Improper Ladies Read Free Page A

thick green-and-gold carpet covered the floor.
    Through an arched doorway she saw a dining room, equally grand. In the corner, a spiral staircase ran up to another floor. Perhaps there were rooms there that could be made into a private apartment.
    How prosperous this Golden Feather must be, Caroline reflected, as she gave the roulette wheel an idle spin. She could just envision the crowds of well-dressed gamesters who would flock here, filling the gilt chairs, drinking champagne—spending their money.
    She had thought perhaps to sell the place, to pay for Phoebe’s remaining years at school from the proceeds. But if she could run it herself, just for a few years, how much more money they could have! Enough for a come-out and a fine dowry for Phoebe. Perhaps even a cozy country cottage for herself.
    It would be simple enough to say that Lawrence had lost the deed soon to some mystery lady after winning it. She had come to enough places like this with her husband to know the basics of how they were run. She would need help, of course, but she was a fast learner. It could be done. And then she would never have to marry again, never be at the mercy of a careless, irresponsible man again.
    But, oh, then she would have to live every day in a world she hated! A world she had blamed for ruining her husband, her marriage. Ruining the naive, romantic girl she had once been.
    Caroline sat down in one of the velvet chairs and propped her chin on her black-gloved hand. She did hate gaming, but what choice did she really have? If she did not make use of this place, she would be utterly ruined. She had no job skills and certainly no matrimonial prospects. She would starve in the streets. Worse yet, Phoebe, her dear Phoebe, would be ruined along with her.
    “It will not be forever,” she whispered fiercely, convincing herself. “It will not be forever!”

Chapter One
    London, Four Years Later
     
    “Justin, you’re home! You’re home at last.”
    Justin, now the Earl of Lyndon on the deaths over a year ago of his father and older brother, barely had time to hand the butler his greatcoat when his mother came down the stairs. She enveloped him in her rose-scented embrace, holding him tightly.
    “It has been so long,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his shirtfront.
    Justin rested his cheek against her ruffled lace cap. “Yes, Mother. Too long.”
    He had thought so many times during the hot, endless days in India that he would surely never be in this place again. Never see his family, never be in his home, never feel the coolness of a sweet English breeze on his face. England had seemed an impossible dream, so distant from the sticky, dusty Indian reality.
    Yet here he was. Standing once again in the foyer of Seward House. It all looked the same. The same family portraits hung on the walls; the same faded Aubusson rug lined the floor. Richards was the same, trying to hide his undignified emotion behind a stolid facade. His mother even smelled the same, of roses and sugar cakes.
    But she did not look the same, Justin thought as he drew back a bit to look at her. Amelia had been pale and sickly when he left four years ago. Almost like a shadow. Now she had gained some weight; her lavender silk gown lay smooth on her rounded shoulders. Her cheeks were a pale pink, her eyes sparkling with delight at her son’s homecoming. She must have ceased taking the “medicine” she used to have.
    “I started for home as soon as I received your letter about Father and Edward’s accident, Mother,” he said. “I’m sorry it has taken me so very long.”
    “I know, dear. It was so ... so very difficult, all alone without them,” Amelia said, with a rather watery smile. “You are here, though, and that is all that matters. I am certain all will be well now.”
    All would be well? “Mother, what? ...”
    Amelia shook her head. “Not now. I will tell you everything later, but right now you must be so tired. Come into the drawing room