LADY ISABELLA’S OGRE (REGENCY ROMANCE) BY EMILY LARKIN EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: EMILY LARKIN
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
“This is a respectable establishment. It’s not for the likes of you.”
Lady Isabella Knox, sister of the Duke of Middlebury, paused in
the act of removing her gloves. She looked down at her dog. Rufus cocked
his head and gazed back at her with mismatched eyes. His tail wagged,
brushing the muddy hem of her walking dress.
“I beg of you, don’t turn me away.” The speaker was tearful, young, and
well-bred.
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“The Hogshead will take you.” The landlady’s voice came clearly from
the taproom, cold and dismissive.
“Oh, but, please—” The girl’s entreaty ended on a sob.
Isabella pulled one kidskin glove off, finger by finger. She glanced at
the half-open door to the taproom and then at the staircase, at the top of
which a comfortable and very private parlor awaited her. Curiosity is a sin,
she told herself.
She heard brisk footsteps behind her: her maid, Partridge.
“Fresh air,” Partridge muttered, shutting the parasol with a snap. “Dirt
and puddles and yokels gaping—”
Isabella raised a finger. “Hush a moment, Partridge.”
“I beg you, please . . .” The girl sounded so like her niece Felicity that
Isabella made up her mind. She stepped towards the taproom door. Rufus
followed, his claws clicking briskly on the flagstones.
“A fine thing it would be if I let you put up here, with her Ladyship in
the house—”
Isabella laid her hand on the door. It swung open at her touch. She took
in the taproom with a glance: the low, beamed ceiling, the wide fireplace,
the landlady in her white apron and widow’s cap, and the girl, pretty and
tear-stained, with a portmanteau at her feet.
The landlady drew herself up, stout and starched, and then sank into an
obsequious curtsy. “Your Ladyship.”
“Mrs. Botham.” Isabella looked at the girl. Yes, very like Felicity. Darkhaired and slender and scarcely out of the schoolroom. “I couldn’t help but
overhear. Pray, don’t turn this child out into the street on my account.”
The landlady straightened. Her face was round-cheeked, her
complexion florid, her expression righteous. “The Hogshead will do very
well for her.”
Isabella looked at the girl’s clothing—the green sarcenet pelisse, the
straw bonnet trimmed with ribbon, the jaconet muslin gown, all neat and
well-made. “Do you think so?”
She spoke gently, but the color in Mrs. Botham’s cheeks heightened.
The girl curtsied. “Ma’am, if you please, I don’t wish to put up at the
Hogshead.”
“I should think not.” There was nothing common about the girl’s
vowels, or her curtsy. “Where is your maid?”
The girl flushed. “I don’t have one, ma’am.”
“I run a respectable establishment—” Mrs. Botham began.
“Precisely.” Isabella pulled off her other glove. “Which is why this child
must stay here.”
The girl cast her a grateful glance.
“Unfortunately I don’t have suitable accommodation, your Ladyship.”
The landlady’s smile was polite and insincere.
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