Ten Things I Love About You Read Free

three of the Vickers offspring were probably not Vickerses. Her grandmother, Annabel was coming to realize, had, in addition to a remarkably blasphemous vocabulary, a rather fluid view on morality.
    Gloucestershire was beginning to seem like a dream. Everything in London was so … shiny. Not literally, of course. In truth, everything in London was rather gray, dusted over by a thin sheen of soot and dirt. Annabel wasn’t really sure why “shiny” was the word that had come to mind. Perhaps it was because nothing seemed simple. Definitely not straightforward. And maybe even a little slippery.
    She found herself longing for a tall glass of milk, as if something so fresh and wholesome might restore her sense of balance. She’d never thought herself particularly prim, and heaven knew that she was the Winslow most likely to fall asleep in church, but every day in the capital seemed to bring yet another shock, another moment that left her slack-jawed and confused.
    A month she’d been here now. A month! And still she felt as if she were tiptoeing along, never quite sure if she was doing or saying the right thing.
    She
hated
that.
    At home she was certain. She wasn’t alwaysright, but she was almost always certain. In London the rules were different. And worse, everyone knew everyone else. And if they didn’t, they knew
about
them. It was as if all the
ton
shared some secret history that Annabel was not privy to. Every conversation held an undercurrent, a deeper, more subtle meaning. And Annabel, who in addition to being the Winslow most likely to fall asleep in church was the Winslow most likely to speak her mind, felt she could not say a thing, for fear of making offense.
    Or embarrassing herself.
    Or embarrassing someone else.
    She could not bear the thought. She simply could not bear the thought that she might somehow prove to her grandfather that her mother had indeed been a fool and her father had been a damned fool and that she was the damnedest fool of them all.
    There were a thousand ways to make an idiot of oneself, with new opportunities arising every day. It was exhausting trying to avoid them all.
    Annabel stood and curtsied when the Earl of Newbury took his leave, trying not to notice when his eyes lingered on her bosom. Her grandfather exited the room along with him, leaving her alone with Louisa, their grandmother, and a decanter of sherry.
    “Won’t your mother be pleased,” Lady Vickers announced.
    “About what, ma’am?” Annabel asked.
    Her grandmother gave her a rather jaded look, with a tinge of incredulity and a twist of ennui.“The earl. When I agreed to take you in I never dreamed we might land anything above a baron. What good luck for you he’s desperate.”
    Annabel smiled wryly. How lovely to be the object of desperation.
    “Sherry?” her grandmother offered.
    Annabel shook her head.
    “Louisa?” Lady Vickers cocked her head toward her other granddaughter, who gave her head an immediate and negative shake.
    “He’s not much to look at, that’s true,” Lady Vickers said, “but he was handsome enough when he was young, so your children won’t be ugly.”
    “That’s nice,” Annabel said weakly.
    “Several of my friends set their caps for him, but he had his eye on Margaret Kitson.”
    “Your friends,” Annabel murmured. Her grandmother’s contemporaries had wanted to marry Lord Newbury. Her
grandmother’s
contemporaries had wanted to marry the man who most likely wanted to marry
her.
    Dear God.
    “And he’ll die soon,” her grandmother continued. “You couldn’t hope for more.”
    “I think I will have that sherry,” Annabel announced.
    “Annabel,” Louisa said with a gasp, giving her a what-are-you-doing glance.
    Lady Vickers nodded approvingly and poured her a glass. “Don’t tell your grandfather,” she said, handing it over. “He doesn’t approve of spirits for ladies under the age of thirty.”
    Annabel took a large swallow. It went down her throat in a hot