Enchanted in Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

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      Eleanor bore most of the weight of the basket swinging between her and her twelve-year-old sister, Sissy, as they trudged through Boxted toward their cottage. After the hour’s walk from Standerstead on a fine spring day, a trickle of sweat coursed down between her shoulder blades.

      Her stomach tightened. Time was running out and here she was having to spend it buying supplies instead of doing something about her predicament.

      As they passed the Wheat Sheaf across from the village green, a tall man with broad shoulders in snug burgundy velvet stepped into their path. The Marquess of Beauworth. No one but the local lord of the manor would cut such an elegant figure in the humble village of Boxted. And he looked lovelier in bright sunshine than he had beneath the moon.

      Eleanor’s heart skipped and her breath caught in her throat as she fought not to stare at him, tried to pretend he wasn’t there. But when he bowed with elegance and a charming smile, she could pretend no longer. She halted.

      ‘Good day, ladies.’ His deep voice sounded intimate, seductive.

      A disturbing surge of exhilaration heated her cheeks and sent shivers tingling from her chest to her toes. The man was downright dangerous if he could do all that with a smile. And she did not like the puzzlement lurking in his amber-lit brown eyes. Please, don’t let it be recognition.

      She bobbed a small curtsy. ‘Good day, my lord.’

      ‘May I help you with that heavy basket, miss?’ he asked.

      Before Eleanor could respond that he need not trouble, Sissy piped up with a cheeky grin and a look of relief in her dark brown eyes. ‘You can help me.’

      Eleanor groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t the child hold her tongue for once? ‘Sissy, please. You must excuse my sister, my lord, she is too forward.’

      ‘Why, I believe she is just truthful. It would not be at all out of my way, you know.’ With a smile warm enough to melt an icicle in mid-winter, he grasped the handle of the basket.

      Fate in the shape of a black-haired imp had taken the decision out of Eleanor’s hands. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ She released the handle and he hefted the basket as if it weighed nothing at all.

      ‘It is a remarkably fine day, is it not, Miss…?’

      ‘Brown. Ellie Brown, sir, and this is my sister, Sissy.’

      ‘Miss Brown, Miss Sissy Brown.’

      He bowed politely to each of them in turn as if they were gentry and not simple village misses. If it was possible, her heart beat a little faster. For the first time in weeks, she felt valued. Her cheeks flared hotter than before. Lord, what would he think?

      ‘You have just come from the market?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes, my lord. For baking supplies.’

      ‘Ellie makes the best biscuits in the whole world.’ Sissy added, ‘I think she should sell them.’

      Eleanor wanted to put a hand over her sister’s mouth. She was far too ready to confide anything to anyone. She quelled her irritation as the Marquess smiled winsomely at the vivacious child peeping admiringly up at him. Clearly he applied his charm to any female who crossed his path. She resented the pang of something unpleasant in her chest as he directed his lovely smile at Sissy.

      ‘I hope I might try some one day,’ he said.

      Outwardly polite and ineffably charming, while inside there lurked the worst sort of rake. A man who had done untold damage to her family. The strangely weak feelings she had around him were inexcusable. She scowled at Sissy behind his back.

      Seemingly impervious to Eleanor’s stare, Sissy gave a little skip. ‘Perhaps you would like to buy some.’

      Now the child sounded like a merchant. Access to Beauworth Court might solve their problems, but not at the cost of involving her innocent sister. ‘Silly girl. The Marquess will not be in the habit of purchasing food.’

      ‘Very true, Miss Brown, but I will mention your talents to Mrs Briddle, our cook.’ His dark gaze searched her face. Against her will, her gaze roved over the elegant lines of his bronzed features. Definitely foreign looking. And that French accent made her toes curl. Mortification dipped her stomach. This must stop.

      ‘Miss Brown, I have the strangest feeling we have met,’ he said. ‘Before I went away to school, perhaps?’

      Surely he would not recognise her as Lady Moonlight. ‘It is not possible, my lord.’ How breathless she sounded. She inhaled deeply, СКАЧАТЬ