I Adored a Lord Read Free Page A

being disgorged from carriages seemed entirely out of place here.
    â€œAre those his daughters?”
    â€œLadies Grace and Penelope.”
    â€œTwins.” Dressed in pristine velvet cloaks, their hands encased in white fur muffs, the two sylphlike blondes turned porcelain faces toward another guest: a young lady who stood alone by a traveling carriage as though she’d been forgotten there. Mousy and trussed to her neck in a long pelisse with not one or two but three rows of furbelows, she stared at the drive with round eyes. Nearby, a pear-­shaped matron with similarly ruffled garments chatted gaily with another lady.
    Studying the mouse, one of the Whitebarrow blondes lifted her brow. She and her sister shared words, and their lips curled.
    Ravenna’s throat prickled. She should not have come. But when the invitation to the prince’s party had arrived weeks ago, Petti insisted he always wanted to visit the French mountains. As he simply must bring Caesar, Georgiana, and Mrs. Keen on the journey (the other pugs preferring to remain at home), she must allow them a few more months of her company before she left them entirely for her sister’s ducal home. When she objected to the distance, he had patted her on the hand and said he understood that it was difficult for her to even come indoors some evenings and leave Beast in the dark by himself beneath that old oak tree.Her old friend, Petti said, would be as well in her absence in France as when she removed to Combe; he was beyond hurt now.
    But that was not the truth of it. Beast had loved the shade of that oak and the field around it bursting with wildflowers. It was she who could not bear being indoors without him.
    Now she studied the mouse alone and forgotten on the drive. “Who is that girl?”
    â€œMiss Ann Feathers. Her father, Sir Henry, has made a fortune in breeding Thoroughbreds. Prince Sebastiao’s father, Raynaldo, breeds Andalusians. He won’t be attending the party, but the prince is to negotiate a joint venture in his stead.”
    â€œAnd that lady?” A girl of exquisitely delicate ivory-­and-­ebony beauty walked upon the arm of a young gentleman toward the front door.
    â€œMademoiselle Arielle Dijon. She is daughter of the famed French general Dijon, who saved his troops from utter decimation in 1812 when the Cossacks scorched the earth. He was disenchanted with Napoleon after that fiasco—­”
    â€œUnderstandably,” Petti interjected. An hour earlier he had ensconced himself in a cushioned chair and commenced snoring. Three soft, chubby pugs at his feet snored as well.
    â€œAfter the treaty he left the army,” Sir Beverley continued. “He took his family to America. Philadelphia, I believe.”
    A tiny white dog peeked out from Mademoiselle Dijon’s cloak, and she stroked its brow with great tenderness.
    â€œI like her already,” Ravenna said.
    Another girl, tall, with fiery locks neatly contained by her bonnet, descended from the last carriage. She was astoundingly beautiful, with an air of barely contained energy and bright, seeking eyes. A gentleman dismounting nearby moved to her side, drawing off his hat and offering her a deep bow.
    â€œThat is Lady Iona, who has come with her widowed mother, Duchess McCall,” Sir Beverley murmured. “She’s come a long way to woo a prince.”
    â€œTo woo a prince?”
    Petti chuckled.
    Ravenna swung around to peer at him. “To woo a prince?” she repeated.
    â€œYou didn’t tell her, Bev?” His cloverleaf eyes twinkled.
    â€œTell me what?”
    â€œThis party, my dear,” Petti said cheerily, “is not an idle holiday in the mountains.”
    She looked between them. “Then what is it?”
    â€œPrince Sebastiao seeks a bride,” Sir Beverley replied.
    â€œA bride-­hunting party, my dear!” Petti concurred. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
    It required