Holiday House Parties Read Free

intended to convince his father that he’d been civilized enough. If he could persuade his father to let him stay home, he would put an end to his gambling and wenching and settle down to a sane and proper life.
    Meanwhile, however, there was the problem of what to say to the beautiful Miss Woolcott, at whose house he’d now arrived. He knocked hesitantly at her door, rehearsing in his mind the points that Archie had suggested he make to the lady. “Tell her that I’m a catch,” Archie’d said. “Tell her Archibald Halford is a man of loyalty, faithfulness, with a kind disposition and an easygoing, generous nature.…”
    But before Geordie could fully review the list of Archie’s assets, the butler came to the door. Geordie handed the fellow his card. The butler studied the card, eyed Geordie suspiciously, studied the card again, and frowned. “You are Lord Dunvegan?” he asked.
    â€œI am.”
    â€œYou’ve called to see Sir Horace Woolcott, I expect. I’m sorry to have to inform you, my lord, that Sir Horace passed to his reward last year.”
    â€œIt’s Miss Woolcott I’ve come to see,” Geordie explained.
    â€œOh?” The butler raised his brows. “Is Miss Woolcott expecting you?”
    Geordie, not accustomed to being kept waiting about on doorsteps, felt his temper snap. “Wheesht, man, y’re a pawky one. Just gi’e the lass the card. Let her ask the questions.”
    The butler, recognizing a voice of authority even when dressed in a Scottish brogue, admitted him, placed his card on a salver, and asked Geordie to wait in the library. It was not a long wait. Geordie had barely time to study the room—a highceilinged chamber with tall windows and book-laden shelves climbing to the rafters—before the butler returned. “Miss Woolcott will see you in the study, my lord,” he murmured, and he led the visitor down a long hallway to the very last door. “Lord Dunvegan,” he announced, and stood aside.
    Geordie crossed the threshold and stopped short. As the butler discreetly took his leave, Geordie gaped at the young woman rising from behind a desk. She was not at all what he expected. She was certainly not a beauty. His impression was rather that of a schoolmarm than a pretty girl. Small and rather thin, her hair that Archie had so glowingly described was pulled severely back from her face in a tight bun, her supposedly golden brown eyes with their “unbelievable lashes” were hidden behind a pair of large spectacles, and her gown, with its high neck, severe white collar, and long sleeves, did not hide the fact that her figure was almost flat. In Scotland she would never be called sonsy. Only her mouth, ripe and cherry red, lived up to Archie’s besotted description.
    â€œLord Dunvegan?” she was asking as she came round the desk.
    â€œYes, ma’am. But I fear I’ve interrupted ye in your work.”
    â€œThat’s quite all right. I’d almost finished for the day. If, as I suspect, you were acquainted with my father, you’ve probably guessed I’m trying to finish his translation of the Antigone .” She studied his face carefully—blinking in a puzzled way at the wild red hair and boyish face—before putting out her hand. “You were an acquaintance of father’s, were you not?” she asked dubiously.
    â€œNo, ma’am,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. “I’m a friend of Sir Archibald Halford.”
    She stiffened. “Of Archie’s?” She removed her fingers from his grasp and peered at him through her spectacles even more closely. Then her brow cleared. “Oh, I see. I suppose he wants his letters back.”
    â€œLetters?”
    â€œHe only wrote three or four.” She went back to the desk and rummaged through a drawer. “I don’t know why I saved them. They aren’t very good. He can