and barked out an occasional reprimand. “Elizabeth and Anne never had so much trouble conversing.”
Olivia rolled her eyes when her mother wasn’t looking. “Elizabeth might not have, but men were put off by Anne’s forthrightness.”
Her mother gave an airy laugh. “You’re exaggerating. Anne married an earl.”
Was her mother’s memory damaged? “Because he liked her forthrightness.”
“Nonsense. Anne simply learned how to charm a man,” Her mother turned away from the unpacking to fix her with a glare. “I never would have dreamed I’d have two daughters married to earls. Now it is your time, and I do hope you won’t fail me.”
Olivia didn’t point out that Elizabeth was no longer married to an earl but a bookseller. Her mother liked to forget that, as well.
“Now, come,” her mother commanded, yanking Olivia’s book out of her hands as soon as she picked it up. “We can’t get you married if you hide away and read .”
She said “read” like it was a curse word. Olivia glanced back once, longingly, at the novel on the bed, then put her head down and followed her mother.
…
Olivia tugged at the pink ribbons on her bonnet as she watched some of the other guests participate in a game of lawn bowls. At the moment, her mother was too busy gossiping with the hostess to notice she had chosen to remain on the sidelines instead of throwing herself into the midst of the game.
Lord Ashworth had partnered with Lady Sarah—the beautiful, spoiled daughter of an earl—and they appeared to be having a delightful time marked by lots of smiling and giggles. Olivia wasn’t certain that spoke well of Ashworth, unless Lady Sarah was only charming around young, eligible men.
It was a definite possibility.
Olivia finally yanked off her bonnet. Something about the lining made her forehead itch. She was giving her head a vigorous scratching when a deep, male voice spoke right beside her ear.
“What have I missed?”
Taken off guard, she yelped and hopped back a step, then nearly overturned. Her arms windmilled out to save her balance, and she hit her companion hard across the chest. He gave a muffled grunt.
She wanted to die from embarrassment right there. She forced herself to turn and look at him, and that made things even worse.
Standing beside her was Mr. Cross, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. His dark golden hair was cut a little shorter than the current style and was downright tame compared to Lord Ashworth’s curls, but it still managed to look dashing. His eyes were a warm brown, his mouth wide, his chin strong and square.
She’d met him during the last London Season. She doubted he remembered her since she’d barely spoken in his presence before he’d been pulled away by someone else.
He didn’t have the reputation of a rake—yet—but it was said he was so charming and unattainable that he broke hearts wherever he went. He had made the mistake—or was it a devious tactic?—of saying to one of the matrons that, as he had a secure living and no desire for a title, he would only marry for true love. The matron had told everyone, and the ladies of the season had looked upon him as a sort of Golden Fleece. They all wanted him desperately. They all tried, and failed, to win his affection.
When he bowed and muttered Olivia’s name in greeting, proving that, through some fluke, he remembered her even though she’d spoken a total of four words to him, she backed away almost unconsciously. She was certainly not interested in having her heart broken.
“Forgive me,” she said with a curtsy, looking somewhere in the vicinity of his cravat.
“Skittish?”
“I…” Yes, she was skittish, but he really shouldn’t be going around whispering in people’s ears. “You rather sneaked up on me.” An accusatory note rang in her voice.
“Yes, I suppose I did. I apologize,” he said lightly, as though he didn’t really see what all the fuss was about. “Shall we join the
Olivia rolled her eyes when her mother wasn’t looking. “Elizabeth might not have, but men were put off by Anne’s forthrightness.”
Her mother gave an airy laugh. “You’re exaggerating. Anne married an earl.”
Was her mother’s memory damaged? “Because he liked her forthrightness.”
“Nonsense. Anne simply learned how to charm a man,” Her mother turned away from the unpacking to fix her with a glare. “I never would have dreamed I’d have two daughters married to earls. Now it is your time, and I do hope you won’t fail me.”
Olivia didn’t point out that Elizabeth was no longer married to an earl but a bookseller. Her mother liked to forget that, as well.
“Now, come,” her mother commanded, yanking Olivia’s book out of her hands as soon as she picked it up. “We can’t get you married if you hide away and read .”
She said “read” like it was a curse word. Olivia glanced back once, longingly, at the novel on the bed, then put her head down and followed her mother.
…
Olivia tugged at the pink ribbons on her bonnet as she watched some of the other guests participate in a game of lawn bowls. At the moment, her mother was too busy gossiping with the hostess to notice she had chosen to remain on the sidelines instead of throwing herself into the midst of the game.
Lord Ashworth had partnered with Lady Sarah—the beautiful, spoiled daughter of an earl—and they appeared to be having a delightful time marked by lots of smiling and giggles. Olivia wasn’t certain that spoke well of Ashworth, unless Lady Sarah was only charming around young, eligible men.
It was a definite possibility.
Olivia finally yanked off her bonnet. Something about the lining made her forehead itch. She was giving her head a vigorous scratching when a deep, male voice spoke right beside her ear.
“What have I missed?”
Taken off guard, she yelped and hopped back a step, then nearly overturned. Her arms windmilled out to save her balance, and she hit her companion hard across the chest. He gave a muffled grunt.
She wanted to die from embarrassment right there. She forced herself to turn and look at him, and that made things even worse.
Standing beside her was Mr. Cross, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. His dark golden hair was cut a little shorter than the current style and was downright tame compared to Lord Ashworth’s curls, but it still managed to look dashing. His eyes were a warm brown, his mouth wide, his chin strong and square.
She’d met him during the last London Season. She doubted he remembered her since she’d barely spoken in his presence before he’d been pulled away by someone else.
He didn’t have the reputation of a rake—yet—but it was said he was so charming and unattainable that he broke hearts wherever he went. He had made the mistake—or was it a devious tactic?—of saying to one of the matrons that, as he had a secure living and no desire for a title, he would only marry for true love. The matron had told everyone, and the ladies of the season had looked upon him as a sort of Golden Fleece. They all wanted him desperately. They all tried, and failed, to win his affection.
When he bowed and muttered Olivia’s name in greeting, proving that, through some fluke, he remembered her even though she’d spoken a total of four words to him, she backed away almost unconsciously. She was certainly not interested in having her heart broken.
“Forgive me,” she said with a curtsy, looking somewhere in the vicinity of his cravat.
“Skittish?”
“I…” Yes, she was skittish, but he really shouldn’t be going around whispering in people’s ears. “You rather sneaked up on me.” An accusatory note rang in her voice.
“Yes, I suppose I did. I apologize,” he said lightly, as though he didn’t really see what all the fuss was about. “Shall we join the
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