Read Online Once Again a Bride by Jane Ashford - Free Book Online Page B

obvious wealth and a house full of servants, what could he know about real work? Of course, dictating to everyone around him probably took a great deal of time. It must be such a burden to always know better! He had talked to her as if she were a child or a fool.
    The worst of it was—an investigator was a good idea. If she’d known about such people, she would have hired one herself. She was perfectly capable of doing that.
    Charlotte sighed and sat back in her chair. She could have; she would have. But she had to admit it was pleasant not to need to make the arrangements, to have the matter decisively and intelligently handled by someone else. Whenever she thought back to the stealthy footsteps in the night, she couldn’t help but tremble. A weakness, no doubt, which just made her angrier.
    She turned back to her breakfast. Her eggs were cold, but she could go to the sideboard and replace them if she wished to. The tea was delicious—better than she’d brewed for Henry, she supposed! There were sausages and crisp toast and homemade marmalade—all of it much nicer than the meals she and Lucy had been scraping together. It was a very comfortable house. The servants seemed cheerful, and the sisters happy, aside from Anne’s illness. It reminded her of home. She closed her hands on her napkin. The past was past; she must stop being melancholy and get on with life.
    No one else had appeared by the time Charlotte finished breakfast. Returning to the front hall, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She didn’t feel like sitting in her bedchamber. She had no duties. In the flurry of packing, she’d forgotten to put in her sewing or her book. Tentatively, she began to explore. She discovered the dining room, a formal parlor, and a butler’s pantry before coming upon the library at the back of the house. Going in, closing the door behind her, she felt suddenly much more at ease. The room was smaller than her father’s library, but also much tidier. Shelves covered every bit of wall not needed for the door, fireplace, and two windows; the books on them looked handled, not merely decorative. The bright fire and comfortable chairs showed that the room was often used. She trailed her fingers along a row of bindings, chose a book, and curled into an armchair to read. Contentment settled over her like a warm blanket. For the first time in days, weeks, Charlotte relaxed.
    Sleet spattered the windows; the fire popped. She drifted a thousand miles away on an account of travel in the wilds of Turkey and was aware of nothing nearer until a female voice said, “There you are.” Charlotte started, dropped the book, and came to her feet. The older woman she had barely met yesterday stood in the doorway. “Forgive me for startling you. You must enjoy reading, Mrs.…”
    “Charlotte. Please.”
    She inclined her head. “And I am Frances.”
    She looked far more composed this morning, her dark hair fashionably dressed, her lilac gown immaculate. Charlotte envied her air of refinement and grace. “I love to read, yes.”
    “I suppose Henry has… had a great many books.”
    “Not really. He collected other things, and the volumes he had were too rare to be touched.”
    Frances looked surprised, and Charlotte immediately wished she hadn’t answered so honestly. She had held things pent up for so long, now they just came tumbling out. She couldn’t seem to stop it.
    “Come up to the drawing room. We’ve had no opportunity to get acquainted.”
    Following the lady of the house up the stairs and into an elegant room hung with green brocade, Charlotte was again aware of her stuffy black gown, her unusual situation. What must Frances Cole think of her?
    “I hope you found your room comfortable?”
    “Perfectly.” Charlotte sat on the delicate sofa beside her. “Thank you so much for allowing me to visit without warning in this…”
    Frances waved this aside. “We’re delighted to have you.”
    She said it; she smiled; but