Susanne Marie Knight Read Free

isn’t it, miss? I just love the hubbub ’n all the things to do in Lunnon.”
    Hubbub had no appeal for Bethany. “Please, tell me again about the Countess of Ingraham, Elsie. Is she very kind? Are you certain she is looking forward to having me as a guest?”
    The answer was obvious; after all the Countess had sent the vehicle for her, hadn’t she? But Bethany need the extra reassurance.
    The maid bobbed her head with youthful enthusiasm. “Yes, miss, I’m assured her ladyship is. I got it on the best authority as I have not, as yet, met her ladyship. The butler, Stevens, let it slip to the cook, who then told the housekeeper, who whispered it to us maids that her ladyship’s married daughter be quite determined for you to visit.”
    Bethany blinked, trying to digest that convoluted sentence. Nowhere in that chain of words was the information she sought. Oh well, perhaps the Countess would consider Bethany a rare find, too.
    She could dream, couldn’t she?
    The carriage stopped in front of a magnificent townhouse. The building was a fine example of the Palladian style of architecture. It had four Corinthian columns and three marble arches at the entryway. Very, very impressive. And quite out of Bethany’s realm of experience.
    The coachman opened the carriage door and helped her down. After thanking him, she waited for the maid.
    Elsie shooed her on. “Go ahead, miss. I’ll take care of your baggage.”
    Bethany nodded then proceeded up the front steps of the townhouse. She stood by the black hardwood door for just a moment, then inhaled a sharp breath for courage.
    There. Better. She picked up the brass knocker and rapped it twice against the door.
    A small man in a grand uniform and white curly wig — perhaps it was the butler, Stevens? — opened the paneled door. His dark gaze traveled from her threadbare pelisse to the standing barouche in the street. He then inclined his head. “Welcome to London, miss. Please do come in.”
    He held the door open wide. “I am Stevens, miss. You must be weary from your long journey. We were not expecting you until tomorrow.”
    “Thank you, Stevens.” She stepped into the townhouse. “Yes, the coachman made good time.”
    After one look at the elegant black and white-tiled anteroom, Bethany’s shoulders slumped. She was as out-of-place as a donkey in a stable of fine steeds.
    Stevens took her pelisse and bonnet. “This way, miss.” He showed her to a blue drawing room, and waited until she entered. “I shall inform the master of your arrival.”
    She sank down on a blue-flowered settee. The pale celestial blue walls, the polished hardwood floors and the blazing fireplace had to cost more than the sum total of all her worldly possessions.
    Never mind, she chided herself. She had more important things to think about. Master, Stevens had said. Who was the master here? The Countess’ husband? Why would the butler inform the earl instead of the Countess?
    So many questions. She touched her now throbbing temple to smooth away the pain.
    The enameled door opened and in stepped the most handsome gentleman she’d ever laid eyes on. He was tall, so tall she had to lift her gaze to take in the length of him. His dark hair hung in tousled curls on his forehead while his long sideburns edged the line of his cheekbone. Dressed in a dashing woolen jacket, nankeen breeches and leather Hessian boots, he appeared as if he’d just entered the townhouse from an afternoon stroll. .
    And speaking of eyes, she couldn’t discern the color of his. His eyes widened at the sight of her. Then he frowned.
    She quickly stood and curtsied.
    The young man hesitated for a second, and then bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Branford. I trust you enjoyed a pleasant journey.”
    “Thank you, sir. I did.”
    After she spoke, silence hung in the air and he seemed loath to break it. The man flicked his gaze over her, adjusted the cuffs on his jacket and paced along the ornate side table, all at the