First Comes Marriage by Mary Balogh Read Free Book Online Page B

and smiled in the same way at everything and everyone, as if she had never enjoyed herself more in her life. She fairly sparkled.

    How anyone could find even a small measure of delight in such an insipid rural entertainment escaped his understanding, but perhaps she had little with which to compare it.

    The rooms were small and cramped, the walls and ceilings bare of ornament—except for one large and hideous sketch over the fireplace of an obese Cupid shooting his arrows. The air was slightly musty as if the rooms were shut up for most of the year—as they doubtless were. The music was enthusiastic but inferior—the violin was half a tone out of tune and the pianist had a tendency to gallop along as if she were anxious to finish the piece before she could hit any wrong notes. Several candles came close to dying every time a door was opened and a draft attacked them. Everyone talked at once—and at ear-shattering volume. And it seemed that everyone was very much aware of his presence and was at great pains not to show it.

    Mrs. Dew danced well at least. She was light on her feet and there was rhythm and grace in her movements.

    He wondered idly if her husband had been the eldest son. How had she attracted him? Did her father have money? Had she married him, perhaps, because she had expected to be Lady Dew one day?

    George, he could see, was dancing with the lady who had been standing with Mrs. Dew—the eldest daughter of a family whose name Elliott could not recall. And if she was the beauty of the family, heaven help the rest of them.

    The younger of the two Huxtable sisters—Miss Katherine Huxtable—was also dancing. The elder was not but stood watching with Lady Dew. He had not been introduced to the third sister. She must have remained at home.

    The elder Miss Huxtable was extremely handsome but was certainly no young girl—just as one might expect, of course, of the senior sibling of a family in which the parents were both deceased. She had probably been responsible for the care of the others for a number of years. He could feel some sympathy for her. Miss Katherine Huxtable looked somewhat like her though she was considerably younger and more animated. She also was ravishingly beautiful despite a faded, shabby gown that someone had tried to disguise with new ribbon.

    Stephen Huxtable was indeed a young cub. Tall and slender and coltish, he was seventeen years old and looked it. He was also very attractive to the young ladies despite his youth. They had clustered about him before the dancing began, and though he had chosen a partner, there were two other young ladies on either side of her in the line who were giving him at least as much attention as they were giving their own more plodding partners.

    His laughter wafted down the line toward Elliott, causing him to purse his lips. He hoped the laughter did not denote a careless mind and a shallow character. He had already lived through a difficult year. Let there not be something equally trying in store for him for the next four.

    “You came to Throckbridge at an auspicious time, my lord,” Mrs. Dew said when the figures of the dance brought them together for a few moments.

    Because it was St. Valentine’s Day, he supposed, and there was a dance at the assembly rooms of the inn where he had the great good fortune to be staying.

    “Indeed, ma’am.” He raised his eyebrows.

    “Auspicious for us, perhaps.” She laughed as they parted company, and he understood that his tone, if not his words, had been less than gracious.

    “I have not danced in more than two years,” she told him when they came together again and joined hands in order to turn once about, “and am quite, quite determined to enjoy it no matter what. You are a good dancer.”

    He raised his eyebrows again but made no reply. What did one say to such an unexpected compliment? But then what had she meant by that no matter what ?

    She laughed once more as they returned to their