A Lord for Olivia Read Online Free Page A

when he loudly addressed the room at large.
    â€œWhere is Mr. Ormhill? Is he injured?”
    A tall, dignified older man stepped forward. “Just had the breath knocked out of him, my lord. Miss Ormhill says I am to take you to your room and valet you for the night. Will your servants and baggage be arriving tomorrow?”
    Edmund considered confessing the truth: that he had neither servant nor baggage, except what occupied the carpetbag he had detached from behind Storm’s saddle and now held in his hand. But the servants would know soon enough that he was penniless; he preferred for what remained of this one night to receive their respect and solicitous attention. So he ignored the questions, merely inclining his head.
    â€œLead on,” he ordered. “I place myself in your competent hands.”
    Edmund fell asleep almost instantly, but as usual when he had imbibed too deeply, awoke two hours later and could only toss and turn, worrying about his situation. He had little hope that Miss Ormhill would reject him. She must surely be eager to wed, or young Ormhill would not have set up their wager in the first place. Edmund had always known he would have to marry late in life, when he had made enough of his estate to support a wife and family. He had hoped for a marriage based on the kind of love his parents had shared. His mother’s bad choice in a second husband had deprived him of the estate, and he now had gambled away any chance of marrying for love and must face the consequences.
    When the sky began to lighten, Edmund arose, dressed himself, and slipped quietly down the servants’ stairs and through the kitchen. He begged a roll and some cheese of the surprised cook, who was already ordering about a smallarmy of helpers busy at breakfast preparations. He consumed the roll on the way to the stable, where Storm greeted him eagerly. No grooms being about, Edmund fed him a measure of oats and some hay, filled his water bucket, and curried him as the animal ate.
    The noise Edmund made in the process brought a sleepy stable boy to investigate. The lad stared at him in awe. “You be the lord wot our master won at cards!”
    â€œThe same,” Edmund said, smiling grimly. A sudden thought gave him a glimmer of hope. “Tell me: the heavyset woman my horse almost bit. Is that Miss Ormhill?”
    The boy nodded. “That be Miss Lavinia Ormhill.”
    Hope died. Jason had called his sister “Livvy,” clearly a pet name for Lavinia.
    â€œI am told she possesses a farm. Do you know where her land lies?”
    The boy scratched his head. “Miss Ormhill’s farm?” He looked about him unsurely.
    â€œSurely this isn’t Miss Ormhill’s property.” He had assumed that this fine Georgian mansion, with its sturdy stable and surrounding park, belonged to Jason Ormhill.
    â€œBeaumont? No, ’tis the young squire’s.”
    â€œDo you know where Miss Ormhill’s land lies?”
    Still looking puzzled, the boy gave sketchy directions, which, however, proved adequate. Edmund quickly found the public road again, turned left as directed, and proceeded up rising ground to the tiny village of Flintridge. At the end of its one street he turned down a country lane that led to a dilapidated cottage surrounded by over-grazed pastures and neglected fields which obviously were set to deliver a minuscule crop.
    This might have been thought to cast Edmund into the doldrums, but in fact it lifted his spirits. He could bring little enough to a marriage, but one thing he had to offer was a love of the land and an eagerness to learn all he could about managing it. Young Ormhill’s estate manager clearly might be relied upon for good advice in that regard, for in the morning light the land belonging to his host had impressed him for its well-tended fields, fine livestock, andvariety of woods. The boundary between it and Miss Ormhill’s land was easy enough to