Read Online The Present by Johanna Lindsey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Johanna Lindsey
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shoulder so she would no longer see the tears that were absolutely impossible to stop. Maria had predicted distress. Distress was not exactly what Anastasia was feeling just now, with her world falling apart around her. This was much too much to withstand all at once.
But for Maria's sake, she said, "I will do whatever is necessary to give you your peace."
"I knew you would, child," Maria said, patting her back soothingly. 'And you see now why you must be married first? If you are all that Ivan has left, then he won't let you go no matter the reasoning. As long as he thinks he still has me, then he will let you go. Now take yourself to bed. You need a good night's sleep so you will have all your wits about you tomorrow, for tomorrow you search for your fate."
"And whose bed was she found in this week?"
"Lord Maldon's. Really thought he had more sense. He must realize she's got the pox by now, in her vain attempt to outdo the last great court Delilah."
"And what makes you think he don't already have it himself?"
"Hmmm, yes, I suppose it wouldn't matter then, would it? Ah, well, there's not much to be said for variety these days. Stick with a mistress that you keep to yourself, like I do. Might live longer that way."
"Why don't you just get married, then, if you want to stick with just one woman?"
"Gads, no. Nothing will put you in the grave quicker than a nagging wife. Do bite your tongue next time, before you make such an outlandish suggestion. 'Sides, what's marriage got to do with keeping to just one woman?"
Christopher Malory was only vaguely listening to his friends' gossip. He shouldn't have brought them with him. They would expect to be entertained, were already showing signs of boredom as they sprawled in their chairs in his estate office, gossiping about old gossip. But he didn't come to Haverston to entertain. He came twice a year to go over the account books, which he was trying to do this evening, then leave as quickly as possible.
It was not that he had any business or social engagements in London to draw him back in haste. It was that he never felt comfortable in Haverston, felt actually oppressed if he stayed too long.
It was a dark, gloomy place, with outdated furnishings, ugly grays and dull tans in the wall coverings throughout, even dour-looking servants who never said a word to him other than "Yes, m'lord," or "No, m'lord." He supposed he could redecorate it, but why bother, when he had no desire to remain in Haverston any longer than it took to go over the books and listen to his estate manager's complaints?
It was a fine enough estate in size and income, but he hadn't wanted or needed it. He'd already possessed a very nice estate in Ryding that he rarely visited either—he just didn't care for the quiet of country living—as well as the title of viscount. But Haverston had been given to him in gratitude, along with a lofty new title, for having unwittingly saved the king's life.
It hadn't been intentional, his helping the king. It had occurred purely by accident when he'd stepped out of his mired coach into the road at just the moment that a runaway horse was tearing past. He happened to startle the horse into stopping, whereupon the horse had dumped its rider more or less into Christopher's lap, as it were; at least Christopher had ended up flattened on the ground with a hefty weight on top of him.
As queer circumstances would have it, the rider turned out to be his king, who had been hunting in the nearby woods when his horse had been spooked by a small animal. King George, of course, had been exceedingly grateful for the interference which he swore had saved his life. And there'd been no talking him out of being quite generous in his gratitude.
His manager, Artemus Whipple, was sitting across the desk from him and avidly listening to the gossip, rather than the business at hand. Christopher had to say his name twice to draw his attention back to his last question, and
But for Maria's sake, she said, "I will do whatever is necessary to give you your peace."
"I knew you would, child," Maria said, patting her back soothingly. 'And you see now why you must be married first? If you are all that Ivan has left, then he won't let you go no matter the reasoning. As long as he thinks he still has me, then he will let you go. Now take yourself to bed. You need a good night's sleep so you will have all your wits about you tomorrow, for tomorrow you search for your fate."
"And whose bed was she found in this week?"
"Lord Maldon's. Really thought he had more sense. He must realize she's got the pox by now, in her vain attempt to outdo the last great court Delilah."
"And what makes you think he don't already have it himself?"
"Hmmm, yes, I suppose it wouldn't matter then, would it? Ah, well, there's not much to be said for variety these days. Stick with a mistress that you keep to yourself, like I do. Might live longer that way."
"Why don't you just get married, then, if you want to stick with just one woman?"
"Gads, no. Nothing will put you in the grave quicker than a nagging wife. Do bite your tongue next time, before you make such an outlandish suggestion. 'Sides, what's marriage got to do with keeping to just one woman?"
Christopher Malory was only vaguely listening to his friends' gossip. He shouldn't have brought them with him. They would expect to be entertained, were already showing signs of boredom as they sprawled in their chairs in his estate office, gossiping about old gossip. But he didn't come to Haverston to entertain. He came twice a year to go over the account books, which he was trying to do this evening, then leave as quickly as possible.
It was not that he had any business or social engagements in London to draw him back in haste. It was that he never felt comfortable in Haverston, felt actually oppressed if he stayed too long.
It was a dark, gloomy place, with outdated furnishings, ugly grays and dull tans in the wall coverings throughout, even dour-looking servants who never said a word to him other than "Yes, m'lord," or "No, m'lord." He supposed he could redecorate it, but why bother, when he had no desire to remain in Haverston any longer than it took to go over the books and listen to his estate manager's complaints?
It was a fine enough estate in size and income, but he hadn't wanted or needed it. He'd already possessed a very nice estate in Ryding that he rarely visited either—he just didn't care for the quiet of country living—as well as the title of viscount. But Haverston had been given to him in gratitude, along with a lofty new title, for having unwittingly saved the king's life.
It hadn't been intentional, his helping the king. It had occurred purely by accident when he'd stepped out of his mired coach into the road at just the moment that a runaway horse was tearing past. He happened to startle the horse into stopping, whereupon the horse had dumped its rider more or less into Christopher's lap, as it were; at least Christopher had ended up flattened on the ground with a hefty weight on top of him.
As queer circumstances would have it, the rider turned out to be his king, who had been hunting in the nearby woods when his horse had been spooked by a small animal. King George, of course, had been exceedingly grateful for the interference which he swore had saved his life. And there'd been no talking him out of being quite generous in his gratitude.
His manager, Artemus Whipple, was sitting across the desk from him and avidly listening to the gossip, rather than the business at hand. Christopher had to say his name twice to draw his attention back to his last question, and
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