The Bridal Season Read Online Free Page A

wedding. He’ll not let the
family down on a really important occasion....” She trailed off in
embarrassment. “Not that you ‘re not an important occasion, Lady
Agatha!”
    Lady Agatha squeezed her dog to her face. “How charming! Do
you hear that, Lambikins? We’re an ‘occasion.’ “
    “Indeed, yes!” Eglantyne said, hooking her arm through Lady
Agatha’s. “Now, Paul and Catherine, I know you’ll excuse us. Lady Agatha must
be quite weary after her long journey.”
    Elliot silently applauded Eglantyne. At this rate the entire
town would show up. “Of course,” murmured Paul, his gaze admiring. “It has been
an honor, Lady Agatha.”
    “You are too kind, Lord Paul,” she replied. “But you’d best
all beware lest I take your professions seriously and decide to stay on
forever.”
    “Ma’am?” Paul said, confused.
    She laughed. “Well, within minutes of my arrival in your
quaint little village I’m declared an honor as well as an occasion. How shall I
ever hope to surpass that?” Her glance slewed toward Elliot and glinted
merrily, wickedly, and yes, provocatively.
    She wasn’t at all what one might have expected. And that was
interesting—and interesting things, in Elliot’s experience, were not always
welcome ones.
    She was waiting for him to answer. But before he could frame a
reply, Catherine said, in a silky smooth voice, “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over
it, Lady Agatha. I am somehow confident you will.”
Chapter 3
    There are moments on stage when
    everything comes together.
    Then the kid in the front row coughs.
     
    LETTY SIMPLY COULD NOT BELIEVE HER good fortune. What with the
train ticket first and then these poor, dear saps mistaking her for this Lady
Agatha, she was having a hard time keeping herself from grinning like an idiot.
Well, if life insisted on handing her flowers, she would simply make herself a
bouquet.
    A day or so spying out the lay of the land, so to speak, then
pack up Lady Agatha’s more portable precious pieces and bid a fond adieu to
Little Bidewell. She nearly rubbed her palms together. And in the meantime, the
scenery was decidedly better than one would expect in a backwater little burg
like this.
    Sir Elliot March was, in the modern vernacular, yum. Even
breathtaking in a reserved, elegant, and utterly toothsome sort of way. Letty,
seated opposite the Bigglesworth ladies, kept having to forcibly drag her gaze
from his broad shoulders to the landmarks her hostesses kept pointing out.
    Letty made appropriate noises of interest, but as she’d spent
her first eight years on a country estate, trees didn’t exactly give her
palpitations. The way Sir Elliot’s dark curls, ruthlessly combed into gleaming
order, grazed his snowy white collar—now that caused some fluttering. She’d
always been partial to the dark, courtly ones, but he... well, he raised the
bar on masculine beauty. Blue-green eyes, black hair, a sensualist’s mouth, and
an emperor’s nose.
    Not that she was the sort of girl to indulge in a spot of
slap-and-tickle just because a man was good-looking. And a rude surprise that
had been to any number of stage-door Johnnies, she thought cheerfully. Besides,
Sir Elliot may not want to play slap-and-tickle with her.
    She frowned.
    Not that that was likely, and there was nothing of
vanity in thinking it, either. To paraphrase the Bard, “A man was a man was a
man.” When all was said and done, Sir Elliot March would prove no different
from any other. They all wanted what they wanted, some just asked more
graciously. And looked better doing it.
    She sighed just as the carriage hit a deep rut in the lane.
    Eglantyne squelched a squeal and Angela gasped. Immediately,
Sir Elliot drew the horses to a halt and swung around, his concern evident.
“I’m sorry. Is everyone all right?”
    “Yes, Elliot. Thank you.”
    “Lady Agatha?”
    “I’m fine.”
    He turned back and flicked the reins, starting the team up
again. Good manners were so... attractive. And Sir Elliot had really,
really good manners.
    Of