Nothing to Commend Her
Read Nothing to Commend Her Online
Authors: Jo Barrett
Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Historical Romance
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2010 by Jo Barrett
First published in 2010
A sneak peek at Jo Barrett's next book...
"I—am—leaving!"
"You're not going anywhere,” Magnus growled, as he turned, the scarred side of his face a pale contrast to the angry red flush of his skin.
But Agatha refused to be bullied. “It is apparent that you've no need of a companion, since we speak hardly a word during meals, nor do we engage in any semblance of a conversation afterward,” she said, her breathing quickened by her fury. “And you've made it painfully obvious you don't want me in your bed!"
She threw the shawl into her trunk and slammed the lid. “You couldn't even bring yourself to kiss me on our wedding day. Well, your mistress, or whoever this demon stalking me is, can bloody well have you!"
In two strides, he was in front of her, gripping her arms with such strength, a spark of fear gripped her as strongly as he did. Would he harm her, beat her?
Then she looked into his turbulent gray eyes. No, he was furious, but there was something else, something deeper, something that told her he would never raise his hand against her.
"There is no mistress,” he snarled.
Odd that she believed him, but she would not remain where she was of no use, where she wasn't wanted.
"And I was pushed,” she ground out.
"Then I'll assign you a bloody guard, but you are not leaving,” he demanded with a vigorous shake. “Do you hear me?"
She couldn't utter a word amid the chaotic emotions flashing across his face and in his eyes.
"You cannot leave me,” he said, his words broken and pain-filled. Then his lips crashed into hers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Nothing to Commend Her
COPYRIGHT (C) 2009 by Jo Barrett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
R.J.Morris
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First English Tea Rose Edition, 2010
Print ISBN 1-60154-791-9
The dancers danced, the gossips gossiped, and the mothers mothered. , Agatha heaved a bored sigh. She hated social gatherings of the
ton
. She wouldn't have attended at all, if her cousin Hattie hadn't begged her to come along. Anyone with half a whit of sense knew she was firmly on the shelf at the age of twenty-five, and there she would remain. She'd never win a glance from a gentleman, much less a marriage proposal.
But to please her cousin—who was certain she could find Agatha the perfect man—she let herself be coerced into attending. Even Aunt Claudia knew Agatha had no prospects, but she allowed Hattie the fantasy that she would find her cousin a gentleman.
And the room was filled with them, all hunting for the current season's ideal lady. One who came with a hefty dowry, no doubt, and would make every man jealous that she was on his arm, and all that rot.
"Isn't he divine? He'd be perfect for you,” Hattie whispered low enough so others wouldn't hear.
So far she had pointed out more than half a dozen men in a similar fashion, and none of them appropriate. Well, all were very appropriate if she was one of the season's diamonds, which she was not. None of them would be the least bit interested, she was certain. Several were very handsome, Lord Crittenden for one, the gentleman for whom this celebration was for, but looks had never been first on Agatha's list—the list she no longer referenced. She'd always wanted a kind man like her father. Perhaps a scientist, or teacher, a man who would see her for what she was and love her still. But there was no such man amid the
ton
, in particular, not during the height of the season. She'd not missed Lord Crittenden's mother carefully choosing which young ladies he should dance with. A matchmaking mama at her finest.
"Don't you think so?” Hattie asked, determined not to let her ignore the comment.
"You have such a wonderful imagination. You should write fiction,” she said, withholding an indelicate snort, but it was the truth. Hattie, a cousin she loved dearly, was as fanciful as the day was long, but also beautiful and kind.
While Agatha, on the other hand, was a bluestocking, or more to the point, a scientist. She had a laboratory in which she spent many hours of her day, and if she wasn't working on an experiment, she had her nose planted in a book, none of which were the silly romantic tales popular with the ladies of the
ton
.
"He might take a look if you'd dispose of those awful spectacles,” Hattie snipped.
Agatha straightened the offending implement. “I need them."
"You mean you hide behind them."
Agatha blinked a moment at that, stunned her cousin had not only been so direct, but rather close to the mark. Yes, she did hide behind her spectacles, they were very useful in deterring unwanted attention, mostly from ogling men who, on the rare occasion, noticed she had a bosom. But she did need her spectacles to see. The world looked like bits of fuzzy colored glass without them, and being a woman who preferred fact to fiction, she hated not knowing what she was seeing down to the tiniest detail.
"You should get a proper maid who would do your hair in the latest fashion with some flowers or pearls,” her cousin groused, “and that dress hasn't the slightest bit of lace—"
"And is fine. If you'll excuse me, I'm going out for a breath of fresh air. It's suddenly very stifling in here.” Couldn't her cousin see that adding adornments to her hair wouldn't do any good? And she happened to prefer her dresses without lace and whatnot. It only got in the way of her work.
"Agatha, wait,” Hattie said, placing her hand on her arm. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lecture you. You know I just want to help."
She sighed and patted her cousin's hand. “You want me to be happy."
"Yes,” she said with a small smile.
"But what you don't understand is that I am happy. Now, I'm going outside for a moment, care to join me?"
She pinched her lips, holding back more lecture, Agatha was certain, but she wisely let the subject go. “Do you promise not to dig in the garden as you did last week at Lady Tipton's tea?"
A faint flush brushed Agatha's cheeks. “I'll do my best to refrain. But if Lady Tipton's gardener knew anything at all, he'd have known that roses require—"
"I know, I know. You've told me several times.” Hattie giggled and took her by the arm.
They strolled to the veranda and stood looking out over the gardens bathed in moonlight.
"Jonathan has asked for my hand,” Hattie said, her voice low.
Agatha's heart squeezed, why it did so she refused to consider. “I knew you favored him, but I hadn't thought it had gone that far."
"He's going to speak with Papa tomorrow."
"Ah, when you stumbled during the dance he'd asked you then."
Her cousin laughed. “Yes, Professor, you have concluded correctly. As usual."
"And this is the reason for your prodding tonight about my glasses, and dress, and so forth. You're happy, so everyone else has to be happy. And you also know that without you, I wouldn't attend a single one of these events."
"Not as many, but you would still attend from time to time. You enjoy watching the people. You pick them apart in your mind, decipher their habits, their plans. And I'm certain you wish you could question Lord Crittenden about his tour abroad."
Agatha chuckled. “Yes, I would, but his mother isn't about to let me get within ten feet of the man.” She sighed then took a deep cleansing breath. “And you're right, I suppose. I would attend a few gatherings, but not often and for no other reason than to examine the gardens and conservatories. And it's difficult to tear Papa away from his work, even though I find it ridiculous that I still require an escort at my age. Which, my dear cousin, is your dilemma. You won't be going about for the season, and you worry I'll sit at home for the duration."
"I know you will, but once Jonathan and I are married and settled, we'll attend the various parties."
"And drag me along? The proverbial fifth wheel? No thank you. My status as spinster bluestocking would never stand the strain,” she said with a laugh, although it pained her. The truth often hurt.
She wasn't really happy, she was comfortable with her life, but her father, her only other relative other than Hattie and Aunt Claudia, was getting on in years. One day he wouldn't be there anymore, and she'd be alone with nothing but her books and her experiments. Not a pleasant future, but she had no prospects. She had no money to speak of, a pitiful dowry, and with her dark looks, a complete opposite to the popular fair-haired ladies who had been the rage for more seasons than she could recall, she had nothing to commend her. She wasn't too tall, or too short, too fat, or too thin, she was just...plain.
Her mind, however, was another issue all together. Men didn't like women who could think for themselves, although many ladies did so without their knowledge. But Agatha was terrible at deception, and not very good at holding her tongue. If someone said something she disagreed with, she couldn't keep quite. After all, there was an opposing opinion to everything. She just had difficulty keeping hers to herself.
Then there were her studies. She loved gardening, but not in the realm most ladies did. At present she was working on fertilizer. She spent hours in her laboratory mixing and testing new combinations. No man would allow his wife such freedom, which always brought her full circle.
She wanted a man in her life, a husband, a companion, but she also wanted her work. The two were simply incompatible.
"Come let's go back inside. It's a bit chilly out here,” Hattie said, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Yes, and I need to find the ladies retiring room,” she lied, hating the choking sensation climbing her throat.
They separated once they'd reached her aunt's side, who was chatting with her friends over hemlines or some such thing, and Agatha went to find a respite from all the nattering.
She strolled through a long gallery, not bothering to stop and appreciate any of the paintings as she usually did, but moved on to the appointed retiring room.
Grateful the room was empty, she found a comfortable settee and dropped onto it. She took time to soak up the silence, knowing it to be short-lived. She did detest the parties, and tried to amuse herself by deciphering things about the guests, but she'd much rather be somewhere else, somewhere alone.
Not alone,
her conscience prodded.
You don't want to be alone, you're always alone,
With a groan, she rose and went to the basin and splashed some cool water on her face, hoping to ease her growing headache.
The door nearly burst open with a pack of giggling misses. They laughed and talked over one another so much it was difficult to understand a word, not that she was interested, but their animation was impossible to ignore.
Deciding it best to leave them to their silly gossip, she dabbed a dry cloth to her face then turned to go, but one horrid sentence stopped her in mid-step.
"Lord Leighton is a monster,” a tall, lovely girl spouted.
"I quite agree,” another responded.
"Doesn't the man know that no one wants to see his horrid face?"
"He frightens me,” one said with a visible shiver.
"I don't care if he is one of the richest Earls in London,” the tall one said. “All the money in the world wouldn't get me in that man's bed."abbed a dry cloth to her face and
