Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Michelle McMaster
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Adult, series, Regency, England, 19th century, Bachelor, Victorian, Deception, innocent, Britain, secrets, Rescues, Disguise, newspapers, Forever Love, Single Woman, Charade, Hearts Desire, London Society, Brides of Mayfair, Atwater Finishing School, Young Ladies, Streetwalker, Nobleman, School-marm, Bookish
tittered at. You will have to find a way to make amends.”
“Anything, Auntie,” Alfred said, leaning back against the table. “My wish is your command, as always,”
Lady Weston gave a devilish smile of her own and said, “I have something in mind—though it would not be a difficult task for a man such as you. And it may help to quiet the gossip’s wagging tongues, as well. But tell me more of what happened last night.”
“It is quite embarrassing, Auntie, and I shall spare you the details,” Alfred replied. “But last night, as I was returning from the Theater, I was set upon by thieves—a man and a woman. As the woman distracted me with conversation and pretty smiles, her man, a big burly oaf, came out of his hiding place and with one hand about my throat, tried to choke the very breath from me. For a moment, I thought they had murder on their minds, but at the woman’s order, her man knocked me out with a blow to the back of my noggin, see?”
Alfred pointed to the lump on his head, and heard Great-Aunt Withypoll gasp as she felt the hard bump there.
“My dear, boy, are you alright?”
Alfred turned back to face her and waved away her concerns. “Oh, yes. Good thing I also inherited Great-Uncle Bertram’s hard head. At any rate, the next thing I knew, I woke up on the ground, hidden below some bushes, without a stitch of clothing on. This woman and her accomplice had made off with my clothes—but curiously left me my hat, watch and wallet—still full of money.”
Great-Aunt Withypoll nodded, looking suitably impressed. “A strange tale, indeed. What sort of thief would steal only the clothes upon your person and leave your valuables behind?”
Alfred shook his head, saying, “I’ve asked myself the same question. And my clothes would never have fit that big ape who so enjoyed choking me. It is a mystery, Auntie.”
“But however did you get home?” she asked.
“After being spotted in my state of dishabille by Lord Seton, who obviously felt obliged to share the story with the Times , I ran down the street and took refuge in a hedgerow until a coach came by. I flagged it down and returned here.”
Great-Aunt Withypoll’s sapphire eyes twinkled with mischief. “And what did you use to flag down the coach, Alfred? Do tell.”
Alfred smirked, amazed at her cheek. “My hat, madam…nothing but my hat. You know, for a woman at the grand age of eighty-seven, you have a terribly naughty mind.”
“From whom do you think you inherited yours?” she asked, deadpan.
“Well, I would have hoped it was from Great-Uncle Bertram.”
“No, no. Though you are the spitting image of him.” Lady Weston began to rise from her chair and Alfred assisted the tiny white-haired woman to her feet. “Let us go outside into the garden, Alfred, where I will tell you more about your task.”
They walked slowly down the hall, each step short and carefully placed on the white marble floor. Alfred felt the frailty of the old woman’s grasp on his arm, felt the brittle bones of the gnarled fingers clinging so dependently to him.
He looked down at her and felt his heart warm with affection. This indomitable woman had been the closest thing he’d had to a mother for most of his life. She and her late husband, Bertram, had practically raised Alfred and his brother, Richard. She and Alfred had always been very close.
His father, the Earl of Harrington, had insisted upon naming his sons after great English kings. But he’d never had much time for them, and even less when his wife, Lady Harrington, abandoned her family and ran off to Italy. Alfred was only eight at the time.
Soon after, Lord Harrington had placed his sons with his uncle, the eleventh Baron Weston, and his wife, to raise. Lord Harrington’s business commitments kept him very busy and he didn’t want his sons raised by servants.
It was strange, but sometimes Alfred still dreamed of the day his mother left…that cold winter day when his world
“Anything, Auntie,” Alfred said, leaning back against the table. “My wish is your command, as always,”
Lady Weston gave a devilish smile of her own and said, “I have something in mind—though it would not be a difficult task for a man such as you. And it may help to quiet the gossip’s wagging tongues, as well. But tell me more of what happened last night.”
“It is quite embarrassing, Auntie, and I shall spare you the details,” Alfred replied. “But last night, as I was returning from the Theater, I was set upon by thieves—a man and a woman. As the woman distracted me with conversation and pretty smiles, her man, a big burly oaf, came out of his hiding place and with one hand about my throat, tried to choke the very breath from me. For a moment, I thought they had murder on their minds, but at the woman’s order, her man knocked me out with a blow to the back of my noggin, see?”
Alfred pointed to the lump on his head, and heard Great-Aunt Withypoll gasp as she felt the hard bump there.
“My dear, boy, are you alright?”
Alfred turned back to face her and waved away her concerns. “Oh, yes. Good thing I also inherited Great-Uncle Bertram’s hard head. At any rate, the next thing I knew, I woke up on the ground, hidden below some bushes, without a stitch of clothing on. This woman and her accomplice had made off with my clothes—but curiously left me my hat, watch and wallet—still full of money.”
Great-Aunt Withypoll nodded, looking suitably impressed. “A strange tale, indeed. What sort of thief would steal only the clothes upon your person and leave your valuables behind?”
Alfred shook his head, saying, “I’ve asked myself the same question. And my clothes would never have fit that big ape who so enjoyed choking me. It is a mystery, Auntie.”
“But however did you get home?” she asked.
“After being spotted in my state of dishabille by Lord Seton, who obviously felt obliged to share the story with the Times , I ran down the street and took refuge in a hedgerow until a coach came by. I flagged it down and returned here.”
Great-Aunt Withypoll’s sapphire eyes twinkled with mischief. “And what did you use to flag down the coach, Alfred? Do tell.”
Alfred smirked, amazed at her cheek. “My hat, madam…nothing but my hat. You know, for a woman at the grand age of eighty-seven, you have a terribly naughty mind.”
“From whom do you think you inherited yours?” she asked, deadpan.
“Well, I would have hoped it was from Great-Uncle Bertram.”
“No, no. Though you are the spitting image of him.” Lady Weston began to rise from her chair and Alfred assisted the tiny white-haired woman to her feet. “Let us go outside into the garden, Alfred, where I will tell you more about your task.”
They walked slowly down the hall, each step short and carefully placed on the white marble floor. Alfred felt the frailty of the old woman’s grasp on his arm, felt the brittle bones of the gnarled fingers clinging so dependently to him.
He looked down at her and felt his heart warm with affection. This indomitable woman had been the closest thing he’d had to a mother for most of his life. She and her late husband, Bertram, had practically raised Alfred and his brother, Richard. She and Alfred had always been very close.
His father, the Earl of Harrington, had insisted upon naming his sons after great English kings. But he’d never had much time for them, and even less when his wife, Lady Harrington, abandoned her family and ran off to Italy. Alfred was only eight at the time.
Soon after, Lord Harrington had placed his sons with his uncle, the eleventh Baron Weston, and his wife, to raise. Lord Harrington’s business commitments kept him very busy and he didn’t want his sons raised by servants.
It was strange, but sometimes Alfred still dreamed of the day his mother left…that cold winter day when his world