The Perfect Bride by Putman Eileen

Author:Putman, Eileen [Putman, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-07-20T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Stephen Frakes cradled the worn binding in his hands and bashfully eyed his audience. Then, in a sonorous voice that wrapped around the words as lovingly as his hands cradled that old binding, he read:

"'There is a garden in her face

Where roses and white lilies grow;

A heavenly paradise is that place

Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.

There cherries grow which none may buy,

Till 'cherry-ripe' themselves do cry'."

Felicity dabbed a handkerchief at the corner of her eye. "That was beautiful, Mr. Frakes. Though I suppose some might disdain the sentiment as excessive."

A troubled expression shadowed his deep brown eyes. "The words of a man's heart are nothing to disdain, Miss Biddle."

"No," she agreed quickly. "Oh, do continue, Mr. Frakes. I declare you have discovered my favorite poets. Though perhaps it is only the magnificent way in which you read. You have quite a gift."

Flushing, he replaced the book on the library shelf, removed another volume, then hesitated. "Are you certain that I am not keeping you from something important?"

"It is I who am keeping you from your work, Mr. Frakes," Felicity replied, her mouth pursing in concern. It was quite true. Since discovering that she and Mr. Frakes shared a mutual love of poetry, she had not been able to stop herself from visiting him daily to hear him read. His voice was not stuffy and stentorian like some of the orators, but rich and resonant in a way that did not overwhelm the poet's words but allowed them to shine in all their magnificence.

Perhaps she was spending too much time in Lord Sommersby's library, but the earl was away and Mr. Thornton had been occupied with Amanda. Felicity wondered if a match was in the offing in that quarter. She hoped so. Amanda did not deserve to spend the rest of her days as a spinster, no matter how willingly she pretended to embrace her fate. Happily, the Duke of Claridge had not put in an appearance for several days — although that left her father as the only other person to engage in conversation, and he had been in a brooding mood of late.

Felicity did not see why she should feel guilty for seeking out the only other person in the castle who appreciated the fine literature on Lord Sommersby's shelves. The earnest Mr. Frakes was only slightly older than herself, and he did not appear to mind her intrusions. Indeed, he seemed to welcome the break from his labors that her visits afforded. She had become so comfortable with him that she had even taken to wearing her spectacles so that they might read together. So enjoyable were these occasions that the time sped by.

A diligent scholar, Mr. Frakes had begun arriving earlier and earlier each day to compensate for the hours he spent away from his work during her visits. Yet Felicity did not flatter herself that his interest in her went beyond their shared appreciation of literature. Everyone in the castle knew that she was betrothed to the earl; she would not do Mr.

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