How to Propose to a Prince Read Online Free Page B

seated himself, adjusted his auburn wig upon his head. “Now that you understand that the prince likely intends to marry Charlotte, and not you, may we get on with the business of finding you a proper match?”
    Elizabeth lowered her head and peered at the tea leaves swirling in the bottom of her cup.Despite mounting evidence to the contrary, she knew she had dreamt the future. How could she be expected to simply ignore her prophetic dream and seek a match with another? It was an impossibility.
    The timbre of Gallantine’s voice changed, and belatedly Elizabeth realized that he was still addressing her.
    “There is a private ball at Almack’s tomorrow evening,” he was saying. “The guest list is quite the talk of Mayfair, you know.”
    Elizabeth glanced up from her teacup and nodded. “We are attending. I remember. Lady Upperton has already selected the emerald satin gown for me to wear for the occasion. Madame Devy promised to have it delivered on the morrow.”
    Gallantine slapped his hands to his knobby old knees and pushed upon them while leaning forward for the momentum to stand upright. “Perfect. There is someone Lord Lotharian, Lilywhite, and I would like for you to meet.”
    Elizabeth glanced down again and focused on the curls of steam rising from her cup as she rolled her eyes. Good heavens . She had told them her course was clear. She would marry the prince. There was no doubt in her mind.
    Why do they persist with this senseless matchmaking? Have I not made my future perfectly plain?
    Evidently not.
    She looked at Lord Gallantine, who seemed quite pleased with himself at that moment, proud at whatever match he, Lord Lotharian, and Lilywhite had planned, no doubt with the help Lady Upperton, their female cohort in this constant matchmaking madness.
    Well, they might have succeeded in orchestrating perfectly proper matches for her sisters, but Fate was on her side. And there was no possible way she was going to let the meddling quartet interfere. She would not go willingly along with it. And she would tell them so…in her own way.
    “However,” Elizabeth coughed into a balled fist, “I thought I might retire quietly at home rather than attend the ball.”
    “What is this nonsense, Elizabeth?” Lord Gallantine narrowed his eyes at her.
    Elizabeth’s gaze fell to the floor and remained there. “Well, sir, it is only that I have felt dreadfully fatigued since I was drenched in the rainstorm earlier…and I fear I may already have a cold upon my chest.”
    She lifted her head and her gaze darted to Gallantine’s eyes, searching for any hint thatthis story might earn her leave from the event—and any matchmaking he and the rest of the Old Rakes of Marylebone had planned for her.
    Gallantine lurched back away from her. “You are ill?” Worry pinched the crinkled skin around his eyes, making him look far older than his seventy-two years.
    Oh, she should not have mentioned illness, since it was not true. But she knew ailments of any kind caused Gallantine as much, if not more, anxiety than books not being aligned perfectly on the shelf, a slip of thread on his lapel, or clutter on a tabletop. It was cruel of her to use his nature against him, terrible, but she could think of nothing else just then and, lud, she had her entire future to consider.
    “Well, if you are ill…” Lady Upperton paused for a moment and peered suspiciously at Elizabeth. “… truly ill, then you should not attend the ball.”
    Oh, blast. Her sponsor knew, somehow, that she was only crafting the slapdash tale to excuse herself from the social obligation. She could see it in the old woman’s eyes. Elizabeth felt her body contract and she cringed into the cushion of the settee.
    Lord Gallantine tipped his head in agreement,causing the wig to slip down from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. He shoved it back into place and then looked pointedly at Elizabeth. “Pity you cannot attend, dear gel. Once I heard about your