Read Online My Pleasure by Connie Brockway - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Connie Brockway
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she needn’t feel guilty over her failure to defend her relatives. Kate and Christian did not need, nor would they want, her championship. They paid no attention to Society.
“That alone might be overlooked as a peculiarity. But the younger sister presents clear evidence that the Nash family tree is hiding Undesirable Elements.”
The little hairs on the nape of her neck began prickling. Kate could, and always had, taken care of herself, but Charlotte—impulsive, passionate, independent Charlotte—would go wherever her heart and fancy led.
Soon after their parents’ deaths, Helena and Kate had decided that as Charlotte would have little else to recommend her in life, she should at least have the advantages of a good education. They had done all they could to pay for her attendance at an exclusive school. But when her schooling had ended, Charlotte had flown from their care at the first opportunity, ingratiating herself with the family of a school chum, Baron Welton’s only child.
Helena was honest enough to admit that at first she had welcomed abdicating the difficult task of sheltering and guiding a headstrong teenager to an established society family. Later, when it had come to their attention that there was little sheltering and no guiding whatsoever going on in that family, her attempts to extricate Charlotte from the Welton household had been met with her sister’s blatant refusal to leave.
With an impish and unapologetic smile, Charlotte had informed her that she had no interest in living in poverty, that she liked her fashionable clothes and pretty room, and that she was of an age where neither Helena nor Kate could do a “bloody thing about it.” And then she had winked.
Lately, Helena had heard she was developing undesirable friendships. She had tried communicating with Charlotte on the subject on numerous occasions, but always unsuccessfully. When she went to the Welton household, Charlotte was always gone. The few lines she wrote in response to Helena’s alternately pleading and demanding letters had been brief, unconcerned, filled with the latest news regarding her wardrobe and the current on dits about her adopted family.
It had been exasperating. There were no other avenues by which to reach Charlotte. The fast crowd the Weltons ran with was hardly the type to be invited to Lady Tilpot’s house. Ultimately, Helena had had to admit the indisputable fact that Charlotte neither wanted to, nor would accept, Helena’s “interference” in her life, and as unhappy as it made her, Helena did not see what else she could do.
Consequently, the name of her younger sister on Lady Tilpot’s pursed lips brought every protective instinct rushing forth in Helena, and with them guilt. Indeed, Helena suspected she had transferred a great deal of her guilt over Charlotte, whom she could not help no matter how she tried and who did not want her help, to Flora, whom she could and who did.
“Well, Miss Nash? Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Lady Tilpot asked.
Helena bit down hard on her inner cheeks. If she was too pert, Lady Tilpot would discharge her on the spot, and Flora would be alone. She need only bear Lady Tilpot a few weeks more. A few weeks. She could do that. “Charlotte,” she finally said in a tight voice, “is quite well received.”
“Yes,” Lady Tilpot admitted, “but for how long?” And, having fired off this last shot, she turned with an air of finality to her vicar. “Reverend Tawster, would you be so kind as to give me your arm? I wish to sit.”
The vicar obliged, perhaps suddenly realizing on which side his bread was buttered. And judging by his soft-looking belly, he did like butter.
“Now, then,” Jolly turned back as soon as Lady Tilpot and the vicar were out of earshot, as if Lady Tilpot’s views on good breeding had been a burp, a little embarrassing and best ignored, “what I was saying about Ramsey Munro was how all the young ladies visit his salle on
“That alone might be overlooked as a peculiarity. But the younger sister presents clear evidence that the Nash family tree is hiding Undesirable Elements.”
The little hairs on the nape of her neck began prickling. Kate could, and always had, taken care of herself, but Charlotte—impulsive, passionate, independent Charlotte—would go wherever her heart and fancy led.
Soon after their parents’ deaths, Helena and Kate had decided that as Charlotte would have little else to recommend her in life, she should at least have the advantages of a good education. They had done all they could to pay for her attendance at an exclusive school. But when her schooling had ended, Charlotte had flown from their care at the first opportunity, ingratiating herself with the family of a school chum, Baron Welton’s only child.
Helena was honest enough to admit that at first she had welcomed abdicating the difficult task of sheltering and guiding a headstrong teenager to an established society family. Later, when it had come to their attention that there was little sheltering and no guiding whatsoever going on in that family, her attempts to extricate Charlotte from the Welton household had been met with her sister’s blatant refusal to leave.
With an impish and unapologetic smile, Charlotte had informed her that she had no interest in living in poverty, that she liked her fashionable clothes and pretty room, and that she was of an age where neither Helena nor Kate could do a “bloody thing about it.” And then she had winked.
Lately, Helena had heard she was developing undesirable friendships. She had tried communicating with Charlotte on the subject on numerous occasions, but always unsuccessfully. When she went to the Welton household, Charlotte was always gone. The few lines she wrote in response to Helena’s alternately pleading and demanding letters had been brief, unconcerned, filled with the latest news regarding her wardrobe and the current on dits about her adopted family.
It had been exasperating. There were no other avenues by which to reach Charlotte. The fast crowd the Weltons ran with was hardly the type to be invited to Lady Tilpot’s house. Ultimately, Helena had had to admit the indisputable fact that Charlotte neither wanted to, nor would accept, Helena’s “interference” in her life, and as unhappy as it made her, Helena did not see what else she could do.
Consequently, the name of her younger sister on Lady Tilpot’s pursed lips brought every protective instinct rushing forth in Helena, and with them guilt. Indeed, Helena suspected she had transferred a great deal of her guilt over Charlotte, whom she could not help no matter how she tried and who did not want her help, to Flora, whom she could and who did.
“Well, Miss Nash? Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Lady Tilpot asked.
Helena bit down hard on her inner cheeks. If she was too pert, Lady Tilpot would discharge her on the spot, and Flora would be alone. She need only bear Lady Tilpot a few weeks more. A few weeks. She could do that. “Charlotte,” she finally said in a tight voice, “is quite well received.”
“Yes,” Lady Tilpot admitted, “but for how long?” And, having fired off this last shot, she turned with an air of finality to her vicar. “Reverend Tawster, would you be so kind as to give me your arm? I wish to sit.”
The vicar obliged, perhaps suddenly realizing on which side his bread was buttered. And judging by his soft-looking belly, he did like butter.
“Now, then,” Jolly turned back as soon as Lady Tilpot and the vicar were out of earshot, as if Lady Tilpot’s views on good breeding had been a burp, a little embarrassing and best ignored, “what I was saying about Ramsey Munro was how all the young ladies visit his salle on
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