Regina Scott Read Online Free Page B

she was certain he had a refinement of spirit that was nothing short of amazing. Why would her father have taken him in dislike?
    She has missed her opportunity to find answers tonight, but that didn’t mean she had to give up. She hurried upstairs to her room, hoping for a few moments alone.
    She and her mother shared a ladies’ maid, not because they couldn’t afford one for Imogene but because her mother insisted on it. Imogene thought her mother enjoyed whispering suggestions in the maid’s ear as to what gown would best suit Imogene for a particular occasion and how she should wear her hair. With Bryson busy helping her mother first, however, Imogene had time for a little more research on Vaughn Everard.
    She started with Mr. Debrett’s The Correct Peerage of England, Scotland and Ireland. The two slim volumes listed every member of England’s most notable families. The Everard barony was one of the newer entries, unlike her father’s. He was the tenth Marquess of Widmore and likely to be the last, unless she succeeded in her plan. There were no male relations as far as anyone knew, and unlike the occasional barony and dukedom, marquessates could not be inherited by the female line. When her younger brother Peter Devary, Viscount Charles, had died a few years ago of a fever, her father had been even more devastated than Imogene and her mother, and Imogene knew that the inevitable end to their family name and heritage was part of his sorrow. If only she could find a suitor well-positioned enough to petition to have the title recreated in him!
    But what was this? The book made no mention of Samantha Everard. According to it, Lord Arthur Everard had no issue. Imogene thumbed back to the title page and checked the date: 1802, only three years ago. Why hadn’t the publisher known about Lady Everard? She couldn’t be adopted—only heirs of the blood stood to inherit a title.
    Imogene returned to the Everard page. It listed the heir presumptive as Jerome Everard, nephew of the late Lord Everard, with his brother Richard after him. And there—Imogene cradled the book and allowed her finger to linger on the name—was Vaughn Everard, with no wife noted. His father had been the third son of the first Baron Everard and the brother of the second.
    That made him first cousin to Samantha Everard. Although it was not unheard of for first cousins to marry, particularly to keep a title or fortune in the family, it was still an uncommon practice. And with every gentleman in London gathered around her, Lady Everard had her pick of suitors. Surely she could spare her cousin.
    Imogene heard the door open quietly behind her and set the book back on the shelf, wondering why she felt guilty. Bryson paused only long enough to curtsy respectively, then hurried to do her duty. The maid had raven hair held tightly back from her face and a long pointed nose. She chose to keep only the darkest dresses her mistress offered. When Imogene was little, she had once drawn Bryson as a raven.
    Now the maid went to shutter the windows on either side of Imogene’s bed, her dress solemn against the soft blues of the room. She had closed the shutter on one side, each movement sharp and precise, when something rattled against the glass, and she recoiled.
    “What is it?” Imogene asked, moving closer.
    The maid turned to her, wide-eyed. “There’s a gentleman down in the garden. He seems to be throwing rocks!”
    A gentleman? Who would be able to slip past the carriage house and stables, to avoid the notice of the footmen and butler? Frowning, Imogene ventured toward the window until she could peer down into the small garden below. In the light spilling from the windows above, she could see the carefully clipped hedges, the wrought-iron benches near the flowers, the stone-lined path to the stables beyond.
    Someone was standing there, face turned up to her window, black cloak swirling around him like smoke from a blaze. Fingers shaking, she raised