to her on a plate. “Nothing to wear to a party, Lady McGovern, I’m afraid. You must excuse me, but thank you so much for thinking of me. I know you’ll understand I’d feel awkward and out of place in the one dress I’ve brought with me. It’s a cotton sundress. I’m sure Rachelle and her cousins will be beautifully turned out.”
“So they will,” Lady McGovern agreed with an unsmiling nod. Rachelle’s cousins, all from wealthy families, were out earning their own money, carving out careers, not relying on trust funds like Rachelle. Nothing she said made any difference to her granddaughter. Rachelle lacked drive. Worse, she had no sense of reality. Her feet didn’t even touch the ground. That’s what wealth did to some people. Why bother earning money when you had plenty? Here in front of her was young Skye McCory—the image of her mother—taking up life and developing her character. At the end of Skye’s first year of law she was among the top five students. Lady McGovern fully expected she would repeat or even gain standing when the results for year two were posted in the New Year.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, fixing Skye with her regal stare. “I took the opportunity of having something appropriate for you to wear sent in from Sydney. Think of it as an extra Christmas present.” Djinjara’s staff were given suitable Christmas presents. It was a long-standing tradition, as was their big New Year’s Eve party held in the Great Hall. “Come along with me and I’ll show it to you.” The civility of the tone didn’t conceal the fact it was an order. “Shoes to match so don’t worry about them either. I have countless evening bags. I’m sure you can pick out something from among them.”
Skye, at twenty, felt overwhelmed. “But Lady McGovern—”
“No buts about it!” The old lady turned on her, her tone so sharp it was like a rap over the knuckles. “Come along now.”
Skye knew better than to argue.
As always, Rachelle was on hand to upset her.
She was almost at the front door when Rachelle tore down the grand staircase. “What have you got there?” she demanded, her dark eyes riveted to the long, elegant box in Skye’s hands with its distinctive packaging and label.
Normally poised in the face of Rachelle’s obvious dislike, Skye felt acute embarrassment. Colour swept hotly into her cheeks. “Lady McGovern has been kind enough to give me my Christmas present,” she said.
“A dress?” Rachelle’s upper-crust voice rose to a screech. “How come you rate a dress from Margaux’s?” She advanced on Skye, looking shocked to her roots. Margaux’s was arguably Sydney’s top boutique, carrying designer labels from all over the world.
“Yes, a dress, Rachelle.” Skye was recovering somewhat. “I’m thrilled.”
“So you should be!” Rachelle’s tone lashed. “Gran hasn’t asked you to come to the Christmas Eve party surely?”
Skye held her temper. “She has. I’m sorry if that upsets you, Rachelle. I’ll endeavour to keep out of your way.”
Rachelle’s face registered a whole range of emotions, fury uppermost. “I don’t believe this!” she cried. “How could Gran do this to me?” Her eyes abruptly narrowed to slits. “I believe you begged her for an invitation. That’s it, isn’t it? You’d have the hide!”
“Wrong again.” Skye shook her blonde head. “If you ask your grandmother, you’ll learn the truth. But do remember to ask nicely. You’re losing all your manners.”
“I hate you, Skye McCory.” As if she needed to, Rachelle laid it on the line. A McGovern to a McCory. A McGovern with a streak of vengeance.
“You have no right to,” Skye replied, keeping her tone level, although she felt sick to her stomach. She was sick of Rachelle’s drama. In fact, she wanted to pitch the elegant box at this appalling young woman’s head.
She had to walk away.
Right now.
The McGoverns still had her in their power, even if she
“So they will,” Lady McGovern agreed with an unsmiling nod. Rachelle’s cousins, all from wealthy families, were out earning their own money, carving out careers, not relying on trust funds like Rachelle. Nothing she said made any difference to her granddaughter. Rachelle lacked drive. Worse, she had no sense of reality. Her feet didn’t even touch the ground. That’s what wealth did to some people. Why bother earning money when you had plenty? Here in front of her was young Skye McCory—the image of her mother—taking up life and developing her character. At the end of Skye’s first year of law she was among the top five students. Lady McGovern fully expected she would repeat or even gain standing when the results for year two were posted in the New Year.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said, fixing Skye with her regal stare. “I took the opportunity of having something appropriate for you to wear sent in from Sydney. Think of it as an extra Christmas present.” Djinjara’s staff were given suitable Christmas presents. It was a long-standing tradition, as was their big New Year’s Eve party held in the Great Hall. “Come along with me and I’ll show it to you.” The civility of the tone didn’t conceal the fact it was an order. “Shoes to match so don’t worry about them either. I have countless evening bags. I’m sure you can pick out something from among them.”
Skye, at twenty, felt overwhelmed. “But Lady McGovern—”
“No buts about it!” The old lady turned on her, her tone so sharp it was like a rap over the knuckles. “Come along now.”
Skye knew better than to argue.
As always, Rachelle was on hand to upset her.
She was almost at the front door when Rachelle tore down the grand staircase. “What have you got there?” she demanded, her dark eyes riveted to the long, elegant box in Skye’s hands with its distinctive packaging and label.
Normally poised in the face of Rachelle’s obvious dislike, Skye felt acute embarrassment. Colour swept hotly into her cheeks. “Lady McGovern has been kind enough to give me my Christmas present,” she said.
“A dress?” Rachelle’s upper-crust voice rose to a screech. “How come you rate a dress from Margaux’s?” She advanced on Skye, looking shocked to her roots. Margaux’s was arguably Sydney’s top boutique, carrying designer labels from all over the world.
“Yes, a dress, Rachelle.” Skye was recovering somewhat. “I’m thrilled.”
“So you should be!” Rachelle’s tone lashed. “Gran hasn’t asked you to come to the Christmas Eve party surely?”
Skye held her temper. “She has. I’m sorry if that upsets you, Rachelle. I’ll endeavour to keep out of your way.”
Rachelle’s face registered a whole range of emotions, fury uppermost. “I don’t believe this!” she cried. “How could Gran do this to me?” Her eyes abruptly narrowed to slits. “I believe you begged her for an invitation. That’s it, isn’t it? You’d have the hide!”
“Wrong again.” Skye shook her blonde head. “If you ask your grandmother, you’ll learn the truth. But do remember to ask nicely. You’re losing all your manners.”
“I hate you, Skye McCory.” As if she needed to, Rachelle laid it on the line. A McGovern to a McCory. A McGovern with a streak of vengeance.
“You have no right to,” Skye replied, keeping her tone level, although she felt sick to her stomach. She was sick of Rachelle’s drama. In fact, she wanted to pitch the elegant box at this appalling young woman’s head.
She had to walk away.
Right now.
The McGoverns still had her in their power, even if she
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