Lady Mary's May Day Mischief: Four Weddings and a Frolic by Cerise DeLand & Cerise DeLand

Author:Cerise DeLand & Cerise DeLand [DeLand, Cerise]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781733079464
Publisher: W. J. Power
Published: 2020-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

He waited a good five minutes before he turned to leave. Just as he would have gone, Millicent Weaver strolled into the salon.

“Good morning, Miss Weaver.” He’d had a few minutes of conversation with her last night during dinner. But he’d wished for more privacy than the table allowed. This was the finest opportunity to speak about a topic that was dear to him.

She had a book under her arm, her reading spectacles in her hand. “Good morning, Captain. Or should I now address you as Lord Bridges?”

“In truth, my status is not confirmed. I may leave the service, but have no firm idea yet of my future. Bridges will do, Miss Weaver.” He extended a hand toward two chairs. “May we sit and talk?”

“Yes, of course.” She was a willow in form, tall and lithe. Her hair, the color of gold with bold sun-bleached streaks around her heart-shaped face. He could see how his friend Langdon would be drawn to her beauty. From what he’d said of her, she had a shy demureness to her character as well. Save for the last unwise business which had torn them apart.

“I understand this is your second time here at the Frolic.”

“Oh?” She looked curious as to who might have told him that, but she did not ask. “No. Really, it is my third. My last visit was in May of ‘fourteen.”

The opening he’d hoped for. “Might I assume you are then the same Miss Weaver who met a friend of mine here that year?”

Suspicion clouded her hazel eyes. “Who is that, my lord?”

“The Earl of Langdon.”

She sucked in a breath. “Yes, I know him.”

“He spoke of you with high regard.”

“Did he?” she asked, but clearly did not believe him.

“I assure you, he did. He was most unhappy that he had to return to his duties before he could pursue his friendship with you.”

“Was he?” That, too, sounded skeptical. She smoothed her hand over her book. “I wonder if you could tell me if you are still in communication with him?”

“I was. Until a few weeks ago. Only lately have I returned to England and so my mail, I am certain, sits in Paris.”

“I see.” She did not know where to look to escape the riot of emotions that ran over her delicate features. “Might you…? Would you please tell me how he is? I heard of his injuries and I am most distressed about him.”

“He recovers, though slowly.”

“I’d understood he returned home to Cranfield Haven last summer. I remember how he loved it and I hoped he’d recover quickly there.”

“I understand he does.”

“But his arm… Has he regained use of it?”

She knew quite a bit about him and that indicated her continuing interest in Langdon. “Not completely, no.”

She shot backward in her chair. Pain drained away her curiosity. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Miss Weaver, I hope you will forgive my forwardness if I tell you that—”

She put up a hand. “Do not criticize me, please. I do that enough myself.

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