The Bridal Season Read Online Free

sight of the Buntings and Elliot and waved
them over. “Oh! How delightful! Here are our neighbors. May I present Lord Paul
Bunting and his wife, Catherine?”
    Catherine inclined her head, a little stiffly Elliot thought.
He hoped she wasn’t coming down with something. Even though it had been years
since they’d once been engaged, he still cared deeply for her. Paul bowed,
beaming with pleasure.
    “And here’s a happy chance! The Vances. Hallo! Miss Elizabeth!
Come and meet Lady Agatha!”
    Eglantyne hailed the Vances, who were making slow progress
down the sidewalk. Beth’s studied nonchalance was a bit too exaggerated for
their sudden appearance in front of the train station to be purely
coincidental.
    Old Colonel Vance leaned toward his long-suffering,
middle-aged daughter and shouted, “What? What did she say?”
    “Lady Agatha, Father!” Beth answered in a loud, calm
voice. “Come to make Miss Angela’s wedding pretty!”
    “Miss Angle’s already pretty enough without some ass—”
    Turning bright red, Beth wrapped an arm around the old man’s
shoulders and hustled him along before he could finish his sentence. “Pray
excuse us! I fear Papa’s not feeling well!” she called over her shoulder.
    “Later, then!” Eglantyne turned in relief and spied Elliot.
“Oh! And how could I be so remiss? Please, allow me to introduce our dear
friend, Sir Elliot March.”
    He approached slowly, hoping his gait adequately masked his
limp. His leg often stiffened in colder weather and the day had been
unseasonably cool, if bright. Eglantyne leaned toward Lady Agatha and he heard
her whisper, “War wound.”
    He removed his hat and bowed, feeling doubly awkward. If only
he could cure Eglantyne of her heavy-handed romanticization of his military
career.
    He raised his head and met the red-haired woman’s gaze. Her
eyes widened, as though in startled recognition. They were the oddest shade of
brown. Rich, intoxicating, like tawny port.
    “My pleasure,” he heard himself say as if from far off.
    “Sir.” She sounded breathless.
    “Sir Elliot and his father share bachelor quarters about a
half mile from The Hollies,” Eglantyne rattled on. “We take terrible advantage
of them, I’m afraid.”
    “Not at all,” Elliot murmured, captivated by the soft stain of
color climbing Lady Agatha’s cheeks.
    “Indeed, yes,” Eglantyne said. “Sir Elliot’s been kind enough
to offer to drive us to the house since our own driver is indisposed.”
    “Gout,” Angela announced. “Suffers terribly for it.”
    The lovely young woman reluctantly looked away from him toward
Angela. “In my experience, people with the gout are given to drink. My maid
drank.” She nodded sagely. “Like a fish.”
    At this, Angela muffled a startled laugh. Elliot welcomed the
sound. It had been quite a while since he’d heard Angela laugh.
    Lady Agatha’s eyes twinkled. “Terrible for the drink, she was.
I only realized the extent of her problem when she showed up at the station
yesterday too sozzled to board the train.” Her eyes narrowed. “Needless to say,
I left her behind.”
    Eglantyne had said Lady Agatha had a reputation for eccentricity.
Apparently it was well warranted. No lady of his acquaintance would speak so
complacently about such matters. He couldn’t imagine Catherine saying the words
“like a fish”—not even in reference to a fish. Indeed, Catherine had been
unusually quiet.
    Eglantyne didn’t seem to notice anything odd. But then,
Eglantyne was amazingly unworldly.
    “I’m afraid our Ham is similarly afflicted,” she confided.
“But he won’t stop. So what can we do?”
    “Dismiss him?” Lady Agatha suggested.
    “Aye,” sighed Eglantyne. “But what would he do then? It’s not
likely anyone else would employ him.”
    Elliot nearly smiled at Lady Agatha’s flummoxed expression.
Little Bidewell residents had quite strong, if unique, views on social
responsibility.
    “Don’t worry, Lady Agatha,” Eglantyne said, misreading her
expression. “Ham will be right as rain come the