Bridegroom Wore Plaid by Grace Burrowes Read Free Book Online

as I approve of riding after a full meal. You girls mind your aunt, and when you’re done, be sure to send along notes to your mama, else she’ll be pestering me to death for word of your doings. Pass the teapot, Gussie.”
    Augusta did as bid. She always did as her uncle bid her, but she also noticed the earl was not making noises to join the riding expedition.
    Prudent of him, to only advance his cause so far then leave Genie some time to regain her balance. It wasn’t as if his own brothers were going to undermine his prospects with Genie, were they?

Three
    Ian counted breakfast a limited success, in part because Gil had been canny enough to suggest an outing for the ladies that Ian could easily decline.
    Always leave your opponent a graceful out. Grandfather’s words echoed in Ian’s mind, though Ian wondered how a battle-hardened soldier had applied those words in a life-or-death struggle. They had merit in a wooing, or whatever Ian was engaged in with Miss Daniels.
    Miss Genie. Who’d looked only relieved when Miss Merrick had requested Ian’s company on a tour of the library.
    “Have you many novels in your library?”
    Miss Merrick voiced her question tentatively, as if novels were some kind of pornography. Perhaps in her lexicon they were.
    “Mary Fran claims we’re to stock them for guests. Connor says any Scots household worth its salt has to have a full complement of old Sir Walter. Gil’s excuse is that we keep them on hand for Mary Fran, while I admit to reading occasionally purely for recreation.”
    As she walked beside him along the rows of shelves, her eyes grew wide. “You admit such a thing?”
    “There are advantages to being head of the household.” He refrained from giving her a conspiratorial wink lest the poor thing expire from an excess of innuendo, but there was pleasure in showing her what remained of the family library. She ran a single, tentative finger down the spine of each volume he pointed out, her touch slow and reverent, a kind of literary caress.
    “Books were my salvation,” she said as they paused by the old atlas spread on a gate-legged table. “When Papa died and then Mother died so soon after, I was quite alone. Proper mourning leaves one nothing to do but mourn, and I’ve concluded this isn’t a good thing. Grief crowds in closely enough without the rest of life being shoved aside to make way for it. Am I scandalizing you?”
    She peeked over at him, and Ian smiled at her. The library door was wide open, a footman posted directly outside. They were discussing novels, or possibly mourning, and she was concerned she might be shocking him.
    Ian bent a bit closer and kept his voice down, as if they were exchanging confidences. “I found a great deal more solace in taking care of my father’s legacy and brawling with my brothers than I did sitting behind draped windows and reading scripture.”
    Or getting drunk. He shook off that thought.
    “Have you read this one?” He reached over her shoulder and pulled down a book. “It’s credited with sparking the revival of Scottish national pride, indirectly.”
    “ Waverley? This is by your Sir Walter.”
    “It was so popular it gained him a dinner with George IV, and put Sir Walter in the position of managing the King’s visit here in ’22. I’m told I was brought to Edinburgh as an infant to see George sporting about in royal Stuart finery, but I have no recollection of it.”
    She frowned at the book in her hand. “George’s advisors wanted him away from the Continent at that time, as I recall. He gained a great following here, though, didn’t he?”
    “Temporarily, at least. In my grandfather’s time, we were still forbidden to wear the tartan and play our pipes. That George’s visit celebrated the very things long denied us was likely the source of that popularity.” But what sort of bluestocking was she, that she’d have a grasp of political history thirty years distant?
    He was going to ask her, but