An Impossible Attraction. Brenda Joyce

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sisters into the library, it had been to tell them that their mother was fatally ill. Of course, Elizabeth had been fading before their very eyes. The news had been heart wrenching, but not a surprise.

      Elizabeth had died nine years ago. Since then, her father had lost all self-restraint. He did not even try to refrain from his bad habits. Corey was tempestuous by nature, and did as she pleased when away from Alexandra’s watchful eyes. Olivia had withdrawn into her world of watercolors and pastels, and although she seemed content, Alexandra despaired. She herself had given up true love to take care of them all. But there were no regrets.

      “Someone must be cheerful,” she said with a firm smile. “We may be short on funds, but we have a fine home, even if it could use some repairs, and we have clothes on our backs and food on the table. Our situation could be worse.”

      Corey, who was only sixteen, choked. After all, every rug in the house was threadbare, the walls needed paint and plaster, and the draperies were literally falling apart. The grounds were as bad, for their staff had been reduced to one manservant and the gardener let go last year. Their London townhome had been sold, but Edgemont Way was within an hour’s drive of Greenwich, fortunately or not.

      Alexandra decided to ignore her rather reckless, very outspoken and terribly beautiful little sister. “Father? Your demeanor is worrying me.” And he was not yet foxed. He was always foxed well before noon. What did this turn mean? She couldn’t be hopeful. She knew he had no reason to try to change his dissolute ways.

      The baron sighed. “My last line of credit has been squashed.”

      Her unease escalated. Like most of their peers, they lived on rents and credit. But her father’s obsession with gambling had forced him to sell off their tenant farms, one by one, and there were only two tenants left. Those rents might have been enough to support the family if he didn’t game compulsively almost every single night. But he did game excessively and obsessively, so within a few years of their mother’s death, Alexandra had turned her love for sewing into a source of income for them, though it was, at times, humiliating. The very women they had once enjoyed teas and dinner parties with were now her customers. Lady Lewis enjoyed personally handing over her torn and damaged garments, while making a huge fuss at how “sloppy” the repairs were upon their return. Alexandra always smiled and apologized. She was actually excellent with a thread and needle, and until the downturn, she had enjoyed sewing and embroidery. Now, given a choice, she doubted she would ever thread a needle again.

      But they did have clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads and food on the table. Their clothes were out of fashion and well mended, the roof leaked when it stormed, and their diet was generally limited to bread, vegetables and potatoes, with red meat on Sundays. But that was better than nothing at all.

      And her sisters did not recall a time of luncheons and balls. Alexandra was grateful for that.

      But how would they get on without credit? “I will take in more sewing,” she said, determined.

      “How can you take on more sewing? You are already up all night with the customers you have,” Corey shot back. “You have calluses on your thumbs!”

      Corey was right, and Alexandra knew it. She was only one person, and she simply couldn’t manage more work, unless she forwent any sleep at all.

      “Last summer Lord Henredon asked me if I would paint his portrait. I refused,” Olivia said quietly. While Corey was a true golden blonde, Olivia was that indistinct shade that was neither blond nor brown, but she was also very pretty. “But I could offer my services to the shire as a portrait artist. I think I could make quite a few pounds within a very short time.”

      Alexandra stared at her middle sister, dismayed. Her sisters’ happiness meant everything to her. “You are a naturalist,” she said softly. “You despise doing portraits.” But there was more. She knew that Henredon had made improper remarks to Olivia, and improper advances would no doubt have followed. Henredon was known for his gallivanting ways.

      “It is a good idea,” Olivia returned as quietly, steel in her green eyes.

      “I am hoping it will not come to that,” Alexandra said, meaning it. She was afraid her good-natured sister would be taken advantage of in many ways.

      “I doubt that will be necessary, Olivia,” Edgemont said. He turned to Alexandra. “How old are you?”

      Alexandra was mildly confused by her father’s odd question. “I am twenty-six.”

      The baron flushed. “I thought you were younger, maybe twenty-four. But you’re still an attractive woman, Alexandra, and you keep a fine household, in spite of our means, so you will be the first—to show your sisters proper respect.”

      Tension began to knot in her stomach, but she kept a firm smile in place. “I will be the first to do what, Father?” she asked with care.

      “To marry, of course. It’s high time, don’t you think?”

      Alexandra was disbelieving. “There’s no money for a dowry.”

      “I am aware of that,” Edgemont snapped. “I am very aware of that, Alexandra. Despite that, an inquiry has been made about you.”

      Alexandra pulled a chair close and sat down. Was Edgemont mad? No one would ever consider marrying an impoverished spinster of her age. Everyone in town knew of her “profession,” just as everyone knew that Edgemont gambled and drank every possible night away. The truth was that the good Bolton name was seriously tainted. “Are you serious, Father?”

      He smiled eagerly now. “Squire Denney approached me last night to ask after you—and to enquire if he could call.”

      Alexandra was so surprised that she sat up straight, causing her chair to rock on its uneven legs. Was there a chance of marriage, after all this time? And for the first time in years, she thought of Owen St. James, the man she had given her heart to so long ago.

      “You know him, of course,” her father continued, smiling at her. “You sewed his late wife’s garments for several years. He has come out of mourning now, and apparently you made a considerable impression upon him.”

      Alexandra knew she must not think of Owen now, or of the hopes and dreams they had once shared. She recalled the squire, a rather stately older man who had always been polite and respectful to her. She did not know him well, but his wife had been a valuable customer. She had been saddened for him when his wife had passed away. But now she did not know what to think.

      She trembled. When she had given up the idea of marriage nine years ago, they had still been a family with respectable means. But they had been reduced almost to abject poverty now. The squire was landed and wealthy. Marriage to him could improve their circumstances, their lives.

      “He must be sixty years old,” Corey gasped, paling.

      “He is an older man, but he is very well-off, and he is only fifty, Corey. Alexandra will have a closet full of the latest gowns. You will like that, won’t you?” He turned to her, brows raised. “He has a fine manor house. He has a carriage and a brougham.”

      Alexandra started, gathering up her wits. She had a suitor—one with means. Yes, he was an older man, but he had always been kind, and if he was inclined toward generosity, he could be a savior for their family. She thought again of Owen and his courtship, and she was saddened. She must put Owen out of her mind. Squire Denney’s suit was flattering, and more than that, it was a boon. СКАЧАТЬ