Read Online The Speckled Monster by Jennifer Lee Carrell - Free Book Online Page B

“Then who?”
    â€œNo one, my lord,” she stammered. “I would prefer to live singly.”
    â€œIf you are founding your hopes on my death,” he said, “you will find yourself mistaken. You will get nothing but a pittance. Enough to keep you out of the poorhouse if you live in a cottage and conserve candle wax.”
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    Her very meekness infuriated him. “Do I not have the right to dispose of you as I see fit?” he shouted, swiping her letter from the desk and whirling around to face her once more.
    Between them, the letter eddied and tossed, spiraling toward the floor.
    â€œYes, my lord,” she said again. “But am I to have no say whatsoever in my own destiny?”
    For a moment, it looked as if he might backhand her, but he turned away to stare out the window at the yellowing leaves; somewhere, they were already burning them. He clasped his hands so tightly behind his back that his knuckles blanched. “I am no Calvinist,” he said at last, grinding out the words. “Make your own choice: marry Massereene’s heir, or live out your life as country-cloistered spinster.”
    â€œMay I consult the family?”
    â€œAsk the family,” he spat. “Ask your friends. Ask the man in the bloody moon. But consider your answer carefully: I will call for it this winter in London.” He seated himself and drew out another a set of papers: obviously the draft of her marriage contract. “Meanwhile, you may spend Christmas here alone, to see how you like it. Now get out.”
    Â 
    Clinging to the notion that any chance to escape Skeffington was a victory, Lady Mary laid her choices before the rest of the family in the drawing room the next day, as a steely rain needled the windowpanes.
    â€œYou are such a little romantic, Mary!” cried Lady Kingston from the tea table, whose control she had greedily assumed as the ranking lady of the family. She had also taken the familial liberty of dropping Mary’s “Lady.” Lady Mary, however, could not bring herself to address her brother’s insipid limpet of a wife as Rachel. She did her best not to address her at all.
    She looked hopefully at Frances instead, but Frances shook her head. “I am sorry you will ruin yourself,” she said primly. “But if you will persist in being so unreasonable, I cannot blame Father, whatever he may inflict on you.”
    â€œWhat is so wrong with Skeffington?” asked Lady Kingston. “He will make you a viscountess.”
    â€œI do not love him,” frowned Lady Mary.
    â€œBut there is no necessity of loving,” exclaimed Lady Kingston, setting her cup down with a definitive click. “Consider the best marriages from one end of town to the other: You will find very few women in love with their husbands, I assure you. Yet many are happy.”
    Kingston rose. “There, madam, I must agree with you. Thankfully, your equation works equally well the other way round.” He bowed and strode from the room.
    â€œYou see?” cried Lady Kingston. “Civility is all that is required.”
    Â 
    The rain disappeared, and in the last scattershot spears of light, Will found his sister on the rise where she had once taught him to chase the setting sun, just as she had long before down in Wiltshire. Without a word, he took her hand. They both gazed in silence at the fiery globe sinking in the west, but neither made any move to sweep it from the sky.
    When it had disappeared, leaving behind the silvery green scent of rain and a sky washed pink and orange, Will cleared his throat. “If it would be of service to you, I will tell Father the hardship he is putting on you. You have only to say the word.”
    She looked up at him, startled as always that he had somehow escaped little boyhood. When had he grown taller than she? When had he learned such courtliness? But he was nineteen: not yet of age, but a