Read Online With This Kiss by Victoria Lynne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victoria Lynne
Ads: Link
pulling it open. Morgan stepped out first, then turned and assisted Julia. They stood together in silence for a moment, contemplating the broad steps that led to the front door.
“I believe we can dispense with the customary carrying of the bride over the threshold,” he announced.
The implication that she had been expecting him to do exactly that was clear. Biting back a stab of annoyance, she matched his cool tone. “I would be exceedingly grateful.”
“In that case, shall we?”
Julia lifted her skirts and wordlessly preceded him up the stairs. Once she reached the entrance, the door swung open almost instantly. Waiting within the main foyer was a small army of servants, all immaculately dressed and standing in the tight, orderly formation of troops waiting to be reviewed.
She arched one brow and shot a silent, questioning glance at Morgan.
He shrugged. “I thought we might see to the introductions straightaway.”
“How very efficient.”
Taking her words for assent, he addressed his waiting staff. “I present your new mistress, my bride, Viscountess Barlowe. I would have you serve her as you would serve me. What she wishes is what I would wish. What she would have done is what I would have done. Please her, and you will have pleased me.”
His words were brisk and concise. But to Julia, who hadn’t the faintest notion of what her place would be in his household, they were deeply reassuring. At her request, his remarks were followed by personal introductions. Aside from the few faces she recognized from her earlier encounters, she knew she couldn’t possibly remember the name of every housemaid, parlormaid, scullery-maid, chambermaid, and dairymaid; nor that of every footman, butler, cook, groomsman, and gardener. But she felt the attempt to offer a personal greeting to those with whom she would be living was at least a step in the right direction.
The introductions completed, the servants went back to their duties. “I expected your family would have joined us by now,” he said.
“Yes.” She cast an anxious glance out the front window, but there was no sign of the second coach. Facing the inevitable, she let out a sigh and sent Morgan an apologetic smile. “Given that he has temporarily retained a private coach, Uncle Cyrus may have decided to run a few errands before joining us.” The obvious implication — that her uncle was too miserly to lease a coach of his own, selfish enough to take advantage of Morgan’s hospitality, and rude enough to keep them waiting for their own wedding breakfast — was undeniably true. But stating it so baldly did not shed the best light on the situation. Therefore she added hastily, “With this heat it’s so difficult to find a coach for hire. I’m sure you understand.”
Judging by Morgan’s expression, he did understand. All too well. But his only reply was “If we are to wait, perhaps we would be more comfortable doing so on the veranda.”
He led her through a maze of long hallways and elegant rooms to an informal back parlor that was filled with chintz-covered sofas, enormous bookcases, and pretty floral rugs. A set of tall French doors at the far end of the room opened onto a shady veranda that overlooked the gardens below. She moved immediately to the banister, leaning out over the rail to more fully enjoy a soft breeze that chose just that moment to stir. Unfortunately the breeze died away as quickly as it had erupted, leaving nothing but the stifling warmth of the day.
Behind her, Morgan asked, “Would you care for tea or something cooler?”
She turned to see one of the parlormaids she had met earlier standing just outside the glass doors, waiting for her reply. Julia sent her a soft smile. “Something cool, thank you.”
The maid gave a brief curtsy and turned to obey. As the girl left, Morgan abandoned his place near the rear of the veranda and moved closer, positioning himself to receive the shade of a potted palm. A slight frown
“I believe we can dispense with the customary carrying of the bride over the threshold,” he announced.
The implication that she had been expecting him to do exactly that was clear. Biting back a stab of annoyance, she matched his cool tone. “I would be exceedingly grateful.”
“In that case, shall we?”
Julia lifted her skirts and wordlessly preceded him up the stairs. Once she reached the entrance, the door swung open almost instantly. Waiting within the main foyer was a small army of servants, all immaculately dressed and standing in the tight, orderly formation of troops waiting to be reviewed.
She arched one brow and shot a silent, questioning glance at Morgan.
He shrugged. “I thought we might see to the introductions straightaway.”
“How very efficient.”
Taking her words for assent, he addressed his waiting staff. “I present your new mistress, my bride, Viscountess Barlowe. I would have you serve her as you would serve me. What she wishes is what I would wish. What she would have done is what I would have done. Please her, and you will have pleased me.”
His words were brisk and concise. But to Julia, who hadn’t the faintest notion of what her place would be in his household, they were deeply reassuring. At her request, his remarks were followed by personal introductions. Aside from the few faces she recognized from her earlier encounters, she knew she couldn’t possibly remember the name of every housemaid, parlormaid, scullery-maid, chambermaid, and dairymaid; nor that of every footman, butler, cook, groomsman, and gardener. But she felt the attempt to offer a personal greeting to those with whom she would be living was at least a step in the right direction.
The introductions completed, the servants went back to their duties. “I expected your family would have joined us by now,” he said.
“Yes.” She cast an anxious glance out the front window, but there was no sign of the second coach. Facing the inevitable, she let out a sigh and sent Morgan an apologetic smile. “Given that he has temporarily retained a private coach, Uncle Cyrus may have decided to run a few errands before joining us.” The obvious implication — that her uncle was too miserly to lease a coach of his own, selfish enough to take advantage of Morgan’s hospitality, and rude enough to keep them waiting for their own wedding breakfast — was undeniably true. But stating it so baldly did not shed the best light on the situation. Therefore she added hastily, “With this heat it’s so difficult to find a coach for hire. I’m sure you understand.”
Judging by Morgan’s expression, he did understand. All too well. But his only reply was “If we are to wait, perhaps we would be more comfortable doing so on the veranda.”
He led her through a maze of long hallways and elegant rooms to an informal back parlor that was filled with chintz-covered sofas, enormous bookcases, and pretty floral rugs. A set of tall French doors at the far end of the room opened onto a shady veranda that overlooked the gardens below. She moved immediately to the banister, leaning out over the rail to more fully enjoy a soft breeze that chose just that moment to stir. Unfortunately the breeze died away as quickly as it had erupted, leaving nothing but the stifling warmth of the day.
Behind her, Morgan asked, “Would you care for tea or something cooler?”
She turned to see one of the parlormaids she had met earlier standing just outside the glass doors, waiting for her reply. Julia sent her a soft smile. “Something cool, thank you.”
The maid gave a brief curtsy and turned to obey. As the girl left, Morgan abandoned his place near the rear of the veranda and moved closer, positioning himself to receive the shade of a potted palm. A slight frown
Similar Books
