The Earl’s Wicked Wish by Daphne Byrne EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Daphne Byrne
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
One Year Later…
This Earl is the one with the fine gardens, is he not?” Evelyn
pressed her nose to the carriage window, watching the late-afternoon sunlight
transform the countryside.
“Goodness, yes!” Evelyn’s father, David Nielsen, gave a huge sigh of
contentment. “How could I have forgotten? I doubt you will see a rarer
collection of flowers anywhere on our British Isles.”
Evelyn grimaced at the memory of what had occurred to her, almost a year to
the day. “I never had the chance to see the rarest blooms, for I almost blinded
myself last time.”
“Of course, you did!” Evelyn’s father clapped his hands together. “My, my,
what is happening to my mind? It is akin to a very crowded, very disorderly
room where I cannot recall where I have placed my thoughts. Why, just this
morning, I could not remember where I left my spectacles… and they were
right there in my pocket!”
Evelyn’s mother, Mary, chuckled. “Had you asked me, I would have told you
to look down.”
“I could not find you, my darling,” David cooed. “You were lost in your herb
Mary nudged him in the side. “Ah, so you did know where to find me, but
you chose to suffer through your lengthy search alone.”
“Perhaps, for a moment, I could not recall where I had placed you,” David
replied, grinning like a schoolboy who had fallen in love for the first time.
Evelyn watched her parents with the usual, overwhelming feeling of awe and
gratitude, for she knew that witnessing such affection between parents was
not an ordinary thing.
“I wonder if I should seek out that oleander again to make the evening easier
to bear,” Evelyn joked, aiming for humor, but her voice was too strained.
At that, her mother and father’s attention turned intently toward her, both of
them forgetting their doe-eyed flirtations in favor of comforting their
“Now, do not speak such nonsense,” Mary reassured softly. “You have
nothing to be ashamed of, and I have a rather heavy reticule with me.” She
raised the reticule in question—a silk, drawstring bag, delicately embroidered
with her favorite flowers.
It had been a gift from Evelyn’s father, who was forever surprising his wife
with little presents. Usually, he made them himself or wrote his wife poetry,
so as not to fritter away the little fortune they possessed, but the bag had been
a special gift for Mary’s birthday.
Evelyn mustered a chuckle. “Do you intend to strike anyone who says an
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