Courting Miss Lancaster by Sarah M. Eden Read Free Book Online

of overindulgence in macaroons before you reach the age of twenty-five.”
    Athena and Persephone both laughed at the memory of their youngest sister’s scold. Artemis, at nine, was far too outspoken for her own good. But she was such an absolutely darling little girl that one could not possibly hold anything she said against her.
    “Artemis will certainly run us all a merry chase over the next ten years or more.” Persephone smiled, shaking her head in amusement.
    They all smiled at the truth of that statement and began partaking of the delicacies provided by their hostess.
    “Windover, old chap, here you are,” a voice drawled, pulling Athena’s attention from her supper. A gentleman stood beside their table, one hip cocked out, hand fisted and resting against it, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He was dressed to absolute perfection, not a single wrinkle marring his impeccably tailored black jacket. His almost blindingly white cravat was so symmetrical it might very well have been carved by the hand of a sculpting master. And there was absolutely no denying the gentleman was astoundingly handsome.
    “Ah, Peterbrook,” Harry replied, smiling up at the stranger. “Well met. Well met. Your Grace,” Harry turned toward Persephone, “may I present to you Mr. Peterbrook of Caddelford in Lancashire.” Persephone inclined her head ever so slightly. She was remarkably good at being a lofty duchess. Athena nearly always had to fight a smile when Persephone slipped on her social mask. “Peterbrook, might I make known to you Her Grace, the Duchess of Kielder.”
    They exchanged the expected pleasantries after which Persephone introduced Athena and Mr. Peterbrook to one another. Harry then invited Mr. Peterbrook to join them, an invitation Mr. Peterbrook accepted with a dashing smile. After Mr. Howard’s discussion of the finer points of elms—which took the better part of the country dance he’d engaged Athena’s hand for, despite his having only spoken half a dozen times—Athena was anxious for a real conversation. Despite her original intention not to create a checklist for husband requirements, she was finding herself compiling one. The ability to converse was certainly high on the list. And, though she hadn’t considered it consciously before, she found herself adding “handsome” to her requirements as well.
    “Weston, isn’t it?” Harry asked Mr. Peterbrook, inclining his head in the approximate direction of Mr. Peterbrook’s evening jacket.
    “Most certainly,” Mr. Peterbrook replied, an eyebrow raised as if in shock at the question. “You certainly didn’t suppose I had patronized an inferior tailor. Did you?” Again, the shock.
    “Not at all,” Harry reassured him with a smile. “I was simply confirming what I knew to be a certainty.”
    “A gentleman cannot possibly underestimate the importance of a competent tailor,” Mr. Peterbrook informed them with an air of authority.
    “Is that so?” Harry replied. Athena glanced at him, something in his tone striking her as strange. The interest she heard in his voice seemed too great to be real, and yet she didn’t detect laughter behind it. That, alone, was unusual for Harry.
    “Indeed.” Mr. Peterbrook stared across the table at Harry, his expression shifting from surprise to something resembling pity. “If one is to look one’s best, which is, as we know all, entirely essential, the fit of one’s coat is paramount.”
    “I do not believe that rule can be applied universally, Peterbrook,” Harry answered, a smile touching the very corner of his mouth. “I daresay, for a lady, the fit of her jacket is not a consideration.”
    Athena held back a laugh. Harry had found a hole in Mr. Peterbrook’s reasoning quite immediately. Ladies did not, after all, wear the formal jackets that men did.
    “But the fit of our jackets would, most certainly, be taken into consideration by ladies of taste and refinement,” Mr. Peterbrook replied. “An