" You may find this hard to believe, Mr. Pinter," she went on defensively, "but some men enjoy my company. They consider me easy to talk to."
A ghost of a smile touched his handsome face. "You're right. I do find that hard to believe."
Arrogant wretch. "All the same, there are three men who might consider marrying me, and I could use your help in securing them."
She hated having to ask him for that, but he was necessary to her plan. She just needed one good offer of marriage, one impressive offer that would show Gran she was capable of gaining a decent husband.
Gran didn't believe she could, or she wouldn't be holding to that blasted ultimatum. If Celia could prove her wrong, Gran might allow her to choose a husband in her own good time.
And if that plan didn't work, Celia would at least have a man she could marry to fulfill Gran's terms.
"So you've finally decided to meet Mrs. Plumtree's demands," he said, his expression unreadable.
She wasn't about to let him in on her secret plan. Oliver might have employed him, but she was sure Mr. Pinter also spied for Gran. He would run right off and tell her. "It's not as if I have a choice." Bitterness crept into her tone. "In less than two months, if I remain unmarried, my siblings will be cut off. I can't do that to them, no matter how much I resent Gran's meddling."
Something that looked oddly like sympathy flickered in his gaze. "Don't you want to marry?"
"Of course I want to marry. Doesn't every woman?"
"You've shown little interest in it before," he said skeptically.
That's because men had shown little interest in her. Oh, Gab's friends loved to stand about with her at balls and discuss the latest developments in cartridges, but they rarely asked her to dance, and if they did, it was only to consult her on rifles. She'd tried flirting, but she was terrible at it. It seemed so...false. So did men's compliments, the few that there were. It was easier to laugh them off than to figure out which ones were genuine, easier to pretend to be one of the lads.
She secretly wished she could find a man she could love, who would ignore the scandals attached to he family's name and indulge her hobby of target shooting. One who could shoot as well as she, since she could never respect a man who couldn't hit what he aimed at.
I'll bet Mr. Pinter knows his way around a rifle. "
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enjoy my company. They consider me easy to talk to."A ghost of a smile touched his handsome face. "You're right. I do find that hard to believe."
Arrogant wretch. "All the same, there are three men who might consider marrying me, and I could use your help in securing them."
She hated having to ask him for that, but he was necessary to her plan. She just needed one good offer of marriage, one impressive offer that would show Gran she was capable of gaining a decent husband.
Gran didn't believe she could, or she wouldn't be holding to that blasted ultimatum. If Celia could prove her wrong, Gran might allow her to choose a husband in her own good time.
And if that plan didn't work, Celia would at least have a man she could marry to fulfill Gran's terms.
"So you've finally decided to meet Mrs. Plumtree's demands," he said, his expression unreadable.
She wasn't about to let him in on her secret plan. Oliver might have employed him, but she was sure Mr. Pinter also spied for Gran. He would run right off and tell her. "It's not as if I have a choice." Bitterness crept into her tone. "In less than two months, if I remain unmarried, my siblings will be cut off. I can't do that to them, no matter how much I resent Gran's meddling."
Something that looked oddly like sympathy flickered in his gaze. "Don't you want to marry?"
"Of course I want to marry. Doesn't every woman?"
"You've shown little interest in it before," he said skeptically.
That's because men had shown little interest in her. Oh, Gab's friends loved to stand about with her at balls and discuss the latest developments in cartridges, but they rarely asked her to dance, and if they did, it was only to consult her on rifles. She'd tried flirting, but she was terrible at it. It seemed so...false. So did men's compliments, the few that there were. It was easier to laugh them off than to figure out which ones were genuine, easier to pretend to be one of the lads.
She secretly wished she could find a man she could love, who would ignore the scandals attached to he family's name and indulge her hobby of target shooting. One who could shoot as well as she, since she could never respect a man who couldn't hit what he aimed at.
I'll bet Mr. Pinter knows his way around a rifle." style="width:100%;margin:20px 0;"/>