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"Will she choose the man of her life by listening to her heart or her reason?" Nicole Laverdure.
Excerpt:
Strathairn smiled down
at his partner, her slim waist beneath his hand as they danced. Lady Sibella
Winborne looked like a delicate flower in a gauzy pale gown covered in amber
blossom. White ostrich feather plumes adorned her luxuriant dark locks. He
enjoyed looking at her. Her serene oval face lifted and she smiled at him, her
mouth wide and full. Too wide for beauty some might say, but made for kissing.
She had inherited her mother’s famous eyes, a delectable mix of blue and green,
but her nature was quieter, lacking the vivacity of her mother in her youth,
who was said to have had men falling at her feet. He admired Sibella’s calm
beauty, but she was oh, so much more: practical, poised and intelligent. Yet
still unmarried, which surprised him. 8
“You arrived late tonight. I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she
said.
“I was tied up with business.”
“Not parliament?”
“No.”
She tilted her head. “Your
horses, then?”
He grinned at her blatant
curiosity. “No.”
“You won’t tell me.”
“No.”
Sibella laughed with good
humor. “Very well. Might I find you riding in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
“I hope to.”
Her delicate brows rose. “If
business doesn’t keep you.”
He laughed. “Precisely.”
The music faded away.
Strathairn escorted her back to her chair where her mother, the Dowager
Marchioness of Brandreth, sat fanning herself among the other dowagers. He
bowed, planning to slip into the rooms set aside for gambling. As much as he might
wish to dance with Sibella again, it would place them under scrutiny, and faro
was an effective release from the tension he always carried with him.
“Don’t rush off, Strathairn,” her sharp-eyed mother said. “We
have seen little of you of late. You rarely frequent these affairs.” She waved
her fan in an arc to encompass the ballroom. “Where have you been hiding?”
“Not hiding, my lady, merely
visiting my estates.”
Lady Brandreth adjusted the
silk shawl over her shoulders. “Did you include that pile of yours in
Yorkshire? I enjoyed the hunt ball, but it’s cold as charity in winter up in
those parts.”
“Not this time, but I miss it.
There’s a wild beauty to the dales in winter, quite unlike southern England.”
“I daresay.” Her purple turban
wobbled as she nodded. “You are a fine figure of a man, Strathairn. What are
you now? Six and thirty? You should marry. You should be setting up your
nursery.” She gestured toward her daughter sitting beside her. “Sibella will
bear you healthy children. The Brandreths come of good stock, and the Wederells
even better.”
“Mama, please!” He caught
Sibella’s apologetic gaze and suppressed a wry smile. Her plea would have
little effect; the marchioness was known to be one of the most colorful and
outspoken members of the ton.
1 comment:
Thank you Maggi
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