Sheri Cobb South Read Online Free Page A

father would change his mind—and if not, perhaps Mr. Brundy might be persuaded to change his....
    Alfred returned from his errand shortly after four o’clock, and the mercurial rise in the duke’s spirits immediately thereafter led Lady Helen to suspect that her father’s most cherished hopes had been realized. This suspicion was confirmed a short time later, when she was summoned yet again to the duke’s sanctum sanctorum.
    “Daughter, it is settled,” announced the duke as soon as the door had closed behind her. “According to Alfred, Mr. Brundy’s wealth was, if anything, understated. He dines with us tomorrow night, after which he will no doubt make you a formal offer of marriage.”
    Lady Helen’s eyes opened wide in feigned surprise. “Alfred? Why, Papa, I didn’t know he cared.”
    “Do not be impertinent, miss! I have written to Mr. Brundy, giving him permission to pay his addresses. You would be wise to accept them. In the meantime, I shall leave the dinner arrangements in your capable hands.”
    “Yes, Papa,” said Lady Helen with deceptive meekness.
    “Oh, and Helen—”
    She had already turned to confer with the housekeeper, but her father’s voice held her back. “Yes, Papa?”
    “I shall hold you personally responsible to see that all goes well tomorrow night. No tricks, mind you!”
    Lady Helen bowed her head. “I trust I know what is due my name, Papa.”
    “Good! See that you do it.”
    At seven o’clock on the following evening, Lady Helen paused in the doorway of the dining room before repairing to her room to dress for dinner. Surveying the scene before her, she permitted herself a smile of satisfaction. The long mahogany dining table had been buffed with beeswax until it gleamed in the light of the two large chandeliers overhead. Mrs. Overstreet, the housekeeper, had thought it odd that Lady Helen did not wish to remove at least a few leaves from the table, since only four would sit down to dinner, but the duke’s daughter was adamant, and so the leaves remained. Lady Helen had further instructed that the best gold plate, adorned with the ducal crest, be used—a significant departure from the usual arrangements, which dictated that the ducal plate be used only on the most formal of occasions.
    Lady Helen was most pleased with the results of her labors. Every detail, from the elaborate floral arrangement at the center of the table down to the shrimp sauce to be served with the salmon, was designed to drive home to the plebian Mr. Brundy his unworthiness to aspire to her hand. Casting a contented eye over the silver cutlery and crystal goblets, Lady Helen owned that she would not be surprised if the poor man took one look and ran all the way back to Manchester, or Liverpool, or whatever God-forsaken place he had come from.
    Best of all, her father could not accuse her of subversion, for she could answer with all honesty that she had ordered the best of everything for the occasion. On this happy note, she turned and made her way to her room, blissfully unaware that in the kitchen Mrs. Overstreet confided to an enthralled Cook that Lady Helen must be that taken with the young man coming to dine, so eager was she to see that everything looked just so.
    * * * *
    Mr. Brundy presented himself at the duke’s residence precisely at eight o’clock, and was ushered upstairs to the drawing room by a dour-faced and disapproving Figgins. The duke was already there, along with a very young man whose golden coloring reminded Mr. Brundy forcibly of his intended bride, of whom there was as yet no sign.
    His Grace, noting Mr. Brundy’s ill-fitting evening attire, felt a momentary pang of sympathy for his daughter, but suppressed it at once. “Pleased to see you’re prompt, at any rate,” he said grudgingly, offering his hand to the newcomer. “Allow me to present my son Theodore, Viscount Tisdale. Theodore, Mr. Ethan Brundy. Mr. Brundy is to marry your sister.”
    “If she’ll ‘ave me,”