A Certain Magic by Mary Balogh Read Free Book Online Page A

not do, he thought. The child was a troubled infant. “And is that what they are trying to do?” he asked.
    “Because you are to be Lord Berringer one day,” she said in a breathless rush, “and because you are fashionable. And it is said you are in search of a wife.”
    “I see,” he said. “But of course, your uncle and your mama will be eager to see to it that you make a suitable match now that you are of marriageable age. And so very lovely, too. I daresay they have not fixed their choice irrevocably on me. Soon you will be going to balls and routs and whatnot, and the young bucks will be killing each other for the favor of one of your smiles.”
    But there was no drawing a smile from her.
    “Uncle says it must be you,” she said.
    “Does he?” Mr. Westhaven said, pursing his lips. “And you have no wish to marry someone in doddering old age? It is quite understandable, ma’am. I shall solve the problem by not offering for you, shall I?”
    “It is not that,” she said. “But I did not think it fair to you, sir. You would certainly not wish to be associated with my family, Uncle being not quite respectable, though I love him dearly, of course. He has always shown nothing but kindness to me.”
    Mr. Westhaven raised his eyebrows. “I have yet to be persuaded that being in trade makes a man less than respectable,” he said. 
    “I am sorry,” she said. “I wish I had not spoken. Indeed, I do.”
    “I do not,” he said. “Shall we be friends, Miss Borden? And later, much, much later, we will both decide whether or not we wish to be something else? Come, that would be a comfortable arrangement, don’t you agree?” He smiled at her, forcing amusement back and kindness to the fore. The poor infant. She must have been frightened out of her wits by two overbearing adults who between them were trying to take away all her freedom of choice.
    “I would like that,” she said, peeping up at him once more. “You are kind, sir.”
    “Not at all,” he said, patting her hand in an avuncular manner and feeling the full amusement of his unaccustomed role. “Shall we return to my box? I believe the play is resuming.”
    A sweet and thoroughly delightful little infant, he thought a couple of minutes later as he turned his eyes toward the stage, his lips pursed. He could have shared his merriment, but his attention was soon caught by the action on stage. He did not feel Alice’s eyes on him.
    ***
    Alice felt justly punished for upsetting Phoebe and her brother by insisting on keeping her theater engagement rather than sitting with Mary and Richard. She had not had a pleasant evening.
    She dismissed her maid later that night and climbed gratefully into bed. For the rest of her time in London—perhaps she would be able to get away in another week or so—she would content herself with the tedium of a sickroom that had no business being a sickroom any longer, Richard in particular should have been outdoors and using up some of his pent-up energy.
    She had had some agreeable conversation with Lady Margam, who remembered Web, though he had not been such a particular friend of Lord Margam’s as Piers had been. But on the whole the evening had been thoroughly disagreeable. There had been all the expenditure of energy on turning aside Sir Clayton’s compliments and keeping the conversation light and inane. And there had been all the annoyance of seeing Piers dancing attendance on a shallow little girl, and knowing that there was every likelihood that he would end up marrying her or someone just like her.
    Harriet had been just like her. Alice and Web had been horrified when he had returned to Westhaven Park after one of his absences, bringing with him a bride. Harriet had been very pretty and very sweet and very, very empty-headed. It had been painful to try to keep a conversation going with her.
    Piers had treated her with amused indulgence. But it had been obvious to both of them that