The Surgeon's Miracle / Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell Read Free

both dead, or what? And what on earth are you going to wear?’
    She felt a flicker of unease. ‘I don’t know. Clothes?’ she said helpfully, and the physio rolled her eyes.
    ‘Dear heaven. You do realise who’ll be there, don’t you? I mean, this isn’t your ordinary, everyday birthday party for a little old lady.’
    ‘She’s only sixty!’
    ‘She’s only Lady Ashenden!’ Amy said, imitating her voice, and Libby felt her own jaw drop. She snatched it back up and tried not to hyperventilate.
    ‘Lady Ashenden—as in, Ashenden Place? The one that’s open to the public? No! No, his name’s not Ashenden, don’t be silly!’
    ‘No, he’s the Hon. Andrew Langham-Jones, first son of Lord and Lady Ashenden, heir to the Ashenden estate, which as you rightly say is open to the public and only one of the most beautiful country piles in Suffolk—not to mention the family coffers and the flipping title! He’s one of the most eligible bachelors around—good grief, Libby, I can’t believe you didn’t know about him!’
    ‘Maybe because I don’t gossip?’ she suggested mildly, wondering if she ought to take it up if she was going to accept random invitations from gorgeous men without realising what she was letting herself in for. And of course, if he was the future LordAshenden, no wonder all the dowagers were trotting their daughters out! He wasn’t being vain or egotistical at all, he was just being realistic, and she couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid—but Amy could. Oh, yes. And Amy said so. Bluntly.
    ‘You don’t need to gossip, you just need to be alive! You just—you live in a cocoon, do you know that? You go home every night to your little house and your little cat and you snuggle down in front of the television and you have no idea what’s going on right under your nose! No wonder you’re still single!’
    ‘I’m happy being single,’ she lied, trying not to think about the lonely nights and the long weekends and the ridiculous farce of speed dating and internet dating and blind dates that she’d given up on ages ago.
    ‘Rubbish,’ Amy said briskly, and eyed her up and down. ‘So—what are you wearing for this event?’
    ‘Two events,’ she corrected, wincing inwardly when she thought about it. Lady Ashenden? Oh, rats. ‘A black-tie dinner tomorrow night and a white-tie formal ball the following night.’
    Amy’s eyes widened, then narrowed critically as she studied her friend, making Libby feel like an insect skewered on a pin. ‘It’s a pity your boobs are so lush,’ Amy said candidly. ‘I’ve got a fabulous ballgown—that smoky bluey-green one. But you’ll probably fall out of it. Still, you can try it. It’s the only long one I’ve got that’s suitable and it’s cut on the cross so it’ll drape nicely and it’ll be brilliant with your eyes. And you’ve got your classic LBD for tomorrow, haven’t you?’
    ‘If it doesn’t need cleaning. I expect the cat’s been sleeping on it—joke!’ she added hastily, as Amy opened her mouth to tell her off again. ‘It’ll be fine. I had it cleaned after Christmas. And I’ve got a fairly decent pair of heels that do nice things to my legs.’
    ‘They don’t need to. You’ve got fabulous legs—well, you did have, the last time you let them out into the fresh air, which was ages ago, but I don’t suppose they’ve changed. What time does your shift finish?’
    ‘Three, but I’ve got to go home and feed the cat and put the washing on or I won’t have anything at all to wear for the weekend.’
    ‘Right, I’m off at five, so that gives you two hours and then I want you round at mine and we’ll go through my wardrobe and see what I’ve got, because I know you haven’t got anything unless you’ve got a secret life I don’t know about. I can’t remember the last time you told me about a date, and apart from this dreadfuluniform the only other thing I ever see you in is jeans. Never mind, we’ll find something