The Baron and the Bluestocking Read Online Free Page B

could never have been mine. Frank loved her even better than I did. He saw to the healing of her limp. He thought of taking her to meet Beethoven. That is the love she deserves. I have never learned to love like that.
    As he downed several glasses of champagne, he acknowledged to himself that his loss of Sophie had taught him a lesson. Frank had been right. Mentally, Christian crumpled his shopping list and threw it aside. He would attempt to allow himself to be surprised by love, as Frank had counseled. If he could ever get over Sophie.
    Moments after making this resolution, he was approached by his mother. “Darling Christian,” she said, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
    His mother was supremely gracious, with the beauty and skin of a younger woman, though her hair was prematurely white. She dressed with the utmost elegance—tonight being gowned in periwinkle blue silk tissue that exactly matched her eyes. He smiled at her with great affection.
    “Mama, how delightful you look.”
    “I have noticed that you are drinking an uncommon amount of champagne. Is anything amiss?”
    “Not at all. I am merely thirsty. Been riding all day.”
    She smiled in a knowing way, but did not delve any deeper. Instead she said, “I have someone I want you to meet. A very dear girl who only recently came up to Town. She was in mourning for her father until recently and was not here for the Season.”
    His mother was not in the habit of introducing him to ladies. In fact, she had never done it before.
    “We have arranged to take supper together tonight. Come to me casually in the supper room, and I will introduce you.”
    He kissed her cheek. “To tell you the truth, I am feeling quite blue-deviled.”
    “I know, dear.”
    She moved off and all at once he was virtually alone in the ballroom full of people. Even the idea of making a new acquaintance did not appeal to him.
    Why had Sophie gained such a hold over him? She was not adept at going about in society; she did not even dance. However, she was beautiful in an ethereal, innocent sort of way that tugged at his heart. And when she played her violin she became a goddess, exuding a masterful talent which changed her altogether. Dead honest, she had never led him on. She was perhaps the only woman who had ever preferred Frank to him.
    “Wool-gathering?” His friend, Charles Cozzens, had come up to him.
    “Well met, friend,” Christian said. “Tell me, who is the belle of the ball tonight?”
    “Probably the Incomparable, as usual. Lady Stephanie. Not like you to be so out of touch, Shrewsbury.”
    He picked out the woman in question from the crowd of dancers performing the minuet. As he had already known, she was slender, graceful, and blonde, with a face like a cameo. She appealed to him not at all. Which was just as well, as undoubtedly her dance card was full.
    Christian realized he felt now as he had when he was a boy and had eaten too many sweets. After Sophie, the women of the ton appeared excessively shallow in every way—in talent, in beauty, and especially in conversation. Though he had looked forward to this evening, now he only wanted to be away. It seemed as though privilege was suddenly a mire from which he had to escape before it sucked the life out of him. The idea of meeting another charming young woman of the ton increased his desperation.
    Looking for his mother in the crowd, he spotted her among the chaperone set, sitting against the wall. Would she forgive him if he left without a word? Surely he was beyond being charmed tonight. And though he had never in his life been anything but gentlemanly, this night he simply could not manage it.
    He found his way through the ballroom, through the hall, and out the door, where he called for his carriage.
    *~*~*
    Shrewsbury came down for breakfast, dreading the inevitable note from his mother, and was surprised to find that he also had one from Chipping Norton. Opening it, he was startled to see that it came