Read Online Before the Storm by Melanie Clegg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melanie Clegg
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day. ‘I have something that I’d like to give to you,’ he said now, reaching down to feel in the pocket of his breeches.
‘I can’t accept anything from you,’ Phoebe replied reproachfully as he handed her a small pale blue velvet covered box. ‘I don’t want to look at it,’ she said, longingly stroking the velvet with her fingers. ‘If I love it then it will be doubly hard to return to you.’
‘Why can’t you have it?’ he asked, standing up and pulling on his coat. He sounded a little hurt.
Phoebe sighed. ‘Because there would be questions about where I got it from,’ she said. ‘Mama notices everything.’
‘Not everything,’ George replied with a smile. ‘Keep it for when you are married then,’ he said. ‘Husbands tend to be far less observant than mothers.’
She laughed at that then took a deep breath and opened the box. ‘Oh George,’ she breathed, ‘it is beautiful. Really. It’s exquisite.’ Inside the box, resting on a bed of watered shell pink satin there lay a beautiful pale blue cameo pendant depicting a woman in profile with her long hair pulled back in a chignon. Impetuously, she leaped to her feet and kissed him on the mouth.
‘I am glad that you like it,’ he said, taking hold of her waist and pulling her towards him for another kiss. ‘It’s from Pompeii. I saw it in a dealer’s window and knew straight away that I had to get it for you.’ He kissed her neck. ‘She looks a bit like you, don’t you think?’
‘Pompeii?’ She stroked it reverently, imagining it around the throat of a now long dead Roman lady. ‘It’s so old and now it is here with me. Incredible isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’ Pleased that his present had been a success he carried on getting dressed, wondering as he did so if the pair of emerald earrings he had in his other pocket would go down as well with his wife. He gave a rueful smile as he half wished that he hadn’t fallen into the expensive habit of buying her some new trinket whenever he strayed - surely a nosegay of flowers or a new dress would be a far less ruinous way of assuaging his battered conscience?
Phoebe kept her hand on the precious velvet box in her pocket all the way from Covent Garden to Highbury Place. It was the first time that she had allowed Mr Garland to give her a present and although she wasn’t sure that it was wise to accept such a costly gift, she had found herself unable to resist as it was so beautiful. She felt a little ashamed though that she had been half expecting something horribly flashy when she first opened the box - she’d seen the lavish, rather vulgar jewels that her lover’s liked to give his wife after all.
She leaned back against the carriage seat and gazed thoughtfully out of the mud splattered window as they left the bustling city behind and gradually the tall grime stained houses, dirty bustling streets and high pitched imperative cries of wandering vendors gave way to the trees and peaceful market gardens of Islington village.
As they made their way up to the north of Islington, the gardens began to give way to the unedifying rubble and dust of building works and the stately newly built terraces of town houses that appeared phoenix like from the heart of them, the most elegant of which was Highbury Place, a sweeping row of pale stone mansions protected by wide gates at either end and with a view across pleasant rolling countryside. Her mother often liked to scoff at the Garlands and their delusions of grandeur with their brand new house and exclusive address, but Phoebe, who loved new fashionable things and despised this tedious clinging on to the outmoded furbelows of the past always felt a thrill of happiness as her carriage went through the gates and rolled down the clean, newly laid cobbles.
As far as the rather envious Mrs Knowles was concerned, the expensive parvenu newness of Highbury Place was something to be despised but Phoebe, who tried her best not to think of
‘I can’t accept anything from you,’ Phoebe replied reproachfully as he handed her a small pale blue velvet covered box. ‘I don’t want to look at it,’ she said, longingly stroking the velvet with her fingers. ‘If I love it then it will be doubly hard to return to you.’
‘Why can’t you have it?’ he asked, standing up and pulling on his coat. He sounded a little hurt.
Phoebe sighed. ‘Because there would be questions about where I got it from,’ she said. ‘Mama notices everything.’
‘Not everything,’ George replied with a smile. ‘Keep it for when you are married then,’ he said. ‘Husbands tend to be far less observant than mothers.’
She laughed at that then took a deep breath and opened the box. ‘Oh George,’ she breathed, ‘it is beautiful. Really. It’s exquisite.’ Inside the box, resting on a bed of watered shell pink satin there lay a beautiful pale blue cameo pendant depicting a woman in profile with her long hair pulled back in a chignon. Impetuously, she leaped to her feet and kissed him on the mouth.
‘I am glad that you like it,’ he said, taking hold of her waist and pulling her towards him for another kiss. ‘It’s from Pompeii. I saw it in a dealer’s window and knew straight away that I had to get it for you.’ He kissed her neck. ‘She looks a bit like you, don’t you think?’
‘Pompeii?’ She stroked it reverently, imagining it around the throat of a now long dead Roman lady. ‘It’s so old and now it is here with me. Incredible isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so.’ Pleased that his present had been a success he carried on getting dressed, wondering as he did so if the pair of emerald earrings he had in his other pocket would go down as well with his wife. He gave a rueful smile as he half wished that he hadn’t fallen into the expensive habit of buying her some new trinket whenever he strayed - surely a nosegay of flowers or a new dress would be a far less ruinous way of assuaging his battered conscience?
Phoebe kept her hand on the precious velvet box in her pocket all the way from Covent Garden to Highbury Place. It was the first time that she had allowed Mr Garland to give her a present and although she wasn’t sure that it was wise to accept such a costly gift, she had found herself unable to resist as it was so beautiful. She felt a little ashamed though that she had been half expecting something horribly flashy when she first opened the box - she’d seen the lavish, rather vulgar jewels that her lover’s liked to give his wife after all.
She leaned back against the carriage seat and gazed thoughtfully out of the mud splattered window as they left the bustling city behind and gradually the tall grime stained houses, dirty bustling streets and high pitched imperative cries of wandering vendors gave way to the trees and peaceful market gardens of Islington village.
As they made their way up to the north of Islington, the gardens began to give way to the unedifying rubble and dust of building works and the stately newly built terraces of town houses that appeared phoenix like from the heart of them, the most elegant of which was Highbury Place, a sweeping row of pale stone mansions protected by wide gates at either end and with a view across pleasant rolling countryside. Her mother often liked to scoff at the Garlands and their delusions of grandeur with their brand new house and exclusive address, but Phoebe, who loved new fashionable things and despised this tedious clinging on to the outmoded furbelows of the past always felt a thrill of happiness as her carriage went through the gates and rolled down the clean, newly laid cobbles.
As far as the rather envious Mrs Knowles was concerned, the expensive parvenu newness of Highbury Place was something to be despised but Phoebe, who tried her best not to think of
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