Free The Stolen Bride by Jo Beverley Page A

really shouldn’t matter. It was just a case of getting through the days. Yet she wished she had done better.
    Tyne Towers sat square and glistening in the sun, its many windows and ornate little towers and chimneys typical of the reign of Queen Anne. The carriage wound through carefully laid-out gardens set with pools which could sprout fountains from the statues in the middle when someone took the trouble to arrange it.
    By the time they entered the cool marble hall, Lord Randal was there to greet them. Beth wished Mr. Verderan was not by his side, though. Reflection had made her more ashamed than ever of her outburst at dinner.
    Randal had known Sophie would come, Beth decided. Had known and depended on it. He did and said nothing in particular and yet it was as if happiness danced with the dust motes in the sunbeams. How could Sophie doubt she was loved?
    “Mrs. Young’s turning out the old china because of all the guests we’re expecting,” he said lightly, taking his betrothed’s hand. Beth suspected he could no more help touching her than he could stop breathing. “You’ll never believe how ugly some of it is, Sophie. We should practice pottery-breaking again. Come and see.”
    Beth thought of hanging back, of going in another direction even if it meant enduring the company of the Dark Angel. As if he divined her thought, however, Randal glanced back and she knew that without her the expedition would be canceled. There was more than one stupid boy around, she thought testily.
    “I know, I know,” murmured Mr. Verderan by her side as they followed the betrothed couple. “I, too, would like to knock his head against the wall if it would do the slightest good.”
    She looked up at him and decided he seemed to be in a straight-thinking mood. “Have you spoken to him?”
    “And what am I supposed to say to him, Mrs. Hawley?” he asked drily. “Your bride needs to be at least half seduced or ... or what? Is Lady Sophie Kyle going to jilt him? No. Is she going to run off with a groom from the stables? No. Is she going to drown herself in the river? Hardly. She will just be unhappy for a week or so, and I don’t care to risk one of my few friendships over that.”
    At the tone of his voice Beth looked at him curiously. “Do you not like her?”
    He raised a brow. “You cannot expect me to answer such a question.”
    “You don’t,” said Beth, surprised beyond manners. “She is high-spirited but has a warm heart, a keen mind, and courage. What terrible fault do you find?”
    Verderan just looked at her and refused to answer.
    Beth gave up her pointless attempt to change his opinion. It hardly mattered anyway. “You are quite right, though,” she said with a sigh. “Nothing terrible is going to happen. I don’t know why I feel so uneasy about it....” She swallowed and decided to get a distasteful duty over with. “I must apologize as well for my behavior last night, Mr. Verderan. More nervous fidgets, I’m afraid. My excuse must be that this is not the life or company I’m accustomed to.”
    He looked at her with faint surprise. “I will claim then that my rudeness was just to make you feel more comfortable, Mrs. Hawley, knowing you had got as good as you had given.”
    It was doubtless as close to an apology as she could hope to get from this man. Beth looked up to meet a spectacularly charming smile and instinctively responded. Goodness, one could come to like him, and that would probably be most unwise.
    Then she took herself to task. This habit she was developing of imagining that gentlemen were out to seduce her was doubtless proof of approaching senility. She was long in the tooth and nothing out of the ordinary, and they probably all thought of her as a comfortable maiden aunt.
    Whatever his motives, Verderan set himself out to please, proving true Jane’s words that he did have beautiful manners when he cared to use them. He drew Beth out to talk of her life at Carne as Jane’s governess