Read Online The Light in the Darkness by Ellen Fisher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ellen Fisher
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columnar candlesticks bearing long thin tapers, which served to illuminate the chamber further. The beeswax candles produced less smoke and a less acrid scent than the tallow candles Jennifer was accustomed to. She had never imagined such profligate use of candles. After all, she had been responsible for making candles at the tavern, and it had taken her an entire day of hot and difficult labor to pour tallow into molds and make scarcely a month’s supply.
The paneled walls of the dining chamber were painted a gold color, and the seats of the chairs were upholstered with golden wool to match. The chairs themselves were remarkable, being heavily carved in the Chippendale style. The arms of the chairs terminated in snarling dogs’ heads, the mahogany faces of which reminded her uncomfortably of the savage, dark face of her husband.
Amidst all this splendor, Jennifer felt far out of her element, even clad as she was in the hastily pinned-up yet remarkably elegant silk gown. Lifting her eyes from the wonders that surrounded her, she found Grey’s hard silver gaze slashing across her face like a blade. She winced under the impact of his stare.
“She has wretched table manners,” Grey said to his sister with something like satisfaction. Jennifer’s eyes leaped to Catherine in a mute appeal for help, as these were virtually the first words he had spoken all evening. She was painfully aware, even without Grey’s cruel reminder, that she did not belong here, eating salty Virginia ham and succulent wild duck off china and silver. For an instant she wished that she were back in the ordinary, clad in her familiar homespun gown, eating plain fare from pewter plates and utensils, as she had been born to do.
Catherine glanced swiftly at the girl, and Jennifer thought she saw a trace of pity on the other woman’s stern features. “Pay him no mind, Jennifer,” she said gently. “We’ll teach you better manners quickly enough. After all, no one is born knowing the correct way to hold a fork.”
“She doesn’t belong here,” Grey grunted irritably. His oddly metallic eyes were still fixed on Jennifer, displaying a strange expression that made her exceedingly uncomfortable. “She should be in the stable, dining with the horses.”
Catherine smiled slightly. Unlike Jennifer, she had no difficulty in reading the expression on Grey’s face. He was bewildered—bewildered that the plain little caterpillar he had brought home had been transformed so easily into a butterfly. He had had no real idea what Jennifer’s face and form might look like, hidden as they had been by grime and that shapeless homespun gown. And now, facing a lovely woman across the dinner table, his thoughts were all too obvious. Grey found Jennifer attractive, and this annoyed him.
Men, Catherine thought with amusement, were remarkably predictable. Her plan was going quite well so far. She had known that Grey could not be indifferent to Jennifer’s beauty, even if he was indifferent to the girl herself. In an attempt to make him even more uncomfortably aware of Jennifer’s charms, she said lightly, “I hope you agree that Jennifer looks every bit the lady. Emerald green is a lovely color on her, don’t you agree?”
Grey did not answer. A muscle jumped in his taut jaw ashe continued his perusal of the girl. Catherine went on calmly, “I chose not to powder her hair. I thought its color too lovely to hide.” She had never before seen hair of that particular shade, a dark blond the color of late afternoon sunlight. She had chosen to draw it up in a simple arrangement atop Jennifer’s head, loosely plaiting it into a knot, which displayed the long graceful line of the girl’s throat.
Grey’s eyes lingered upon Jennifer a moment more, then, not without effort, he tore his gaze away and made his sister the object of his stare. “If you plan to turn her into a model of feminine deportment,” he said coldly, “surely you should accustom her to
The paneled walls of the dining chamber were painted a gold color, and the seats of the chairs were upholstered with golden wool to match. The chairs themselves were remarkable, being heavily carved in the Chippendale style. The arms of the chairs terminated in snarling dogs’ heads, the mahogany faces of which reminded her uncomfortably of the savage, dark face of her husband.
Amidst all this splendor, Jennifer felt far out of her element, even clad as she was in the hastily pinned-up yet remarkably elegant silk gown. Lifting her eyes from the wonders that surrounded her, she found Grey’s hard silver gaze slashing across her face like a blade. She winced under the impact of his stare.
“She has wretched table manners,” Grey said to his sister with something like satisfaction. Jennifer’s eyes leaped to Catherine in a mute appeal for help, as these were virtually the first words he had spoken all evening. She was painfully aware, even without Grey’s cruel reminder, that she did not belong here, eating salty Virginia ham and succulent wild duck off china and silver. For an instant she wished that she were back in the ordinary, clad in her familiar homespun gown, eating plain fare from pewter plates and utensils, as she had been born to do.
Catherine glanced swiftly at the girl, and Jennifer thought she saw a trace of pity on the other woman’s stern features. “Pay him no mind, Jennifer,” she said gently. “We’ll teach you better manners quickly enough. After all, no one is born knowing the correct way to hold a fork.”
“She doesn’t belong here,” Grey grunted irritably. His oddly metallic eyes were still fixed on Jennifer, displaying a strange expression that made her exceedingly uncomfortable. “She should be in the stable, dining with the horses.”
Catherine smiled slightly. Unlike Jennifer, she had no difficulty in reading the expression on Grey’s face. He was bewildered—bewildered that the plain little caterpillar he had brought home had been transformed so easily into a butterfly. He had had no real idea what Jennifer’s face and form might look like, hidden as they had been by grime and that shapeless homespun gown. And now, facing a lovely woman across the dinner table, his thoughts were all too obvious. Grey found Jennifer attractive, and this annoyed him.
Men, Catherine thought with amusement, were remarkably predictable. Her plan was going quite well so far. She had known that Grey could not be indifferent to Jennifer’s beauty, even if he was indifferent to the girl herself. In an attempt to make him even more uncomfortably aware of Jennifer’s charms, she said lightly, “I hope you agree that Jennifer looks every bit the lady. Emerald green is a lovely color on her, don’t you agree?”
Grey did not answer. A muscle jumped in his taut jaw ashe continued his perusal of the girl. Catherine went on calmly, “I chose not to powder her hair. I thought its color too lovely to hide.” She had never before seen hair of that particular shade, a dark blond the color of late afternoon sunlight. She had chosen to draw it up in a simple arrangement atop Jennifer’s head, loosely plaiting it into a knot, which displayed the long graceful line of the girl’s throat.
Grey’s eyes lingered upon Jennifer a moment more, then, not without effort, he tore his gaze away and made his sister the object of his stare. “If you plan to turn her into a model of feminine deportment,” he said coldly, “surely you should accustom her to
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