Too Scandalous to Wed Read Online Free Page B

quickly forgot her woes to stare at the grand house, a castle really, with its spire rooftops and stone façade. It was reminiscent of the royal chateaux she’d seen in French paintings, classic in presentation and design, with rows of tall glass windows, all reflecting a brilliant glow of candlelight.
    Henrietta had never been to Paris herself. Oh, she had always longed to go, but the war with France had prevented the excursion. Even though the continental strife was now over, she still preferred not to visit the foreign land—not alone, anyway. She hoped to go on her wedding tour one day with her future husband—Viscount Ravenswood.
    Henrietta eagerly pressed her nose against theglass in admiration and fervid anticipation. If Madam Jacqueline didn’t help her, she was doomed.
    The hack rolled to a shaky stop.
    Three servants in bright yellow livery promptly appeared, each young and devilishly handsome—and very attentive. One opened the carriage door, one produced a stepping stool upholstered in quilted silk, and one offered his white-gloved hand in gentlemanly support.
    A giddy Henrietta stepped out of the carriage, accepted the offered hand, pressed her slippered foot to the cushioned ottoman, and marveled at the well-orchestrated attendants.
    She had to admit, this was not the kind of reception she’d expected from Madam Jacqueline, so warm and inviting. According to the gossip papers the woman was a reclusive curmudgeon, grieved by the loss of her notorious charm and beauty. Henrietta was pleased to learn it all a fabrication. Already nervous, she’d dreaded meeting such a frightening being. Now the rendezvous might even be agreeable.
    Jenny stepped out of the carriage next before the door was closed, the footstool quickly confiscated, and a sweeping gesture made toward the wide open entrance.
    “This way, mademoiselles,” said a footman.
    Henrietta skirted inside, her maid right behindher.
    An attendant approached to remove Henrietta’s mantle, but here the gallantry would end, for Henrietta pinched the ribbons at her throat, unwilling to relinquish the garment.
    “You are safe, mademoiselle,” assured the footman. “Please allow me to take your cape.”
    Hesitant at first, Henrietta soon loosened her grip on the stays, and the hooded cloak was whisked away.
    It was then her eyes beheld the majesty around her. She had been to many balls in many prestigious homes. She had attended court and dined in country splendor. But she had yet to encounter the likes of a Scandinavian ice palace in the heart of English society. Why, it was a scene from a northern fairy tale, she was sure. A Valhalla, of sorts, fit for a Viking god or warrior.
    The walls gleamed like ice, bedecked in white silk splendor. Even the grand staircase in the center of the foyer was carpeted in pearl white textiles. A silver chandelier dangled beneath an arched domed ceiling, proudly displaying about a hundred flickering candle lights. More candelabras sat poised on elegant, smoke gray marble side tables, while baskets of creamy white rose petals filled the atmosphere with a heavenly scent. There was even a white bearskin rug under Henrietta’s toes, and she let her pampered feet sink into the soft, warm fur.
    Jenny was evidently unimpressed by the spectacle, for she tugged at Henrietta’s sleeve and hissed, “Miss Ashby, I really think this isn’t—”
    “Oh, hush, Jenny.”
    Henrietta wasn’t about to turn back now. She had sneaked out of the house, flagged a passing hack, endured the uncomfortable and clandestine journey into the surrounding countryside, and she wasn’t leaving until she’d acquired some practical knowledge to help her win Ravenswood’s hand.
    A footman stepped forward and extended his arm. “If you please, mademoiselle.”
    The two remaining servants circled Jenny, hindering her attempt to follow.
    “Madam Jacqueline wishes to see you alone, mademoiselle,” said the footman. “Your maid will be well looked