My Favorite Bride Read Online Free

. . . She stiffened. She squinted into the darkness.
    Two lanterns appeared in the distance, swaying on . . . a coach! Lightning flashed—and she was right! It was a coach. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she would have shouted with joy. Now if she could get the coachman’s attention.
    The conveyance moved toward her, dipping and swaying. As it closed on her, she moved to the side of the road and yelled and waved her arms. And in the first piece of luck she’d had since her horrendous encounter with Mr. Wordlaw, the coach stopped. A footman jumped down and opened thedoor. She gave him her hand and he helped her into the luxurious interior. “I’m going to—”
    â€œSilvermere. Yes, Miss Prendregast, we know.” He shut the door.
    She sat blinking in the darkness. Her hand caressed the rolled upholstery, and she wondered what . . . how . . .
    That man. He’d been too lazy to rescue her himself, but he must have sent these fellows.
    The coach turned around, then set off with such speed Samantha fell back against the seat. And was too exhausted to do more than rest there. She wondered if she should worry that she was being kidnapped, and decided kidnapping was a small price to pay for the chance to sit down.
    They rode for long enough that she drifted into sleep. Then the coach slowed to a stop, and she jerked awake. The door opened, the footman thrust his hand in, she took it and stepped out onto the step.
    And looked up, up, up at the magnificent mansion that rose like a monolith before her.

Chapter Three
    Samantha woke to the clatter of dishes at her bedside. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and watched as the plump young maid drew the olive and gold brocade curtains. Morning sunlight poured in, and Samantha blinked.
    â€œGood morning, miss,” stated a black-and-white–uniformed maid cheerfully before curtsying briskly. She couldn’t be more than fifteen, a child of nature who reeked of health, fresh air, and starch. “I’m Clarinda. I’ve brought yer breakfast.”
    â€œThank you.” Samantha pulled herself into a sitting position. “What time is it?”
    â€œGone past seven, but ye were tired after yer walk last night.”
    Samantha looked around the room she’d so briefly glimpsed the evening before. Her secondfloor bedchamber was large and spacious, surely a guest room. As did everything in this house, it glowed with prosperity. The dark oak furniture was carved and heavy, and her bed was wide, with a down comforter atop her and a feather mattress beneath. Most important, she had a separate dressing room with running water, drawn from a cistern on the roof.
    This was the hovel that she feared would house livestock as well as six children and a hulking colonel?
    â€œHere ye are, miss.” Clarinda placed the tray across Samantha’s lap and lifted the domed, silver cover. Steam rose from the golden fresh eggs, the spicy sausage, the buttery crumpets, the bowl of oatmeal, thick with honey, and a poached pear sprinkled with cinnamon. “Cook didn’t know what ye like, so ye’ve got a smidgin o’ everything.”
    â€œIt looks wonderful.” Samantha took a deep breath and realized that, for the first time since she’d left London, she was hungry.
    Clarinda poured the tea. “Ah, it’s a beautiful day, miss.”
    Outside, Samantha saw, the day was bright with sunshine. Great trees swept her windows with green, and through the branches she could see the sky, so blue it almost hurt her eyes. Nary a cloud dimmed the brilliance.
    Going to the old-fashioned fireplace, Clarinda added logs to the flames. “The men picked up yer trunk off the road last night.” Clarinda patted the black painted wooden box with its leather strapsand heavy lock. Under her mob cap, her light brown hair sparked with liveliness, and her brown eyes snapped with interest. “Shall I unpack