The Taste of Innocence Read Free Page A

advising her in this, her mother was very serious.
    “My dear, you already have sufficient comprehension of Charlie’s wealth. You know his home, his standing—you know of him, although I accept that you do not know him, himself, well. But you do know his family.”
    Taking both her hands, her mother lightly squeezed, her excitement returning. “With no other gentleman have you had, nor will you have, such a close prior connection, such a known foundation on which you might build. It’s an unlooked-for, entirely unexpected opportunity, yes, but a very good one.”
    Her mother searched her eyes, trying to read her reaction. Sarah knew all she would see was confusion.
    “Well.” Her mother’s lips set just a little; her tone became more brisk. “You must hear him out. Listen carefully to what he has to say, then you must make your decision.”
    Releasing her hands, her mother stepped back, reached up and tweaked Sarah’s neckline, then nodded. “Very well. Go in—he’s waiting in the drawing room. As I said, your father and I will accept whatever decision you make. But please, do think very carefully about Charlie.”
    Sarah nodded, feeling numb. She could barely breathe. Turning from her mother, she walked, slowly, toward the drawing room door.
     
    Charlie heard a light footstep beyond the door. He turned from the window as the doorknob turned, watched as the door opened and the lady he’d chosen to be his wife entered.
    She was of average height, subtly but sensuously curved; her slenderness made her appear taller than she was. Her face was heart-shaped, framed by the soft fullness of her lustrous hair, an eye-catching shade of gilded light brown. Her features were delicate, her complexion flawless—including, to his mind, the row of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. A wide brow, that straight nose, arched brown brows, and long lashes combined with rose-tinted lips and a sweetly curved chin to complete a picture of restful loveliness.
    Her gaze was unusually direct; he waited for her to move, knowing that when she did it would be with innate grace.
    Her hand on the doorknob, she paused, scanning the room.
    His eyes narrowed slightly. Even across the distance he sensed her uncertainty, yet when her gaze found him she hesitated for only a second before, without looking away, she closed the door and came toward him.
    Calmly, serenely, but with her hands clasped, fingers twined.
    She couldn’t have expected this; he’d given her no indication that marrying her had ever entered his head. The last time they’d met socially, at the Hunt Ball last November, he’d waltzed with her once, remained by her side for fifteen minutes or so, exchanging the usual pleasantries, and that had been all.
    Deliberately on his part. He’d known—for years if he stopped to consider it—that she…regarded him differently. That it would be very easy, with just a smile and a few words, for him to awaken an infatuation in her, a fascination with him. Not that she’d ever been so gauche as to give the slightest sign, yet he was too attuned to women, certainly, it seemed, to her, not to know what quivered just beneath her cool, clear surface, the sensible serenity she showed to the world. He’d made a decision, not once but many times over the years, that it wouldn’t do to stir that pool, to ripple her surface. She was, after all, sweet Sarah, a neighbor’s daughter he’d known all her life.
    So he’d been careful not to do what his instincts had so frequently prompted. He’d studiously treated her as just another young lady of his local acquaintance.
    Yet when he’d finally decided to select a wife, one face had leapt to his mind. He hadn’t even had to think—he’d simply known that she was his choice.
    And then, of course, he had thought, and visited all the arguments, the numerous criteria a man like him needed to evaluate in selecting a wife. The exercise had only confirmed that Sarah Conningham was the