Marry Me Read Online Free

how to put this.
    Mary’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You don’t know her name? Haven’t even been introduced?”
    This was awkward. How could he explain to his sister about this young woman he saw on the street one day? How she hid behind a lamp post and watched a protest. She wasn’t a radical, this young lady, otherwise she would have been in with them marching along. How could he explain her gentle features, her elegant limbs and those fine ankles? But what made his heart really flutter was when she gave her whole sandwich to that starving street urchin without a second thought for herself.
    That was the sort of spirit a man could admire. Gibson Girls may be all fine and well in their beauty and boldness, but they had a certain hard edge that Raymond disliked. And then there were the Victorian remnants. Such blushing shrinking violets with nary a thought in their heads might have suited the men of his father’s generation, but this was the new century. Progress, and all that. No room for the weak or tepid.
    This young lady did not seem weak. She seemed fascinated by life.
    “I w-w-ant t-t-o find h-h-her again.”
    Mary positioned the bouquet in her scrapbook. “What do you know about her?”
    Raymond sighed in frustration. Mary rolled her eyes. She wagged a finger at the desk on the other side of the room. “There’s paper in there.” She picked up her scissors and resumed snipping.
    Raymond fetched a nice piece of writing paper and a pencil. He tapped the pencil against his lips. What did he know about her?
    She’s beautiful. That was a given. She has an interest in…politics? No, social issues. She’s smart enough not to get directly involved in politics. Politics could get tricky, if some of the skirmishes down at the Club on East 44 th street were anything to go by. Men often resolved their differences in the pugilistic ring when they could not come to agreement over politics, finances or anything, really.
    She came from a well-to-do family, if the quality of her hands and her clothes were any indication, but not so rich that she wasn’t above carrying her own lunch around.
    She was thoughtful. She offered her sandwich to that boy. The whole thing. Someone of a higher station would have ignored him completely. Compassionate. Yes, that was her.
    And she didn’t give Raymond the brush-off either. She accepted the little candy heart graciously and with honest delight. Yes. That’s what he loved most, the sheer joy at such a simple gift.
    He slid his list over to his sister. She read it, her eyebrows rising. “Sounds like a real charmer. But how will you find her?”
    Knock on every door in New York? Could do. Cross his fingers and hope for the best? Sheer dumb luck ruled their first encounter. He couldn’t rely on such a fickle thing for the rest.
    “P-persiss-sstence.”
    Okay, and some luck.
    Still, did his heart have to beat so hard?
    “Wh-wh-when I f-f-find her, h-h-help m-me?” On the back of the paper he pencilled big and bold, “Please?”
    ****
    Saturday came, and with it, Guy Elliott. To Millie’s chagrin, he called at the house, arriving about fifteen minutes before the Moores were to depart.
    He came with an armful of lilies. Surely one couldn’t go wrong with the innocuous flower of innocence. They looked out of place in front of his red-striped waistcoat and linen suit. He looked to be going out for a day of gay delights, whereas the lilies begged for an afternoon of quietude.
    The maid answered the door. Flustered Mrs. Moore hurried up behind her, a smile plastered across her face. Did appearance mean so much to her mother?
    “We did not expect you so soon,” Mrs. Moore panted, a hand to her ruffled bosom. Her gaze alighted on the lilies. “Oh, how lovely.” She stroked a petal. A wave of greasiness rippled off.
    Millie shuddered at the top of the staircase. With a complete lack of grace, she clunked down the stairs, the carpet runner failing to hide her loud footfalls. “We’re not