The Widow’s Auction by Sabrina Jeffries EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Sabrina Jeffries
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Regency Fiction
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- Size: 2 MB
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Isobel Lamberton, Lady Kingsley, could hardly believe her ears. The longer she
listened to Justin Antony, the Marquess of Warbrooke, the more horrified
she became. This was his “brilliant” new plan for the Lamberton Boys’
School? This. . . this outrageous proposal?
Lord Warbrooke had taken leave of his senses. Yet the other members at
the school’s governing-board meeting seemed oblivious to his sudden bout
of insanity. They drank in every word dropping from his handsome mouth.
They approved of every slashing gesture of his broad, masculine hand,
every compelling look from those magnetic eyes.
While all she could see were the tenpenny nails he drove into the coffin
of her own plans for the school. She’d intended to present those plans today,
until Lord Warbrooke had beaten her to it with his ghastly suggestion.
“What an inspired idea,” one board member proclaimed, thumping the
top of the meeting room’s ancient table, a castoff from some lord’s manor.
“It’ll be good for the lads and teach them responsibility.”
“It’ll make money for the school as well,” added Mr. Dawson,
Lamberton’s headmaster. No surprise that he liked it. He thought that Lord
Warbrooke not only walked on water, but ran on it as well.
The other five men on the board chimed in their admiration, each one
more effusive than the last. Even the only other woman on the board–Mrs.
Chambers–turned traitor to express her approval. Phoebe Chambers had
shown great caring two years ago when Isobel had lost her husband. Since
then, the older widow had come to be Isobel’s closest friend.
So if the
staunchly supportive Phoebe agreed with his lordship, then Isobel would
never convince the rest of them how wrongheaded this idea was. Not even
Lord Bradford’s apparent reluctance to voice an opinion helped, since
everyone knew how much he resented Lord Warbrooke.
Which meant she was essentially alone in her outrage. And she dared
not even explain why.
Suddenly everyone fell silent, and all eyes turned to her. “Lady
Kingsley?” Lord Warbrooke asked in that husky voice that always
scrambled her thoughts. “What do you think?”
She took a breath, gathering her energy to don the “fine lady” role she’d
perfected through the years, the role she didn’t truly deserve. The only role
that they would accept or understand. Especially Lord Warbrooke.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that the idea of establishing a factory on the
school grounds is appalling.” Yes, that sounded firm enough. She went on
in a haughtier tone, “It’s unwise and unfeasible and certainly immoral.”
Though the others cringed at her blatant disapproval, the man she most
needed to intimidate merely cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t see why. Boys of
that age require activity. It’s the lack of it that sends them looking for
trouble.”
Legend had it that the Antony family was descended from the Romans
who’d ruled Britain long before William the Conqueror had swept in from
Normandy. If she’d been skeptical of that legend before, she wasn’t now–
his lordship’s Roman blood fairly screamed its presence this morning.
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