The Summer Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) Read Online Free

preferred to be addressed as Lady Beatrice, the title she’d been born with, was seated on an overstuffed armchair, her skirts arranged around her like a queen’s robes, leafing through the pages of an illustrated periodical in a bored fashion. She looked up and brightened.
    “Mr. Flynn, my dear boy, come in, come in. Just the man I wanted to see. I am bored to death with the company of women! Oh, not my darling gels—you know me better than that—but morning callers—and when I heard the bell just now, I thought you must be one of them—though it is a ridiculously early time for morning calls and nobody with the slightest pretension to fashion would make a morning call before noon—though of course it’s quite a different matter with a gentlemen caller, particularly a handsome one like yourself. You are welcome at any time.”
    She raised her lorgnette and raked her gaze over him, lingering over the fit of the buckskin breeches. “You look to be in fine fettle, dear boy. I do like those breeches. So many men just don’t have the wherewithal to fill a pair of breeches properly.”
    Flynn hid a grin. He was pretty sure he knew what she meant by
wherewithal
. She was an outrageous old bird.
    Finally she dragged her gaze up to his face and beamed up at him. “So, what brings you here—do you want some tea? Of course you do—just tug on that bellpull, will you and—oh, here are William and Featherby now with the tea. Perfect timing as usual, Featherby. Be seated, dear boy, there where I can see you.” She gestured graciously.
    Flynn sat.
    The footman, William, set down the tea tray. Featherby poured while William put out a plate of dainty cakes and biscuits. As Featherby handed Flynn his teacup, he said, “Miss Daisy’s compliments, sir. She’s changing now and will be down in an instant.”
    Lady Beatrice’s brows rose. “Will she indeed? That will make a change. You are honored, Mr. Flynn. The wretchedgel hardly ever graces us with her company these days. Not for mere
social
occasions.” She snorted.
    “Oh? And why would that be?”
    She waved a dismissive hand. “Sheer stubbornness.”
    The footman and butler withdrew. Lady Beatrice drank a mouthful of tea, picked up an iced pink almond cake and said, “Now, dear boy, tell me, how is your matrimonial quest proceeding?”
    “Well enough, thank you, m’lady.” He took a ginger biscuit, thought about dunking it in his cup of tea, reflected that the practice was frowned upon in elegant circles and crunched it down in two bites instead. He washed it down with a mouthful of tea. The ginger was good and spicy, the tea as weak as water. He preferred Indian tea, strong as it could come. Lady Beatrice invariably drank China.
    She raised her lorgnette and said sharply, “
Well enough
? What does ‘well enough’ mean? Have you found a suitable young lady or not? Who have you met so far? How it is
going
?”
    Flynn took another biscuit. “Excellent ginger nuts, m’lady. My compliments to your cook.”
    Lady Beatrice was forever trying to winkle information out of Flynn concerning his plans and any potential courtships he might be considering. Ever since she’d met him, the old lady had been dying to match him up—and he was grateful for her introductions. But he’d always steered his own course, and he preferred to keep his own counsel until he’d made a final decision.
    His reluctance to discuss the matter in detail fair drove the old lady mad. And to be honest, Flynn quite enjoyed teasing her.
    She eyed him narrowly. “Finding you’ve aimed rather too high, have you? I did warn you. A lowborn, uneducated sea captain, Irish—and Roman Catholic to boot!” She shook her head.
    “Lapsed, m’lady, and though all you say is true, I don’t believe I’m aimin’ too high,” Flynn said mildly. He was comfortable in his own skin and knew his own worth. “I’m alsorich—a self-made man with a fleet of ships and a tradin’ empire that spreads from