Miss Richardson Comes Of Age (Zebra Regency Romance) Read Online Free

Annabelle just how preposterous that idea was. “Nor do the patronesses of Almack’s intend to deny you vouchers to their assemblies.”
    “You have talked with them?”
    “Yes. And they agree this is in the nature of a tempest in a teapot.”
    “There! You see? Nothing to worry about,” the ever-optimistic Celia declared.
    “I wonder . . .” Annabelle mused. “Still—I do most sincerely appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”
    “What are friends for?” Letty asked with a smile.
    “And—” Annabelle went on, “I am not without resources of my own.”
    “The Wyndhams are likely to be powerful allies as well.” Celia seemed to agree with Annabelle.
    Yes, Annabelle thought, but her resources included not just Marcus and Harriet. She had it in mind to enlist the aid of Miss Emma Bennet.

Three
    Thorne Wainwright, Earl of Rolsbury, reluctantly and clumsily climbed the steps of his London townhouse.
    “Welcome home, my lord,” his unflappable butler said.
    “Thank you, Perkins. Is my brother here?” Thorne leaned heavily on his walking stick. Five years since Waterloo, yet three days in a traveling coach and his leg stiffened up painfully.
    “Er ... yes, my lord, but I think he has not yet arisen.”
    “Not yet—Good God, man, it is nearly noon!”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Send word that I shall see him in the library in half an hour.”
    “Very good, my lord.” The butler snapped his fingers at a hovering footman to tell him to see to it.
    Thirty minutes later an obviously hurriedly dressed Luke Wainwright entered the library to find his brother seated behind the huge mahogany desk that dominated the book-lined room. The desk was already strewn with papers.
    “Gads, Thorne, you might have sent some warning you were coming.” Luke sounded youthful, petulant, and defensive.
    “I was unaware of needing permission to visit my own house—any of them.” Thorne rubbed his leg, carefully concealing the action from his brother.
    “That is not what I meant. And what is it you want from me?”
    “Sit down.” Scowling with both discomfort and displeasure, Thorne gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “Now—just what in the hell have you been up to?”
    “I ... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “For starters, there are all these duns from creditors.” Thorne held up a sheaf of papers. “Do you never bother to check the post for anything but perfumed notes from some lightskirt? Some of these are weeks overdue.”
    Luke ran a finger around his neckcloth, which appeared to have suddenly tightened. “I . . . uh . . . well . . .”
    “Come on. Out with it. Why have you not paid these accounts?”
    “I meant to. But I’ve had uncommonly bad luck at the tables lately, you see, and . . . well . . . a debt of honor comes first, as you know.”
    “Gaming debts? Besides these bills from tradesmen, you have amassed gaming debts as well?” In his annoyance, Thorne made no effort to control his voice. “I did not encourage you to come to town to create a load of debt in gaming hells!”
    “It—it is not as though I meant to do so. After all, anyone can have a streak of bad luck—”
    Thorne snorted in contempt. “‘Bad luck’ usually translates to lack of skill or too much drink—or some other distraction.”
    Thorne saw a slow flush creep over his brother’s countenance.
    “Yes. Well . . . if you could perhaps give me an advance on next quarter’s allowance . . . ?” His voice trailed off and there was not much hope in it.
    “Yes. Well.” Thorne deliberately repeated Luke’s words. “How much have you lost?”
    Luke’s mouth worked and his neckcloth moved up and down as he swallowed and named a figure.
    Thorne felt his eyebrows climb upward. “Good God, boy! Have you no sense at all? I leave you on your own for a few months and you amass debts like the king himself!”
    “Oh, now, it is not quite that bad . . .”
    “Damned near! And I’ll not have it—you hear?