Elizabeth Powell Read Online Free Page B

Penelope persisted. “We are in
London
, dearest, and surrounded by some of the most illustrious bachelors in England! We have dreamed of this for years. You can do so much better than an overpadded, gossipmongering oaf like Augustus Wingate.”
    “It’s not as though I have suitors throwing themselves headlong at my feet,” Jane replied, more sharply than she had intended. She saw her sister flinch, then softened. “I’m sorry, Pen, but you must understand. Papa wanted me to wed a man who would maintain the stables as they are and help me to run them. I cannot marry someone who would do as he pleases with the land and destroy everything that Papa worked so hard to achieve. Wellbourne means the world to me, and I would do anything to keep it… even marry Augustus.”
    “Will you be happy with him, dearest? Truly?”
    Jane shrugged. “Happy enough.”
    “Can you be certain of that?” Pen demanded. “Dearest, Mr. Wingate wants to marry you because his lands march with yours. He wants nothing more than to expand his holdings and line his own pockets.”
    “I know.” The skin around Jane’s eyes tightened, and her fingers curled convulsively around the smooth edge of the bench. Her sister had not meant the comment to be hurtful, but it stung just the same. No one glanced twiceat a drab little thing like her when Penelope’s beauty blazed so brightly. She realized from the moment he had proposed that her lands, not her looks, had attracted Augustus Wingate. “I am not looking to make a love match, Pen. My marriage to Augustus will give us both what we want. He will gain ownership of the property, but he has agreed not to interfere with my management of the stables. He barely knows a cart horse from a race horse.”
    A worried frown creased Penelope’s brow. “Can you trust him to follow through, dearest?”
    “We have an understanding.”
    “I wish you would reconsider; I hate to see you hold yourself so cheaply. There are other fish in the sea more amiable and broad-minded than Mr. Augustus Wingate.”
    Now that she thought about it, Augustus, with his slightly receding chin and round-eyed stare, did bear a rather pointed resemblance to a brown trout; it wasn’t too difficult to imagine him with gills and fins. Not the sort of husband she had imagined for herself, but she must be practical. As plain as she was, she doubted she would receive any other offers.
    Jane swallowed around the lump in her throat, then tried to smile. “We hardly need fret over my prospects, Pen, when we have our hands full with yours. At any rate, Mama would have my head if she thought I was trying to compete with you for a husband.”
    Penelope was not convinced. She frowned. “But—”
    “Please, Pen,” Jane entreated, “we have been over this before. Arguing serves no purpose; I have quite made up my mind.”
    “But at least consider someone else—”
    Sudden movement caught the corner of Jane’s eye; a prim, scowling visage disappeared behind a window onthe ground floor. She held up a warning hand to stem the flow of Penelope’s indignation.
    “We had best go inside,” she said in low tones. “McBride is becoming suspicious.”
    Pen’s eyes widened with alarm. “Do you think she knows what we are doing?”
    “I’m not sure, but I caught her eavesdropping outside your chamber door yesterday. She suspects we are up to something, and, knowing her, she will not rest until she discovers exactly what it is.”
    Pen paled. “If Mama finds out about the List, she will have fifty fits; she is still upset that I did not accept the Earl of Haydon.”
    Jane made a moue. “Even though he is seventy years old, gout-ridden, and smacks his lips whenever he sees you. For shame, Pen. He was such a catch, too.” Observing her sister’s distressed expression, she quickly added, “I was joking, you goose. All right, here is what we shall do: give me the List, then go back in the house. McBride is sure to follow you, so I will