A Marquess for Christmas (Scandalous Seasons Book 5) Read Online Free Page B

Marshville had poured into her ear.
    Or so she’d thought.
    Patrina stopped in front of her room and pressed the door handle. She slipped inside then kicked the door closed with the sole of her boot. Only now, as she stood and stared at her rather cool, lonely chambers, she confronted the ugly possibility perhaps there was some defect in her character that had deterred suitors. Perhaps they’d seen her as Poppy had claimed—an un-laughing, un-fun sort.
    Just as the severe Marquess of Beaufort.
    Patrina crossed over to the floor-length window. She tugged back the ivory brocade curtains and peered down into the empty streets below. Snow fell, thick and heavy outside and blanketed the paved roads in a pure, white covering.
    As she’d confronted the marquess, she’d done so with no small trace of condescension. How dare he and his unruly children shatter the small time she stole for herself, away from the pitying gazes of her family members? She’d judged him as a cold, unfeeling sort. After Poppy’s recent charge, however, she was forced to wonder about his story, this man who’d spoken so coldly of the loss of his wife. Still, for all his blusteriness, he’d marched back over to inquire after her. He had offered her his assistance when she’d already judged him and found him wanting as a singularly pompous ass.
    Patrina let the curtain go and it fluttered back into place. In actuality, mayhap she and the Marquess of Beaufort were more similar than she even cared to admit to herself. Much like Patrina, this man, who’d initially earned her scorn and disdain had a story. Some great pain was surely to blame for the marquess’ seething coldness. And she, who’d not moved outside her own self-misery these past months was suddenly besieged by a desire to know more about the darkly aloof marquess.
    Oh, dear.
     

Chapter 4
    Patrina stole down North Old Bond Street, the blessed peace of her own presence her only company. In spite of her sisters’ needling and attempts to wheedle more details about her morning forays into Hyde Park, she had snuck free.
    Her expedition to the bustling shops had little to do with a desire for any fripperies for herself, but rather for her sisters. “Don’t know how to do anything fun, do I?” she said softly to herself. Did un-fun sisters sneak off to Bond Street for a special shopping outing? Why, it seemed like just the fun sort of thing a young lady who laughed a lot would enjoy doing.
    She paused beside a random shop front and stared into the window of what was a bakeshop. She eyed the confectioneries within. The door opened and set a tiny bell a-jingle. The sweet, syrupy scent of baked treats and mince pies wafted through the crisp air. Her mouth watered. She took a step toward the door when her gaze snagged upon the image of a small girl in the windowpane. Something seemed so very familiar about the slight girl’s furtive movements. Only she didn’t know any—
    Patrina’s eyes widened. Mince pies forgotten, she turned to stare curiously out across the street to where the little girl—the same one who’d hurled snowballs at her only yesterday morn--moved with deliberate steps onward to the Bond Street Bazaar. The large one-room establishment that featured numerous shops and vendors within its walls, popular during inclement weather and the colder months. The little girl, Charlotte, entered the bazaar, otherwise known as the Western Exchange.
    She glanced around in search of the golden-haired, somber marquess, or even the troublesome little boy. Only, no one followed on the girl’s heels. Not a father. Or brother. Or nursemaid. Patrina had engaged in quite enough mischievous behavior as a young child, and witnessed a fair share of it from her sisters to recognize the makings of trouble.
    She cast a longing glance back at the cherry tarts and mince pies. And then set out across the street. Her maid hurried to match the pace. As Patrina crossed the pavement, two passing ladies