The Earl's Revenge by Allison Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

keep you safe and happy,” she murmured huskily, her eyes promising all manner of delights if he would only see reason. Mrs. Woodleigh seconded the sentiments, going so far as to stroke his sleeve.
    Mark shivered, determined to escape the complications of town for a while. Mrs. Woodleigh’s exhortations and sudden possessiveness hinted that she had plans for a more permanent future.
    “Here is a better idea,” Lady Means exclaimed when he failed to respond to her suggestion. “Perhaps we should get up a party and come with you.”
    This time Bridgeport met her eyes. “I cannot imagine you giving up part of the Season, my lady, especially to visit an area with neither amusements nor company to recommend it. The house has not been tenanted for decades and may be uninhabitable, and I will certainly be too busy to entertain anyone.”
    She flushed at the double entendre.
    Thankfully, the next course appeared, order was restored, and Mark could turn his attention to his other dinner partner. She was Marchmont’s elderly aunt and proved to have no interest either in current on-dits or in forming a relationship with him. He relaxed and began to enjoy the evening, slipping away immediately after the port with the excuse that he must make an early start.
     

Chapter Four
     
    “Good morning, Miss Elaine,” called a cheerful Helen.
    Elaine glanced up to see the girl clambering across a field of rocks. The child had an uncanny knack for escaping supervision and an even more uncanny ability to know where Elaine could be found. She shivered. Often she did not herself know in which direction she would wander. But she had given up on the efficacy of scolding, instead teaching the girl the dangers inherent in moor and shore.
    “Have you run away from poor Miss Beddoes again?” she chided softly. “That is not the conduct of a proper lady.”
    “I know, but I so much wanted to draw,” wheedled Helen, seating herself cross-legged on the ground at Elaine’s feet.
    “Very well.” Elaine shook her head in mock exasperation, even as she pulled out the second sketchbook she now routinely carried in her bag and commenced with what had become almost daily lessons. How could she deny the girl? Art was her own consuming passion, despite having had not the slightest encouragement from her family.
    Perhaps that was why Helen appealed to her so strongly. Not that their situations were alike, but both had been denied proper instruction even in subjects like sketching that were deemed suitable for females. Each could blame only her father.
    Lord Grimfield was a religious fanatic who had demanded that his daughter spend much of her day in prayer and atonement for her sins. Lady Grimfield had been Elaine’s sole teacher until her death when the girl was eleven. The lady had tried to properly train her daughter, knowing that Elaine would eventually wed a gentleman. But Lord Grimfield refused to countenance such frivolous pastimes, punishing both wife and daughter if he caught them. He was a pinchpenny of the worst sort who condoned no waste of time on nonproductive activity.
    Elaine learned needlework by mending endless linens and constructing her own clothes. She learned to read only so she could study the Bible. A pianoforte was an unnecessary expense because hymns could be easily rendered with the voice, which needed no training. Deportment consisted of lessons in humility, obedience, the superiority of men, and the desirability of instantly executing every demand of her father or brother.
    Not until after she left home did she realize that her father hated females even more than he revered God. And it was later yet before she admitted that the deity he worshiped was even more tyrannical than the harshest taskmaster depicted in the Old Testament, a deity far different from the loving, forgiving Father of the New Testament.
    After his wife’s death, Grimfield had looked for someone to raise his daughter, hiring a governess recommended by