The Perfect Bride: A Regency Romance by Sheila Walsh

Author:Sheila Walsh [Walsh, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency romance, Regency Historical Romance, Historical Romance, Regency Fiction, Georgian Romance, clean and wholesome, clean regency romance
Publisher: Wyndham Books (Regency Romance)
Published: 2020-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The duchess’s scathing comments concerning her late husband’s sister had aroused Serena’s curiosity, though she was prepared to discount most of them. The picture they presented seemed so at odds with anyone connected with Darcy.

Cedric had chuckled. ‘Wait and see. For once, as it happens, Mama does not exaggerate.’ But he would say no more.

Serena had taken particular care with her appearance, and Bessie had brushed her side curls until they shone and pronounced her violet sarcenet to be very becoming. She was as ready as she would ever be to meet Cedric’s relations.

Even before she reached the half landing, she felt the draught as the great front door was thrown wide. And within moments she heard the sound of a great many people talking at once in the vestibule, and of Westerby’s measured tones endeavouring to preserve an air of calm.

Her first sight of the Dowager Countess of Lynton was of a petite lady swathed in furs, her face entirely hidden by a dipping hat brim as she swept across the hall, giving a great many orders to the retinue that followed in her wake.

Immediately behind her came a soberly dressed young man of average height and indeterminate features, who carried a small leather case. The secretary, Serena decided, dismissing him as her interest was caught by the large, rather florid man who followed him ‒ presumably the one who had been described by Lord Lynton as ‘a loose fish’.

Serena hadn’t been precisely sure what the term implied, but seeing him now in his ‘too, too solid flesh’, she wondered what the dowager countess could possibly admire in such a creature, other than the fact that he was exceedingly wealthy.

Mr. Morville’s coat, though it bore the stamp of a master tailor, was in danger of losing its struggle to accommodate a figure that outstripped it by several inches. His shirt points cradled a florid face and were so high he could scarcely move his head. And his tall beaver hat was set upon curling hair liberally anointed with Russian oil. To complete the incongruous picture, he carried beneath one arm a small and exceedingly bad-tempered pug dog who yapped and growled continuously.

‘Hubert!’ Lady Lynton’s voice betrayed exasperation. ‘You are squeezing my poor Zoe. Don’t hold her so tightly! Ah, Westerby, there you are. Such a journey as we have had! I am frozen and completely exhausted!’

‘Indeed, your ladyship? I am very sorry to hear that. I hope we may soon have you feeling more the thing. There is a fire in the blue drawing room, where Her Grace awaits you, and tea will be served immediately.’ Westerby turned and saw Serena, and for a moment she thought she heard a sigh of relief. ‘Ah, here is Miss Fairburn, who will take you up.’

The furs stirred, and wide luminous green eyes proceeded to look her up and down. ‘Lud!’ her ladyship exclaimed. ‘Are you Cedric’s bride? How tall you are! Quite Junoesque, in fact!’

Serena sensed rather than saw Westerby’s

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