The Impatient Groom Read Free

prompted her to dream of meeting her prince one day, falling in love and having his children. Even if that ‘prince’ turned out to be a farmhand or an estate agent, he’d be a prince to her !
    And they’d have children. Four would be perfect. Sophia sighed. She longed for a baby. The desire had grown more urgent as her biological clock had begun to tick away. Although she’d always made the best of whatever situation she was in, a family would make her life complete.
    Humour and common sense dragged her back to reality. Out here in this quiet country setting, white horses bearing spare bachelor princes, farmhands or estate agents were thin on the ground. Especially ones who’d fall madly in love with a thirty-two-year-old spinster in a terminally ill brown cardy!
    Amused, she imagined Prince Rozzano leaning down
from his white stallion and hooking her up to sit in front of him. He’d unbutton her demure cardigan and fling it away in a fit of unbridled passion.
    She stifled a giggle and paid attention, her face as sombre as she could make it.
    â€˜So please, take a seat. And I must apologise for Jean,’ Frank was saying. ‘She’s a temp. My own secretary is on maternity leave.’
    â€˜How lovely!’ she said, suppressing her envy. ‘But I’m sure it’s been difficult for you,’ Sophia sympathised.
    She sat down and tried to make her too short skirt cover a bit more thigh. The prince had already given her legs a couple of glances. Unfortunately she couldn’t tell if he’d disapproved or enjoyed the experience.
    The secretary knocked on the door and placed a tray on the solicitor’s desk, her hands clumsily knocking against the phone as she did so. Simpering, she handed the prince a cup, looked disappointed when he coolly declined her further services via milk and sugar and stalked out in a sulk, leaving Sophia and Frank to reach for their own less than pristine mugs.
    Frank sighed. ‘I give up!’
    Sophia’s eyes were laughing at his mock despair. ‘If you’re stuck any time in the future, I could always pop in and give you a hand,’ she offered. ‘I used to do Father’s typing and accounts for him.’
    Frank looked bemused. ‘I thought you ran a day nursery before you stopped working to care for him?’
    Her face grew soft with the happy memories of those days. ‘I did. I adored it, too,’ she admitted. ‘But I helped Father in my spare time. Frankly, I’d do anything now—so long as it doesn’t involve night or daylight robbery, pushing drugs or—’ She stopped, realising she’d gabbled
on without her usual sense of caution. This definitely wasn’t the place to mention prostitution!
    â€˜Or?’ prompted the prince.
    â€˜Anything illegal.’ She made the words as prim as possible.
    â€˜Ah.’
    From the look in his eyes, it was plain that he knew exactly what she’d meant! Demurely she continued. ‘Apart from the voluntary work I do at the school, I’ve been out of work since Father died.’ She grimaced. ‘You know what it’s like finding a job here, Frank. If I lived in a town it would be easier, but I can’t afford to move.’
    A low laugh escaped when she remembered her last attempt at finding employment.
    â€˜Share it, please, Miss Charlton,’ murmured the prince, the expression in his eyes veiled by his impossibly long lashes.
    Both men seemed interested, so she gave a shrug and shared. ‘I was desperate for any kind of work,’ she told them solemnly, ‘so last week I applied for a job as a bin man— person ,’ she corrected, remembering to be politically correct.
    â€˜Bin...person?’
    The prince’s English was amazing, but obviously aristocrats didn’t know about such things. Solemnly she explained. ‘Refuse collector.’
    The prince’s only response was a millimetre