Free The Perfect Bride by Eileen Putman Page A

slippery stone staircase on crutches
unassisted?"
    Indignation
surged. "I am a woman, my lord, not some frail creature. I can take care
of myself — "
    "Miss
Fitzhugh,” he said, regarding her steadily, “I am at a loss as to how to
prevent you from harming yourself in my home. This castle is a relic that years
of neglect have only worsened. It does not boast the staff that is needed to
assure the comfort of every guest, and for that I apologize. Refurbishment is
one of my goals, but it is a piecemeal task at best. For now, I must insist as
your host that you exercise more caution. While you are under this roof, you
will call upon Jeffers or myself if you need assistance."
    It
was a command, from one accustomed to issuing them. Amanda was aghast at the notion
of summoning the earl or his manservant to move her from one place to another.
She was here to help Felicity, not to be a burden.
    “I
am not an invalid,” she protested.
    The
barest hint of a smile flitted over his features — yes, perhaps that was a
dimple after all. "Not yet. But I’ll not wager against your chances."
    Amanda
sighed. "Touché, my lord. I suppose I have given you reason enough for
that."
    Lord
Sommersby eyed her thoughtfully, then abruptly sat in the chair nearest the
divan. "I wonder if you will permit me to ask your advice on a delicate matter."
    Amanda
eyed him in surprise.   “Certainly, my lord.”
    "I
am accustomed to solving problems in the most efficient way possible," he
began. "Wasting time appalls me. I prefer to have a plan and to follow
it."
    The
earl drained his own glass, set it on the table, and shot her a pained look.
    "I
am more comfortable on the battlefield than in society, but I have been dealt
this hand and must make the best of it." He hesitated. "I would not
trouble you with this matter, but I have no other females to consult."
    Unable
to imagine any delicate female matter on which she could advise him, Amanda eyed
him with some alarm. "Yes, Lord Sommersby?"
    Rising,
he poured himself another sherry, absently taking Amanda's glass and refilling
it as well.
    "I
am told that a woman of refined breeding is entitled to a Season." This
time he sat next to her on the divan. "Yet it seems an utter waste of
time. If one has decided upon a wife, why spend months dashing about to parties,
dancing attendance on every female in the room and participating in the charade
of matching the flowers of London society, who must be paragons of virtue, with
their future husbands, who must be well-fixed and in possession of a title?"
    "I
see. You would rather just carry her off and be done with it," Amanda
said, unable to keep the amusement from her voice.
    But
he did not look in the least amused. "Yes, by Jove, I would."
    The
image of Felicity slung over Lord Sommersby's shoulder like some prize he had
just won in battle made Amanda laugh out loud. "My lord, there must be
some concessions to polite society."
    "Must
there? Sir Thomas has made it clear that Miss Biddle must have a Season, and so
I have promised to accompany her to town. But I do not see the point in it, if
we are agreed to have each other."
    "She
has accepted your offer, then?" Amanda wondered why Felicity had not
mentioned the fact.
    Lord
Sommersby shook his head. "I have spoken only to her father. Assuming Miss
Biddle agrees, we leave for town within a fortnight. I will spend the next
months escorting her to as many parties and balls as she wishes to
attend." He sighed. "But I simply do not understand the need for such
frivolous rituals."
    Amanda
could well imagine why Felicity would enjoy being the center of attention in
the company of such an esteemed war hero as Lord Sommersby, but she could also
understand why a man of the earl's disposition would view such a prospect with
reluctance, if not loathing. She hesitated. "A young lady of breeding is
raised to expect a Season. It is an exciting time that marks her social
acceptance. Though it may well result in a suitable