Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) by Ella Quinn Page A

afternoon. I have brought books and games to entertain you girls.”
    Although cold, the day was sunny, and as neither Amanda nor Meg had been on this particular route before, they spent the first hour or so watching the countryside and commenting on the towns and villages. After that palled, they chose books over board games. Other than the sound of the horses and wheels, silence descended on the coach.
    The time at home had served to make Meg more certain than ever that marriage with a quiet and undemanding gentleman would be the best thing for her. She would never be able to give her heart away again. Even now, unbidden tears sprung to her eyes at odd moments, and the ache in her chest threatened to stop her breath. Surely one did not truly die of a broken heart.
    It was a shame she had not had an opportunity to present her proposal to Lord Throughgood before leaving Town. Other than the flowers she had received, she had not heard from him again. However, she had given it careful thought. She must be truthful with him. It would not do to have him fall in love with her when she could not return his affections.
    She stared at the page, reading the same lines over again, and against her will, Lord Hawksworth’s visage invaded her thoughts. In some ways he reminded her of Tarlington and, to some extent, Swindon. Both had been dashing and worldly.
    Yet Lord Hawksworth was worse. He was a confusing enigma, which was the very last thing she needed in her life. His flights of fancy in fashion were not as extreme as some, and what he wore was copied by many gentlemen aspiring to be Dandies. Yet he also appeared to be a notable Corinthian. Generally, the two groups did not get on well at all, but he managed to be successful at both. Not to mention that he was dangerously handsome. There must be a flaw somewhere, and it was bound to be a huge one. Every gentleman she knew who was too perfect turned out to have the worst failings.
    Meg turned to the window and blew out a breath. No, Lord Throughgood would be much better. It was too bad her mother had an aversion to a parent’s arranging matches. Her father contacting his father would have made life a great deal easier. As it was, Meg was going to have to approach his lordship herself. If he was as conventional as she hoped he was, he could think she was much too bold, and that wouldn’t do at all. Well, fiddlesticks. She had to do something, or she would end up a spinster.
    Although there was no snow on the roads, the weather had turned increasingly bitter and low dark clouds hid the sun and hung overhead as if they would fall on them at any moment, and the scent of the air had changed.
    Mrs. Hiller had arranged a luncheon along the way, but after her coachman began predicting snow before long, she hurried them through the meal, anxious to arrive before they were caught in a storm.
    They arrived at Bellsville Court, the Bellamnys’ principal estate, as the first fat, wet flakes began to fall, blurring her view of the old red-brick manor house. Despite the hour being only shortly after two o’-clock, candles gleamed through the mullioned glass windows of one room. The old Elizabethan house had four floors, cellars, and two wings, but cozy was the description that came to Meg when she gazed at it.
    Lady Bellamny greeted them as the coach drew up. “Come in and have something warm to drink. We are in the drawing room.”
    After they removed their outer garments, she led them to a long rectangular room. Windows flanked one side, fireplaces anchored each end of the room, and thick carpets muffled their feet as they entered.
    “We” included a youngish couple with a child of about three years who was currently knocking down the blocks of the structure his father built for him. Meg had never seen the Mertons in such an informal setting before. Lord Merton swooped his son up in his arms and bowed. “A pleasure to see you ladies.”
    “You as well, my lord.” Meg curtseyed, as did