A Necessary Husband by Debra Mullins Read Free Book Online Page A

business while you bided your time to talk some sense into me. Well, I have news for you, Garrett. I am not leaving England until I get what I want.”
    Garrett rubbed a hand over his face. “What do you want?” he asked wearily.
    “I want to go to London. I want to be presented at court. And I want you to be there with me.”
    “Me, in London?” He snorted. “With those primping idiots and those empty-headed women? Are you crazy?”
    “Yes, you in London,” Meg said with a steel in her voice that he had to admire. “We’ll get you some clothes, and you can come with me to all the parties.”
    “Clothes again?” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
    “It’s not correct dress for an English peer. Which you are, whether you like it or not.” She put her hands on her hips. “I want to spend some time with you, Garrett, and I want a taste of what Grandfather is offering. Then I’ll discuss going home with you.”
    Garrett remained silent for a long moment. She really wasn’t asking so much. And once she saw what fools the English nobles could be, she’d be eager to return to sensible Boston society. Once she was back in Boston, maybe he would see about being home more often andthrowing a party or two for her. Young girls liked that sort of thing.
    “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll come to London, but I can’t stay there forever. I still have a business to run.”
    “Oh, Garrett, thank you!” She ran and threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly, relishing this glimpse of the old Meggie.
    “Just don’t marry some damned Englishman,” he murmured into her hair.
    She just hugged him more tightly. For now, that was enough.
     
    The dance master’s name was Monsieur Collineau, and he looked, Garrett thought, like a stork dressed in expensive clothing. The tall, thin fellow had a beak of a nose and spindly legs, and his shirt points rose so high that Garrett was amazed he didn’t put an eye out every time he turned his head.
    And if “Monsieur Collineau” had been born anywhere near France, Garrett would eat Tim O’Brien’s hat.
    No one had spotted Garrett yet. He stood in the door of the music room and watched as Lady Agatha played the pianoforte for Meg, who danced with Lucinda. The lovely widow had changed her gown to one of soft brown, which molded her slender figure and emphasized the whiteness of her skin. Her tawny curls bouncedas she waltzed with Meg, yet a small frown creased the delicate skin between her brows.
    “No, no, no!” Monsieur Collineau cried, clapping his hands together. Lady Agatha stopped playing. “This is wrong, all wrong.”
    Lucinda sighed and brushed a stray curl back into place as the tall, thin dance master paced the floor of the music room.
    “You should be graceful,” Monsieur declared, “not clomping about like a dairy maid through a muddy field! Let us try again.”
    “This is not going to work,” Meg said, folding her arms obstinately.
    “It must work, my lady,” Monsieur Collineau said sternly. “You must learn to waltz if you are going to be a success this season! Come, Madame Devering, take your places again.”
    Lucinda hesitated. “Monsieur, perhaps Miss Stanton-Lynch is correct. I am not used to playing the man’s part in the waltz, and I am finding it difficult to remember where to put my feet.”
    “Nonsense! You will begin again!” He signaled to Lady Agatha, then dropped his hand, an uncertain expression on his face. “Uh, my lady?”
    Lucinda glanced over at Lady Agatha, whose head bobbed forward on her chest even as a soft snore echoed through the music room. “Oh, dear, not again,” Lucinda sighed.
    Again? Garrett thought. Their conversation in the breakfast room came back to him, and everything rapidly fell into place. No wonder the duke had arranged for Lucinda to help with Meg: Lady Agatha apparently had a tendency to drift off to sleep at any moment!
    Lucinda hurried forward and gently nudged