Read Online Silent in the Sanctuary by Deanna Raybourn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Deanna Raybourn
Ads: Link
at the Abbey, my lord. I confess I am surprised to see you here.”
Brisbane’s eyes flickered toward my father. “I might say the same of you, my lady. His lordship declined to mention you were expected to return home before next summer.”
Father’s eyes were open very wide, a sure sign he had been up to mischief. He was incapable of feigning innocence. I looked from him to Brisbane, fitting the pieces together swiftly. My appearance was as much of a surprise to Brisbane as his was to me. He was pale under the olive of his complexion, and I realised he was attempting to compose himself. Whatever he had expected of his visit to Bellmont Abbey, a reunion with me was no part of it.
I had just opened my mouth to tease him when he looked past me and beckoned sharply to a lady hesitating shyly on the edge of our circle. I had not noticed her before, but now I wondered how that was possible.
“My lady,” Brisbane said smoothly, “I should like to present to you my fiancée, Mrs. King. Charlotte, Lady Julia Grey.”
I know that I put out my hand, and that she took it, because I looked down to see my fingers grasped warmly in hers, but I felt nothing. I had gone quite numb as I took in the implication of what Brisbane had just said.
“Mrs. King,” I murmured. Recovering myself quickly, I fixed a smile on my lips and repeated the greeting I had given Brisbane. “Welcome to the Abbey.”
“And welcome back to England, my lady,” she said breathlessly.
She was a truly lovely creature, all chocolate-box sweetness with a round, dimpled face and luscious colouring. She had clouds of hair the same honeyed red-blond I had admired on a Titian Madonna. Her eyes were wide and almost indescribably blue. She had a plump, rosebud mouth and an adorably tiny nose unadorned by even a single freckle. Only the chin, small and pointed like a cat’s, belied the sweetness of her expression. There was firmness there, perhaps even stubbornness, although now she was smiling at me in mute invitation to befriend her. Unlike me, she wore widow’s weeds, although touches of purple indicated her loss was not a recent one. The black suited her though, highlighting a certain fragile delicacy of complexion no cosmetic could ever hope to simulate. She was a Fragonard milkmaid, a Botticelli nymph. I hated her instantly.
“I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” she was saying. “Lord Wargrave has told me simply everything about you. I know we are going to be very great friends.” She was earnest as a puppy, and I had little doubt most people found her charming.
“Has he indeed? How very kind you are,” I said, fingering the pendant at my throat. It had been an involuntary action, and I realised as soon as my fingers touched the cool silver it was a mistake. Mrs. King’s bright blue gaze fixed on the piece at once.
“What an unusual pendant. Did you acquire it on your travels?” she asked, peering closely at the coin.
“No. It was a gift,” I said, covering its face with a finger. I turned to Brisbane, who was watching our exchange closely. I nodded toward the sling. “I see you have managed to injure yourself, my lord. Nothing serious, I hope.”
He lifted a brow. “Not at all. A nasty spill from a horse a fortnight ago, nothing more. His lordship was kind enough to invite me to recuperate here away from the bustle of the city.”
“And you will be here for Christmas as well?” I asked, forcing my tone to brightness.
“As will my fiancée,” he replied coolly, locking those witch-black eyes onto mine.
I did not blink. “Excellent. I shall look forward to getting to know her intimately.” The words were blandly spoken, but Brisbane knew me well enough to hear the threat implicit within them.
His gaze wavered slightly, and I inclined my head. “I do hope you will excuse me. I must greet the other guests. Mrs. King, a pleasure,” I said, withdrawing from the group. Father caught my eye, his own eyes
Brisbane’s eyes flickered toward my father. “I might say the same of you, my lady. His lordship declined to mention you were expected to return home before next summer.”
Father’s eyes were open very wide, a sure sign he had been up to mischief. He was incapable of feigning innocence. I looked from him to Brisbane, fitting the pieces together swiftly. My appearance was as much of a surprise to Brisbane as his was to me. He was pale under the olive of his complexion, and I realised he was attempting to compose himself. Whatever he had expected of his visit to Bellmont Abbey, a reunion with me was no part of it.
I had just opened my mouth to tease him when he looked past me and beckoned sharply to a lady hesitating shyly on the edge of our circle. I had not noticed her before, but now I wondered how that was possible.
“My lady,” Brisbane said smoothly, “I should like to present to you my fiancée, Mrs. King. Charlotte, Lady Julia Grey.”
I know that I put out my hand, and that she took it, because I looked down to see my fingers grasped warmly in hers, but I felt nothing. I had gone quite numb as I took in the implication of what Brisbane had just said.
“Mrs. King,” I murmured. Recovering myself quickly, I fixed a smile on my lips and repeated the greeting I had given Brisbane. “Welcome to the Abbey.”
“And welcome back to England, my lady,” she said breathlessly.
She was a truly lovely creature, all chocolate-box sweetness with a round, dimpled face and luscious colouring. She had clouds of hair the same honeyed red-blond I had admired on a Titian Madonna. Her eyes were wide and almost indescribably blue. She had a plump, rosebud mouth and an adorably tiny nose unadorned by even a single freckle. Only the chin, small and pointed like a cat’s, belied the sweetness of her expression. There was firmness there, perhaps even stubbornness, although now she was smiling at me in mute invitation to befriend her. Unlike me, she wore widow’s weeds, although touches of purple indicated her loss was not a recent one. The black suited her though, highlighting a certain fragile delicacy of complexion no cosmetic could ever hope to simulate. She was a Fragonard milkmaid, a Botticelli nymph. I hated her instantly.
“I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” she was saying. “Lord Wargrave has told me simply everything about you. I know we are going to be very great friends.” She was earnest as a puppy, and I had little doubt most people found her charming.
“Has he indeed? How very kind you are,” I said, fingering the pendant at my throat. It had been an involuntary action, and I realised as soon as my fingers touched the cool silver it was a mistake. Mrs. King’s bright blue gaze fixed on the piece at once.
“What an unusual pendant. Did you acquire it on your travels?” she asked, peering closely at the coin.
“No. It was a gift,” I said, covering its face with a finger. I turned to Brisbane, who was watching our exchange closely. I nodded toward the sling. “I see you have managed to injure yourself, my lord. Nothing serious, I hope.”
He lifted a brow. “Not at all. A nasty spill from a horse a fortnight ago, nothing more. His lordship was kind enough to invite me to recuperate here away from the bustle of the city.”
“And you will be here for Christmas as well?” I asked, forcing my tone to brightness.
“As will my fiancée,” he replied coolly, locking those witch-black eyes onto mine.
I did not blink. “Excellent. I shall look forward to getting to know her intimately.” The words were blandly spoken, but Brisbane knew me well enough to hear the threat implicit within them.
His gaze wavered slightly, and I inclined my head. “I do hope you will excuse me. I must greet the other guests. Mrs. King, a pleasure,” I said, withdrawing from the group. Father caught my eye, his own eyes