Free A Kiss to Remember by Teresa Medeiros

the time Dower’s smoldering pipe had set George’s turban afire or the night the flocks had escaped their shepherds and wandered bleating through the aisles of the village church, Laura pasted on a cheerful smile. “That’s exactly how you should see our latest endeavor. As naught but a harmless bit of playacting.”
    Cookie shook her head sorrowfully. “What you’re proposin’ ain’t playactin’, child. It’s lyin’. And no good ever come from lyin’ to a man.” She shot the barn door an uneasy look. “Especially a man such as that one.”
    Laura’s cheery smile vanished. “That may be true, Cookie. But I’m fully convinced that even less good can come from telling the truth.”
    They all stared at her, taken aback by the steely edge in her voice.
    As Laura began to pace between the stalls, the only sound that accompanied her was the fluttering of the swallows that roosted in the eaves. “As I see it, we’re running out of choices. Since I have no intention of marrying one of the men from the village and being miserable for the rest of my life, our only other option is to entrust our future to the hands of Sterling Harlow. And I doubt they call him the Devil of Devonbrooke for naught. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten you, but have any of you really stopped to ponder what manner of
situations
a man like that might arrange for us?”
    Resting her hand on a splintery post, Laura peered up into the loft. Her sister’s eyes glistened down at her from the shadows. “Lottie, I don’t think it’s uncommonfor girls of your age to be banished to the workhouses. To labor from dawn to midnight until their spirits are as broken as their backs.”
    “I shouldn’t mind,” Lottie said fiercely. “As long as you didn’t have to marry that ill-tempered troglodyte.”
    “But what would become of your fine, soft hands? And your hair?”
    Lottie touched a trembling hand to her curls. They all knew that the only thing she remembered of their papa was that he used to call her his little Goldilocks. “I could wear it in braids, I suppose.”
    Laura shook her head, hating herself in that moment nearly as much as she hated Sterling Harlow. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. Once the lice got hold of it, they would have no choice but to crop it all off.”
    George surged to his feet. “He wouldn’t dare put me in such a place! I’m old enough to run away and join the navy!”
    Laura turned to him, her expression as regretful as her tone. “As much as you like to fancy yourself a man, George, you’re not one yet.”
    Her brother flung himself back down on the bench, refusing to look at her.
    Laura moved to kneel before Cookie, peering up into the old woman’s stricken face. “And what about you and Dower? How long do you think this duke will keep you in his employ at your age? If Lady Eleanor hadn’t considered you members of her own family, she would have put you both out to pasture years ago.”
    “This old ram’s still got a bit o’ fire left in ’is ’orn, ’e does,” Dower proclaimed.
    Laura reached up to cradle one of the old man’s knobby hands in her own. “During the summer months,perhaps. But what about those cold winter nights when your knuckles swell and crack and bleed until you can hardly bend them? You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Cookie? You’ve heard him pacing the floor at all hours of the night because he was in too much pain to sleep.”
    As Cookie looked away, avoiding her gaze, Dower pulled Laura to her feet. “It don’t matter if we all end up in the work’ouse with broken backs and bleedin’ knuckles. We still think too ’ighly o’ you to let you sell yourself to a stranger on our account.”
    Laura snatched her hand from his, her desperation growing. “That’s precisely what I’m asking you to do— think of me! Have any of you stopped and asked yourselves what will become of me if this duke claims Arden Manor for his own?”
    Dower