No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella by Megan Frampton

Author:Megan Frampton [Frampton, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-11-09T18:30:00+00:00

When we do it again. Goodness, she wanted to do it again, and she wished she could do it again right now, only that would lead, she well knew, to all sorts of improprieties, improper even if they were actually betrothed and not fakely betrothed.

Fakely is not a word, Sophronia, her father muttered somewhere inside her head.

Now is not the time to be offering word critique, Father, she replied.

“Shall we return to the party?” James glanced over her shoulder. “We’ve been away long enough to miss the music, I believe. Let’s just hope they don’t ask us what books we’ve been reading.”

She grinned, and turned her head to look at the books on the shelves. “I’ll tell them I read a few husbandry guides, paying particular attention to the Husband Husbandry Guide.”

He spun and looked at the shelves, his mouth dropping open. “There is no such thing—is there?”

She burst out laughing at his expression, which was equal parts nonplussed and bemused. She shook her head and patted him on the arm. “No, there is no such thing. Although I imagine if there were such a guide, Mrs. Green would have a say in writing it.”

“The woman does like to offer pronouncements, doesn’t she?” he replied in a rueful tone.

“And potential brides. Thank goodness you had the forethought to provide yourself with a betrothed, or else you would be addressing Mrs. Green as Mother.”

She laughed even more when she saw him shudder.

“For that, I should buy you two cottages.”

He took her arm and led her out of the library, the glow of the kiss fading as she thought about what he’d said. Of course. There was only this, this brief period of time. An interlude during the holidays. It wasn’t as though this was anything more than what it was—two people entering into a bargain to save their respective futures. Their separate respective futures.

At least she now knew he was justified in going to such lengths to prevent an accidental betrothal—she had no doubt but that Mrs. Green, or one of the other ladies, would have him plighting his troth by the time Christmas came around.

And after the holiday, long after the Yule log was burnt down, and the kissing bough had given up all its berries, when the mistletoe had shriveled, and the snow was just a distant memory, she would be snug in her cottage with Maria, with memories of this night, and that kiss, to warm her through the ensuing years.

That should be enough. It would be enough. And perhaps, if she was patient, and open, she would find someone who would truly wish to be betrothed to her. To marry her, and stay in one place, and always be reliable, and have enough money to keep her in books and ale. That was all she wanted. Just someone to belong to in a place she felt she belonged.

If she were to receive that Christmas gift one year—not this year, of course, but someday—she would rejoice and try to forget about the tall, restless man who offered her a chance at escape.

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