Read The Mad Lord's Daughter for Free Online
Authors: Jane Goodger
not a single emotion, as he blithely talked about her complete unattractiveness.
As if suddenly realizing what he was saying, the great lummox, he abruptly stopped talking. “I see I am not saying this correctly,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “When you smile, Miss Stanhope, you become another woman altogether. You must know this is true. It transforms you. When you smile, you become rather”—he stopped, his cheeks going ruddy—“stunning.”
“Oh,” she said, through a throat suddenly gone tight for another reason altogether. “Well. Thank you.” She smiled, then immediately covered her mouth, horribly self-conscious. “Now, I’m afraid, I’ll never be able to smile in front of you.” She’d gone quite red in the face, her eyes twinkling above her hand. Braddock grinned back, as if enjoying her discomfort.
“You mean to say you thought I was offended each time you smiled?”
Diane nodded, feeling foolish. “You did make the oddest expression,” she said, laughing. “The first time I thought I must have something rather horrid stuck between my teeth.”
“The Browning ball,” he said, and Diane couldn’t stop the foolish rush of happiness that he had remembered. “I do apologize if I made you feel self-conscious.”
Diane smiled again, this time not hiding her face. “Apology accepted, sir. Now, about the opera. It is Monday. Are you available?”
“Yes,” Braddock said, clearly wishing he were not.
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll go tell Melissa. No doubt her first outing will be nerve-wracking.”
Melissa sat on a small settee in the well-equipped library, looking up at Miss Stanhope, who was lecturing about the proper behavior of a young lady attending the opera. Looking up, but not listening. All her life she’d listened to people lecturing about how to act but had never gotten the chance to put such lectures into action. She knew how to act, what to say, how far to curtsy, how not to fidget.
“Miss Atwell.”
Her head snapped up. “Yes, Miss Stanhope?”
“I have the distinct feeling you were not listening to me.”
And then, feeling a slight edge of irritation, she repeated precisely what her chaperone had been saying. “One mustn’t clap until the conductor drops his baton. To do so is the most obvious sign of ignorance.”
The older woman’s cheeks grew a bit pink, and Melissa felt immediate remorse. “I am simply trying to help,” Miss Stanhope said.
Melissa held back a sigh. “I do know that. It is only that I’ve heard such lectures my entire life. I want to start doing things, not just talking about them.”
“Of course you do, dear,” Miss Stanhope said kindly. “But I wonder if you would bear with me for perhaps a few more minutes. I’ve asked your cousin to come in this morning. Ah, here he is now.”
Yes, Melissa thought, here he was. This burst of energy and fresh air, this young, vigorous man, this stranger whose eyes could be cold or warm, but were always slightly disconcerting.
“How may I be of help?” he asked, striding forward and giving the women a small bow, a rakish grin on his face.
“You may escort your cousin to the door and return,” Miss Stanhope said.
Melissa stiffened and immediately fought the panic building in her. She hated the thought of touching someone, even with her protective gloves on. “Of . . . Of course,” she said, and began to stand until she noticed Miss Stanhope’s staying hand.
“Please let Lord Willington assist you,” she said gently.
It was a simple thing, really. She need only place her gloved hand into his. He waited patiently, hand extended, that intense look on his face once more. Melissa stared at his hand as if it were a coiled snake ready to strike.
“Miss Atwell,” her cousin said. “Will you please join me for a trip to the door.”
Feeling foolish, Melissa forced herself to place her hand in his and stood. His hand was large and strong and solid, and he held hers as if
As if suddenly realizing what he was saying, the great lummox, he abruptly stopped talking. “I see I am not saying this correctly,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “When you smile, Miss Stanhope, you become another woman altogether. You must know this is true. It transforms you. When you smile, you become rather”—he stopped, his cheeks going ruddy—“stunning.”
“Oh,” she said, through a throat suddenly gone tight for another reason altogether. “Well. Thank you.” She smiled, then immediately covered her mouth, horribly self-conscious. “Now, I’m afraid, I’ll never be able to smile in front of you.” She’d gone quite red in the face, her eyes twinkling above her hand. Braddock grinned back, as if enjoying her discomfort.
“You mean to say you thought I was offended each time you smiled?”
Diane nodded, feeling foolish. “You did make the oddest expression,” she said, laughing. “The first time I thought I must have something rather horrid stuck between my teeth.”
“The Browning ball,” he said, and Diane couldn’t stop the foolish rush of happiness that he had remembered. “I do apologize if I made you feel self-conscious.”
Diane smiled again, this time not hiding her face. “Apology accepted, sir. Now, about the opera. It is Monday. Are you available?”
“Yes,” Braddock said, clearly wishing he were not.
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll go tell Melissa. No doubt her first outing will be nerve-wracking.”
Melissa sat on a small settee in the well-equipped library, looking up at Miss Stanhope, who was lecturing about the proper behavior of a young lady attending the opera. Looking up, but not listening. All her life she’d listened to people lecturing about how to act but had never gotten the chance to put such lectures into action. She knew how to act, what to say, how far to curtsy, how not to fidget.
“Miss Atwell.”
Her head snapped up. “Yes, Miss Stanhope?”
“I have the distinct feeling you were not listening to me.”
And then, feeling a slight edge of irritation, she repeated precisely what her chaperone had been saying. “One mustn’t clap until the conductor drops his baton. To do so is the most obvious sign of ignorance.”
The older woman’s cheeks grew a bit pink, and Melissa felt immediate remorse. “I am simply trying to help,” Miss Stanhope said.
Melissa held back a sigh. “I do know that. It is only that I’ve heard such lectures my entire life. I want to start doing things, not just talking about them.”
“Of course you do, dear,” Miss Stanhope said kindly. “But I wonder if you would bear with me for perhaps a few more minutes. I’ve asked your cousin to come in this morning. Ah, here he is now.”
Yes, Melissa thought, here he was. This burst of energy and fresh air, this young, vigorous man, this stranger whose eyes could be cold or warm, but were always slightly disconcerting.
“How may I be of help?” he asked, striding forward and giving the women a small bow, a rakish grin on his face.
“You may escort your cousin to the door and return,” Miss Stanhope said.
Melissa stiffened and immediately fought the panic building in her. She hated the thought of touching someone, even with her protective gloves on. “Of . . . Of course,” she said, and began to stand until she noticed Miss Stanhope’s staying hand.
“Please let Lord Willington assist you,” she said gently.
It was a simple thing, really. She need only place her gloved hand into his. He waited patiently, hand extended, that intense look on his face once more. Melissa stared at his hand as if it were a coiled snake ready to strike.
“Miss Atwell,” her cousin said. “Will you please join me for a trip to the door.”
Feeling foolish, Melissa forced herself to place her hand in his and stood. His hand was large and strong and solid, and he held hers as if