Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) by Karen Harbaugh Read Free Book Online

about. You take these things too much to heart, Psyche." Lady Hathaway smiled and smoothed her daughter's hair back fondly. "My, your hair does go every which way, does it not? Do go up and get it brushed properly, love. The Marquess of Blytheland is calling on Cassandra! Can you believe it? I shall allow you to come for a short while, but you must only speak when spoken to! He has come to see Cassandra, and I do hope she minds her tongue for once."
    " I am very glad Cassandra has an admirer, Mama. She is a very good girl, isn't she? So she deserves someone who will love her as we do," Psyche said loyally.
    Lady Hathaway sighed. "I certainly hope so. Now do go, Psyche, and tidy yourself."
    Psyche went out of the parlor, with Harry trailing behind. She did not look at him.
    "Psyche."
    Silence.
    "Psyche, don't be angry with me."
    The girl turned and looked at her friend. "You made me lie to Mama."
    " You know it was for the best, Psyche! You would have received a terrible scold about making up stories, and you would have been sent up to your room."
    Harry 's face looked solemn and sad. Psyche's heart melted. She could never stay angry with him for long. "Well, I suppose it wasn't so horrid. Let's go up, then."
    " May I come to see this marquess of Cassandra's?"
    Psyche looked warily at him.
    "It's only to see what sort of man he is—if he truly deserves to be Cassandra's suitor."
    " Oh . . . very well, then. But no tricks! And promise you will leave your arrows behind."
    " I? Tricks?"
    " Harry!"
    Harry sighed. "I promise."
     
     

 
     
    Chapter 3
    When Thrimble, the butler, announced the marquess, my lord saw no one in the parlor except a young, mop-haired girl. He felt slightly put out, even though he was only a little earlier than usual for the ton 's afternoon calling hours. Then he remembered that Sir John was considered rather provincial in his habits and perhaps kept different hours. Annoying, that, but understandable.
    He looked at the girl, who had stood up from her chair at his entrance. He thought she must be Miss Hathaway 's sister, for though her hair was a decided red, her eyes and nose had the same shape as the elder Miss Hathaway's. She looked at him, her expression uncertain and shy. He wondered if she was mute, for she simply stared at him, and as the minutes ticked by on the mantelpiece clock, her face grew anxious and urgent. She wriggled her nose and grimaced, as if she had something to say but could not. Well, the least he could do was introduce himself and see if she responded.
    " The younger Miss Hathaway, I presume?" Lord Blytheland said, smiling, and bowed. "I am Paul Templeton, Marquess of Blytheland, here to call upon your mother and sister."
    An expression of profound relief crossed the girl 's face, and she sketched a competent curtsy. "Yes, sir—that is, my lord. I am Psyche Hathaway. Please be seated. Mama and Cassandra should be here shortly."
    His smile turned into a wide grin. "I see your father is truly the complete classicist." He sat down in a comfortable chair by the window.
    The girl rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Yes, my lord."
    Blytheland chuckled. "Fathers can be a burden, can they not? My father is also fond of the classics."
    " But you do not have to suffer under a name like mine!"
    " Ah, but here's something I do not tell everyone: my middle name is Xanthus."
    " Oh, dear." Psyche made a face, then looked contrite. "It is not a terrible name, about as bad as my own, really. But at least it's not your first name," she said consolingly.
    " Certainly, I may be thankful for that!" Blytheland laughed, reflecting that the elder Miss Hathaway was not the only blunt one in the family. A slight noise made him look up and he rose immediately, for the door opened and Cassandra entered, Lady Hathaway following her. He caught his breath.
    He had thought perhaps his perception of Miss Hathaway 's charms might have been partly due to his imagination. Blytheland had known times when, caught