Shall we change the subject? This particular one grows tedious. Do you go to Tattersall's tomorrow? I have my eye on a promising-looking pair of grays. Lord Rowling would have liked to continue the original conversation until he had talked some sense into his friend, but he was soon conversing about horses.
After all, he had known the Marquess of Staunton long enough to understand that he had a will of iron, that he said and did exactly what he wished to say and do without reference to other people's preferences or to society's dictates. If he had decided to choose a wife in such an unconventional manner and for such a cynical, coldblooded reason, then choose her he would, and marry her too.
The Marquess of Staunton meanwhile, although he talked with enthusiasm about horses and then the races, inwardly contemplated with some satisfaction his return to EnfieldPark in Wiltshire and the effect of that return on the Duke of Withingsby. It would be the final thumbing of the nose to the man who had begotten him and made his life miserable for the twenty years following his birth.
For eight years, ever since he had left home after that final dreadful scene, he had lived independently of his father, refusing any financial support. He had made his own fortune, at first by gambling, then by reckless investments, and finally by more prudent investments and business ventures. His father had clearly not got the point. But he would. He would understand that his eldest son was once and for all beyond his power and influence.
Oh yes, marrying imprudently—and that would be an understatement for the marriage of the Duke of Withingsby's heir to an impoverished gentlewoman who had earned her living as a governess—would be the best possible thing he could do. He longed to see his father's face when he took his bride to Enfield. And so he waited for replies to his advertisement, replies that began coming the very day after its first appearance in the London papers and kept coming for several days after that in even larger numbers than he had expected.
He rejected several applicants, sight unseen—all those below the age of twenty or above the age of thirty, those with particularly impressive recommendations, and one young lady who so particularly wished to impress him with her knowledge of Latin that her letter was written in it. He interviewed five candidates before discovering his quiet mouse in the sixth.
Miss Charity Duncan had been shown into a downstairs salon and had chosen to stand in the part of the room that was not bathed in sunlight. For one moment after he had opened the door and stepped inside the room he thought she must have changed her mind and fled.
But then he saw her, and it struck him that even her decision to stand just there was significant. In addition she was dressed from head to toe in drab brown and looked totally self-effacing and quietly disciplined.
She was the quintessential governess—the sort of employee even the most jealous of wives would not object to having in the same house with her husband. She curtsied to him without once raising her eyes from the carpet before her feet. She was on the low side of medium height, very slender, perhaps even thin, though her cloak made it impossible to know for sure.
Her face looked pale and ordinary in the shadows. Search icon An illustration of a magnifying glass. User icon An illustration of a person's head and chest. Sign up Log in. Web icon An illustration of a computer application window Wayback Machine Texts icon An illustration of an open book. Books Video icon An illustration of two cells of a film strip.
Brown Tailspin, , etc. Roberta Leigh, Meredith Webber. This book is in very good condition and will be shipped within 24 hours of ordering. The cover may have some limited signs of wear but the pages are. Almost-CEO Garrett Song needs to win the approval of the board of Hansol, Inc — including, most importantly, his grandmother — to get that final promotion. Miss Duncan keeps her eyes downcast and her Estimated Reading Time: 9 mins.
The Survivors' Club Septet.
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