Read Online Star of the East: A Lady Emily Christmas Story by TASHA ALEXANDER - Free Book Online
Authors: TASHA ALEXANDER
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effect of keeping you on your toes,” I said.
“Do you like that?” He reached up and starting removing my hairpins.
“In fact, I do.”
I draw a veil over the remainder of the evening as it bears no importance to the narrative at hand. Suffice it to say I consider myself extremely fortunate in my choice of spouse.
* * *
I cannot account for the clarity of mind that I awoke with the following morning. Perhaps it was due to the peace that came from nearly eighteen hours without Henry having caused a commotion in the house. Or perhaps it was the shot of excitement I felt when I threw open the curtains to find a fresh, bright layer of snow covering the ground. Or perhaps it was an unanticipated effect of my husband’s vigorous demonstration of his affection for me the night before. Regardless, I descended to breakfast confident that I would soon be able to reveal the identity of the thief in our midst—other than Sebastian, of course.
There was only one remaining difficulty: I had not the slightest idea as to what had become of the gold bangle. Two difficulties, now that I thought about it. My evidence was slight at best, and based more on intuition than fact.
Sunita looked rather sullen as she poked her fork at a plate of eggs. Ned had brought down with him the copy of The Phantom ’Rickshaw and other Eerie Tales, and was reading it quietly while he munched on toast spread with a rather astonishing quantity of orange marmalade. I wondered if he had transferred the paper I seen in Plain Tales from the Hills . If so, it might suggest that the list was his, not something left in the volume by another reader.
“That is one of my favorite books,” I said to him. “May I take a look? I get chills whenever I think of Mrs. Wessington’s rickshaw. I don’t think I could ever ride in one without picturing her ghost.” He passed me the volume and I flipped through it, ostensibly searching for a passage. “Here,” I read, “ The presence of the ’rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave Simla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. Does it not give you the most delicious shivers?” I dropped the book on the floor and took the opportunity to flip through it while I was crouched down picking it up. There, twenty odd pages in, was the scrap of paper. I shoved it back inside and handed the volume back to him. “I do hope I haven’t lost your place.”
“No, the bookmark is still here,” he said, no hint of concern in his voice. “They are marvelous stories, aren’t they? Your father and I were up long after midnight talking about them.”
“He adores Kipling,” I said, removing a plate from a stack on the sideboard and filling it with sausage and eggs before accepting a steaming cup of tea from a footman.
“I have never read him,” Sunita volunteered, still moving the food around on her plate without ever putting any on her fork.
“I think you would enjoy it,” I said.
“I shall give it a try,” she said. “Do I hear your mother coming?”
“You do, and Mr. Capet is with her. His voice is unmistakable,” I said a moment before he flung open the door and bowed as she entered the room in front of him.
“Emily, Emily, I am thoroughly out of sorts with you,” Sebastian said, waving off the footman and his tea and refusing to so much as look at the food on the sideboard. He was wearing a scarlet turban, clearly fashioned from the cloth I had seen the previous evening in Ranjit’s room. “How is it that you have kept me from your charming mother all of these years?”
“Mr. Capet, you are a dreadful cad,” my mother teased.
“You have no idea.” I gritted my teeth.
“Do come take a turn with me, Emily. I have some very stern words for you.” Sebastian wrenched me from my seat without giving me the chance to reply. I did not protest,
“Do you like that?” He reached up and starting removing my hairpins.
“In fact, I do.”
I draw a veil over the remainder of the evening as it bears no importance to the narrative at hand. Suffice it to say I consider myself extremely fortunate in my choice of spouse.
* * *
I cannot account for the clarity of mind that I awoke with the following morning. Perhaps it was due to the peace that came from nearly eighteen hours without Henry having caused a commotion in the house. Or perhaps it was the shot of excitement I felt when I threw open the curtains to find a fresh, bright layer of snow covering the ground. Or perhaps it was an unanticipated effect of my husband’s vigorous demonstration of his affection for me the night before. Regardless, I descended to breakfast confident that I would soon be able to reveal the identity of the thief in our midst—other than Sebastian, of course.
There was only one remaining difficulty: I had not the slightest idea as to what had become of the gold bangle. Two difficulties, now that I thought about it. My evidence was slight at best, and based more on intuition than fact.
Sunita looked rather sullen as she poked her fork at a plate of eggs. Ned had brought down with him the copy of The Phantom ’Rickshaw and other Eerie Tales, and was reading it quietly while he munched on toast spread with a rather astonishing quantity of orange marmalade. I wondered if he had transferred the paper I seen in Plain Tales from the Hills . If so, it might suggest that the list was his, not something left in the volume by another reader.
“That is one of my favorite books,” I said to him. “May I take a look? I get chills whenever I think of Mrs. Wessington’s rickshaw. I don’t think I could ever ride in one without picturing her ghost.” He passed me the volume and I flipped through it, ostensibly searching for a passage. “Here,” I read, “ The presence of the ’rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blind fear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leave Simla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. Does it not give you the most delicious shivers?” I dropped the book on the floor and took the opportunity to flip through it while I was crouched down picking it up. There, twenty odd pages in, was the scrap of paper. I shoved it back inside and handed the volume back to him. “I do hope I haven’t lost your place.”
“No, the bookmark is still here,” he said, no hint of concern in his voice. “They are marvelous stories, aren’t they? Your father and I were up long after midnight talking about them.”
“He adores Kipling,” I said, removing a plate from a stack on the sideboard and filling it with sausage and eggs before accepting a steaming cup of tea from a footman.
“I have never read him,” Sunita volunteered, still moving the food around on her plate without ever putting any on her fork.
“I think you would enjoy it,” I said.
“I shall give it a try,” she said. “Do I hear your mother coming?”
“You do, and Mr. Capet is with her. His voice is unmistakable,” I said a moment before he flung open the door and bowed as she entered the room in front of him.
“Emily, Emily, I am thoroughly out of sorts with you,” Sebastian said, waving off the footman and his tea and refusing to so much as look at the food on the sideboard. He was wearing a scarlet turban, clearly fashioned from the cloth I had seen the previous evening in Ranjit’s room. “How is it that you have kept me from your charming mother all of these years?”
“Mr. Capet, you are a dreadful cad,” my mother teased.
“You have no idea.” I gritted my teeth.
“Do come take a turn with me, Emily. I have some very stern words for you.” Sebastian wrenched me from my seat without giving me the chance to reply. I did not protest,
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