The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) Read Free Page B

to the paper-covered plaster walls of their ancestral home. “Papa never lived at Rosehearst. Never walked its halls. Never read its books.” Or sat in its chairs as he took her onto his lap to dry her tears when her tongue slipped. “The memories are here.”
    Albina drew her pencil across her sketchbook. “And so is the earl. Along with three other ladies of distinction, all vying for his hand.” She stared pointedly at their mother. “Whether they wish it or not.”
    Their mother rapped her fan against the back of Henrietta’s chair. “I will not lose Plumburn to Lady Georgiana or any other half-wit undeserving of your father’s legacy. You must garner the earl’s attention, capture his interest, and be a constant fixture in his presence.”
    Sarah sat up, setting her book on the seat beside her. “We can be in his presence, but that doesn’t ensure our selection, nor do I wish it. I do not find him all that alluring as a potential spouse, Plumburn or not.”
    Not alluring? Henrietta glanced at her younger sister, Albina’s twin, though the two did not bear identical features. How could she not find the earl alluring? Or, at the very least, intriguing?
    His eye patch notwithstanding, there was an element of mystery about him that drew her in—as though his apathy was a shield for the vulnerability wrought by the truth behind the gossip, the secrets, the events that must have occurred for him to be disfigured.
    Which only added to his allure—along with the cropped, coffee-colored hair covering his head, and despite a clean shaven face, the shadow of black whiskers hinting at dark growth across a square jaw. His functioning eye, as if making up for the loss of its twin, had pierced through her from across the room, deepening from a clear chestnut to a mesmerizing walnut.
    Her pulse quickened at the memory of his assessing glare, of his full lips turning down with what she could only surmise to be disappointment as he had taken in her wet gown and rumpled appearance.
    “He is fair,” Albina added. Her sister’s hand moved with practiced, deliberate strokes. “But he is not Lord Satterfield.”
    “Indeed, he is not.” Henrietta stood, if only to move away from her mother’s menacing fan still clenched within her fist. “But love and attraction hold little weight in the selection of a spouse. This is Plumburn, for heaven’s sake. Our father’s home. Do none of you wish to champion for her?”
    Albina and Sarah exchanged glances, their shared births giving them a connection Henrietta never fully grasped.
    “It is but a place of dwelling, Henrietta,” Sarah said, her voice low. “And while we have wonderful memories of Papa living amongst these walls, our attachment to them is not as deep as yours or Mother’s.”
    Henrietta’s chest constricted. Her sister spoke blasphemy. “But what of the memories of Papa? Are they not worth any sacrifice? His presence can still be felt in the selection of the furniture and the scores of books lining the library walls.”
    Albina stared up at her, her eyes forlorn. “You were his favorite, Henrietta. He did not dote on us as he did you. You were the one who needed him most.”
    “It is true,” their mother whispered. “He favored you because you were the most like him.”
    Indeed, she was. Their shared impediment had cultivated a deep connection between them—a connection she was determined to save, this morning’s blunder be damned. Henrietta threw back her shoulders, resolve straightening her spine. “Then there is nothing for it. I must be the one who saves Plumburn. I simply have to attract the earl and somehow make him forget this morning’s debacle. All without bringing attention to my stutter.”
    She was asking the impossible. Pigs had a better chance of sprouting wings than she did in making the earl forget what had transpired.
    Albina lowered her gaze to the floor. Their mother lifted her eyes to the ceiling. And Sarah stared intently at the