The Bachelor's Bargain by Catherine Palmer Read Free Book Online

place a bouquet of roses in its stead and sell it to the laceman for a price, small though it might be.
    Lord Blackthorne lifted the border and held it to the firelight. For a terrible instant, she thought him so cruel as to toss it into the flames. She held her breath as he turned the lace one way and then another.
    “You designed this, Miss Webster?” he asked.
    “Yes, my lord.”
    The gossamer silk caught the flickering of the blaze and glowed with an inner radiance. “By George, I am mesmerized. This lace is a work of art. Here is our lozenge, Father, depicted in a most accurate and delicate fashion. These roses are . . . well, they are magnificent.”
    “Thank you, sir.” She bent slowly toward the lace as she spoke. “I spent more than a twelvemonth in the border’s design, and I should very much like—”
    “I am afraid I shall have to keep it,” he interrupted her, stuffing the lace into his pocket. “When I have your answer, Miss Webster, the lace will be yours again.”
    “She told you she could not like you,” Sir Alexander said with impatience. “What more can you ask of the wench?”
    “Until I know whether or not she intends to accept my proposal of marriage, I fear my father will pressure me relentlessly on that account. I must have Miss Webster’s formal rejection, and then His Grace will understand there is not a woman in the land who would willingly yoke herself to me.”
    “Now, then, Lord Blackthorne,” the vicar intoned, “do leave this poor serving girl in peace. You have tormented her beyond reason already.”
    “Indeed.” The duke gave his son a scowl before turning his attention to Anne. “Miss Webster, go and find Mrs. Davies at once. Tell our housekeeper to prepare the chambers of the marquess. They are to be dusted and aired with no little care. Then you may inform Mrs. Smythe to ready an elegant dinner on my son’s behalf. Stop at nothing. We shall have the finest from our larder.”
    “Yes, Your Grace.” Tearing her eyes from the marquess’s waistcoat pocket, Anne gave the duke a curtsy.
    “Prepare the fatted calf,” Sir Alexander declared with a grand sweep of his hand. “The prodigal son has returned.”
    “Let us make merry and rejoice,” the vicar quoted from Scripture, “for this brother of yours was dead and has begun to live, and was lost and has been found.”
    “Amen!” the duke pronounced, as if he were God Himself.
    As Ruel watched the dismissed housemaid slip away, three things occurred to him at once.
    First, it occurred to him that in Christ’s parable of the prodigal son, the dutiful brother had in no wise welcomed home his wandering sibling. In fact, he had been jealous, angry, and resentful. Was Alex as pleased as he seemed at Ruel’s return? The turn of events meant Alex had lost the opportunity to be declared heir apparent. All the same, the younger man wore his usual carefree demeanor, and Ruel could not believe his brother had any hostile intent when he alluded to the parable.
    Second, it occurred to him that Miss Webster did possess the most intriguing pair of golden brown eyes and the most luxurious mane of chestnut hair he had ever seen. She spoke with fire and wit, and she had shown not the slightest fear in declaring her utter dislike of him. Moreover, she was undoubtedly as talented in the creation of lace as she had asserted.
    Finally, it occurred to Lord Blackthorne that he still held that panel of ethereal lace in his possession, and that Miss Webster had not given him her answer.

Three
    “Whatever can you do?” Miss Prudence Watson whispered. “You cannot steal it back.”
    Anne studied the shadows creeping across the moonlit ceiling above the narrow bed in the room she shared with Miss Watson. She knew she should count it a privilege to labor in such an elevated position as lady’s maid. While she enjoyed the spaciousness and warmth of her mistress’s quarters, the other servants slept in small rooms on the top floor of