Read Online Dark Mirror 2 - Dark Passage by M.J. Putney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: M.J. Putney
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dismissed him, her brother was approaching, Allarde at his side. Geoffrey said, “Allarde was one of my fags at Eton, Tory. Now he’s at Lackland Abbey.”
Tory offered her hand and Allarde bowed over it. “I have seen Lord Allarde in the Lackland playing fields,” she said demurely. “There are viewing holes in the fence that divides the schools. One of the favorite occupations of the girls is watching the boys. Lord Allarde is much admired.”
Her brother laughed. “Human nature in action. I must go speak to his parents, but I wanted you two to get acquainted.”
When her brother moved away, Tory said mischievously, “I assume you won’t be afraid to dance with me for fear my magic is contagious, Lord Allarde.”
Laughing, he proffered his arm. “Indeed not. May I have the next dance, Lady Victoria?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It would be my great pleasure, sir.” Though both of them used formal manners as if they’d just been introduced, under the surface they bubbled with delight.
Allarde led her to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “This is wonderful! As we drove over here, I thought how unfortunate it was that I’d be in your brother’s house when you weren’t.”
“My sister moved her wedding here so I could attend,” Tory explained. “I didn’t receive her letter until you’d left the school. I never expected to see you, though. I thought your family seat was in Worcestershire?”
“It is, but Layton Place is right on the county border. Kemperton Hall is only a few miles away. Closer if you ride cross country.” The musicians struck up a tune for the next dance. They joined a square of four couples that was forming.
“We can’t really talk here,” Allarde said under his breath. “On the day after Boxing Day, can I take you on a ride to Kemperton Hall? I’d like you to see the estate.”
“I’d love that.” As she took her place beside him in the square, she said with a smile, “The dance after this is the supper dance.”
“Then I shall claim that, too,” he murmured, his gray eyes warm.
It wasn’t like the first ball that Tory had expected. It was much, much better.
CHAPTER 8
Christmas Day was dark and damp and cold . Cynthia lay on her back and stared gloomily at the crack in the ceiling. Her bedroom was dim in the pearl-grayness of an overcast winter afternoon, and a biting wind from the channel rattled the windowpanes. She should rise and put more coal on the fire, or at least pull a blanket over herself, but she felt too dismal.
This was her third Christmas at Lackland, and the worst. There were only a handful of girls left in the school, none of them friends. The first day after the school emptied out, she’d arrived in the refectory for breakfast and moved to join the table where all the other students were.
As soon as she touched a chair, the other girls had stood en masse, pivoted sharply, and moved to another table so smoothly that they must have planned it in advance. Cynthia gasped, humiliated. If only Tory had stayed! Everyone liked Tory. If she’d been with Cynthia, no one would have moved away.
That night, she took Tory’s stupid steamed pudding and carried it down into the Labyrinth. She’d hoped that some of the Irregulars might be there. Even magelings from the village whom she hardly knew would be better than nothing. Among the Irregulars, she was respected for what she’d done on the other side of Merlin’s mirror.
But the hall and maze of passages were empty and echoed like a tomb. She left the pudding on a table with a note offering it to anyone who wanted it, and good riddance. The stupid pudding would probably still be there when everyone returned from holiday. Christmas puddings not only had the shape, size, and density of cannonballs, they were almost as durable.
Even without being heated, she had to admit the stupid pudding smelled very good, with tantalizing hints of spice and dried fruit and fine
Tory offered her hand and Allarde bowed over it. “I have seen Lord Allarde in the Lackland playing fields,” she said demurely. “There are viewing holes in the fence that divides the schools. One of the favorite occupations of the girls is watching the boys. Lord Allarde is much admired.”
Her brother laughed. “Human nature in action. I must go speak to his parents, but I wanted you two to get acquainted.”
When her brother moved away, Tory said mischievously, “I assume you won’t be afraid to dance with me for fear my magic is contagious, Lord Allarde.”
Laughing, he proffered his arm. “Indeed not. May I have the next dance, Lady Victoria?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It would be my great pleasure, sir.” Though both of them used formal manners as if they’d just been introduced, under the surface they bubbled with delight.
Allarde led her to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “This is wonderful! As we drove over here, I thought how unfortunate it was that I’d be in your brother’s house when you weren’t.”
“My sister moved her wedding here so I could attend,” Tory explained. “I didn’t receive her letter until you’d left the school. I never expected to see you, though. I thought your family seat was in Worcestershire?”
“It is, but Layton Place is right on the county border. Kemperton Hall is only a few miles away. Closer if you ride cross country.” The musicians struck up a tune for the next dance. They joined a square of four couples that was forming.
“We can’t really talk here,” Allarde said under his breath. “On the day after Boxing Day, can I take you on a ride to Kemperton Hall? I’d like you to see the estate.”
“I’d love that.” As she took her place beside him in the square, she said with a smile, “The dance after this is the supper dance.”
“Then I shall claim that, too,” he murmured, his gray eyes warm.
It wasn’t like the first ball that Tory had expected. It was much, much better.
CHAPTER 8
Christmas Day was dark and damp and cold . Cynthia lay on her back and stared gloomily at the crack in the ceiling. Her bedroom was dim in the pearl-grayness of an overcast winter afternoon, and a biting wind from the channel rattled the windowpanes. She should rise and put more coal on the fire, or at least pull a blanket over herself, but she felt too dismal.
This was her third Christmas at Lackland, and the worst. There were only a handful of girls left in the school, none of them friends. The first day after the school emptied out, she’d arrived in the refectory for breakfast and moved to join the table where all the other students were.
As soon as she touched a chair, the other girls had stood en masse, pivoted sharply, and moved to another table so smoothly that they must have planned it in advance. Cynthia gasped, humiliated. If only Tory had stayed! Everyone liked Tory. If she’d been with Cynthia, no one would have moved away.
That night, she took Tory’s stupid steamed pudding and carried it down into the Labyrinth. She’d hoped that some of the Irregulars might be there. Even magelings from the village whom she hardly knew would be better than nothing. Among the Irregulars, she was respected for what she’d done on the other side of Merlin’s mirror.
But the hall and maze of passages were empty and echoed like a tomb. She left the pudding on a table with a note offering it to anyone who wanted it, and good riddance. The stupid pudding would probably still be there when everyone returned from holiday. Christmas puddings not only had the shape, size, and density of cannonballs, they were almost as durable.
Even without being heated, she had to admit the stupid pudding smelled very good, with tantalizing hints of spice and dried fruit and fine
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