The Luckiest Lady In London by Sherry Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

more exalted pedigree in their brides, or at least no whiff of scandal attached to the family name.
    At night she lay awake, planning for a bleak future. Mrs. Cantwell held on fiercely to her status as a lady. The idea of her daughters working for remuneration was anathema to her: She was a lady only if her daughters, too, were ladies.
    But Mrs. Cantwell could afford to make a fuss about being a lady; she was the one with the annuity that would last for as long as she lived. Her daughters had no such luxuries.
    If Louisa were to fail in London, she must immediately find work. Mrs. Cantwell could tell everyone that she had gone to live with a distant cousin, if that would help her feel better. But if Louisa were not home, who would keep an eye on the budget? Cecilia and Julia both enjoyed buying thingsas much as Mrs. Cantwell did. Would the money Louisa would be able to set aside from working make up for the difference?
    After Mrs. Cantwell passed away, everyone would need to work, of course, even Julia, who would hate to either instruct small children or fetch tea for old ladies. But Julia could fend for herself. Who would look after Matilda? Matilda needed someone to be with her at all times, to make sure she didn’t fall down staircases or drown in a bathtub.
    If Frederica stayed with Matilda, they would still require a place to live and enough money for essentials. Would Louisa, Cecilia, and Julia, working at positions that didn’t pay very much, be able to support them?
    And if not, what would happen to Matilda?
    They had spoken of this only once, she and Matilda, not long after Matilda realized what would happen upon Mrs. Cantwell’s death. Louisa had told Matilda then that she would never let Matilda be taken to the poorhouse.
    I will take care of you, do you understand? Now don’t worry anymore. Everything will be fine. You’ll see
.
    Would that turn out to be an empty promise, after all?

CHAPTER 4
    F elix left London for a week. The day of his return, he went to the Reading Room of the British Museum. After two hours with stacks of books before him, he stepped out from underneath the Reading Room’s famous blue-and-gold dome to find himself a cup of tea.
    Sitting in a corner of the nondescript refreshment room, a plate of wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches before her, was none other than Miss Louisa Cantwell, in the same green velvet walking dress from the time they had run into each other at the bookshop.
    He blinked, not sure he hadn’t somehow conjured her. He’d gone to Huntington, his country seat, because he had not wanted to waste the night skies of an unusually sunny week in the middle of a very wet summer. But one could argue that he had left to prove to himself that he would be quite fine were he to stay away from her.
    He was fine, busying himself with his astronomical observations. He thought of her a great deal, but that was only tobe expected, given that he had plots in place concerning her. Besides, those thoughts were quite pleasurable and gave him not a moment of distress or angst.
    Ignoring her sandwiches, Miss Cantwell played with her napkin—something she would never do at a proper dining table—rolling it into a tight tube, then shaking it loose and folding it into a smaller and smaller triangle. He found her prettier like this, distracted, unsmiling, and without the air of utter agreeableness that she wore like a layer of theatrical makeup.
    The next moment, something in her aspect changed. Her fingers, which had treated the napkin as only a napkin, now lingered over the linen, caressing it, then seizing a handful of the cloth as if in agitation—as if the fabric were that of the sheet upon which she awaited her lover.
    He felt his own breath quickening. A little disconcerting to realize that she could arouse him even when she was not reacting to his presence.
    She glanced up. The expression on her face when she saw him—as if he were a swaying cobra and she a hapless would-be victim,