he had fled from her in the hour before dinner, escaping the drawing room to who-knew-where until she’d been forced to hide behind Charlotte’s tall form to keep him from leaving Pennywhistle House altogether. Thankfully, her quarry had calmed and stayed for the fish and trifle and poorly salted white soup.
“… stalked a stag with a crown at least seven feet in breadth.”
“In Yorkshire. A broad tale, indeed.”
“The trophy is displayed in my father’s library there. Perhaps you will find his descriptions persuasive, as I am certain your hired post-chaise would make Yorkshire a costly journey.”
The none-too-subtle jab at Mr. Bennett’s financial difficulties made Viola long for a return of the sword comparison. “Gentlemen, have you contemplated a bout at Mr. Jackson’s boxing saloon? I understand the sport is most refreshing to the spirits.”
Reedham’s greedy eyes settled upon her lips. “Miss Darling, you say the most amusing things. Females are not permitted at Gentleman Jackson’s, of course.”
Bennett took a drink of his wine. “Would that they were. I should like for Miss Darling to witness my victory.”
The two men continued to ignore her by attempting to astound her with ever more florid descriptions of their superior
Again, she smiled as though he’d said something silly. In fact, this was not the first time he’d advised looking elsewhere in her husband hunt. For that matter, he was not the first person to suggest cultivating alternatives—Charlotte had done so only days ago. But, as Viola had explained, her hunt was not for a husband in general. If it had been, she could have landed a duke’s son on the first outing of her first season. No, her hunt was for a particular husband. Tannenbrook. Thus far, her Tannenbrook Hunt, as she’d dubbed it, had met with only minor success—an introduction, a handful of “chance” encounters, such as today’s serendipitous meeting. But she had only just begun her pursuit.
“Mark my words, Papa. I shall be Lady Tannenbrook before the leaves begin to fall.”
Papa smiled, his eyes soft and fond. “If that is what you want, then I’ve little doubt. He’d have to be mad to resist you, my beautiful girl.”
*~*~*
CHAPTER FOUR
“Size is not important. Cleverness. Character. These are the qualities one must seek in a … oh, very well. It matters. Are you happy, now?” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Berne after enduring said lady’s unseemly laughter during a discussion of potential matches and desirable attributes.
He was ignoring her. Sitting right there, four chairs away, across the Pennywhistle dining table, he had not looked at her once. Not once.
“Best plan a trip to Angelo’s, Bennett,” Lord Reedham’s son, who sat to her left, sneered at the gentleman on her right. “Your rapier could use some sharpening.”
“Rapier? Perhaps your sword is deserving of that description. Mine is more nearly a broadsword, I daresay.”
Viola set her spoon precisely next to her small lump of strawberry trifle and gathered her patience.
They had been at it for the entire meal—two hours of incessant sparring and insufferable boasting with her playing the bone between two dogs. She was tempted to dump the silver tureen of béchamel sauce over both their heads.
I did not wear my new gown for this, she thought . No, she had worn layers of delicately embroidered indigo silk for him . Her eyes wandered again across the table to Tannenbrook’s shadowed crags and flexing jaw. Tonight, he wore gray. Dark gray and white. Across those broad shoulders, somehow, the colors were not objectionable in the slightest. But he refused to look at her, casually taking another bite of fish and nodding at something Mrs. Pennywhistle said. Of course, she’d noticed how he had fled from her in the hour before dinner, escaping the drawing room to who-knew-where until she’d been forced to hide behind Charlotte’s tall form to keep him from leaving Pennywhistle House altogether. Thankfully, her quarry had calmed and stayed for the fish and trifle and poorly salted white soup.
“… stalked a stag with a crown at least seven feet in breadth.”
“In Yorkshire. A broad tale, indeed.”
“The trophy is displayed in my father’s library there. Perhaps you will find his descriptions persuasive, as I am certain your hired post-chaise would make Yorkshire a costly journey.”
The none-too-subtle jab at Mr. Bennett’s financial difficulties made Viola long for a return of the sword comparison. “Gentlemen, have you contemplated a bout at Mr. Jackson’s boxing saloon? I understand the sport is most refreshing to the spirits.”
Reedham’s greedy eyes settled upon her lips. “Miss Darling, you say the most amusing things. Females are not permitted at Gentleman Jackson’s, of course.”
Bennett took a drink of his wine. “Would that they were. I should like for Miss Darling to witness my victory.”
The two men continued to ignore her by attempting to astound her with ever more florid descriptions of their superior
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