Read Online Winter Garden by Adele Ashworth - Free Book Online Page B

am widowed, Mrs. Bennington-Jones, and without children, my time is my own. And now I am here.”
    There was another pause of piercing quiet. Nobody moved or replied. Then Desdemona leaned forward in her chair, her blond ringlets spilling forward onto the table and into the crumbs on her plate. “Are you not a bit frightened of him, Mrs. DuMais?” she asked in a near whisper.
    Her eyes widened. “Frightened of Mr. Blackwood?”
    Desdemona hesitated. “He’s rather…ugly.”
    Madeleine was shocked, not so much by the young lady’s candor and gross breach of decorum, but by the idea itself which had not struck her. Dark and formidable he was, his face and body scarred, but “ugly” would never be a word she’d use to describe Thomas.
    â€œDesdemona, really,” her mother rebuked with some obvious embarrassment, fairly yanking her daughter back into an upright position.
    â€œOf course, he is a large man, isn’t he, dear?” Mrs.Mossley corrected with the first touch of grace she’d shown since sitting at tea. “Intimidating I’m sure is what you meant.”
    â€œYes,” Desdemona replied tautly, staring now at her cup.
    Madeleine pressed her lips together and smoothed her skirts, cautiously choosing this moment to correct all assumptions. “He is large, and perhaps intimidating to many, women especially. I don’t find him at all frightening, Mrs. Winsett. I don’t suppose he is dashing, either. But he has been a gracious host, charming to an appropriate degree, and I find him quite appealing actually. Handsome in a very rugged way.”
    Confusion lit the room. They didn’t know how to interpret that, which was exactly her intention. They’d been sure of a deeper involvement between them, perhaps even a beginning love affair. All but Desdemona, who seemed still lost between childish fantasies and the realities of the adult world.
    Mrs. Rodney reached out and moved the cake platter, which didn’t need moving, to a better position. “I don’t find him particularly handsome, but he is a gentleman, and quite…virile. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. DuMais?”
    â€œOh, yes, he is a gentleman,” she responded accordingly. She lifted her spoon, stirring more sugar and then cream into lukewarm tea she had no intention of drinking. “However, there are some…indications that Mr. Blackwood’s injuries reach far above his legs, which are noticeably impaired, although I have not seen them to know this as fact.”
    Not a sound could be heard above breathing. She waited, knowing she had their full attention, and thatnobody would speak again until she elaborated. The information they all hoped she’d reveal was far too captivating.
    Madeleine placed her spoon on her saucer, then sighed and raised her lashes to regard them. “Without sounding indelicate,” she carried on very quietly, “and since we are all married ladies, I think I can safely inform you that Mr. Blackwood and I have no particular interest in each other beyond the work I was hired to accomplish.” She leaned into the table and lowered her voice to a whisper of intrigue she knew they all but felt. “You see, Mr. Blackwood also suffers from injuries that, well, make it difficult for him to enjoy the…intimacies associated with marriage.”
    They all sat rigid as stone, unblinking and staring at her with varying degrees of fascination and utter disbelief that she would mention something of such a personal nature. Then again she was French, and they knew without doubt that the French spoke frequently and far too openly about marital relations. And naturally such incredible news was a great deal more invigorating than any hint of a love affair. They would not stop her until she finished.
    â€œHow on earth would you know this?” Mrs. Bennington-Jones pursued in a gruff exhale.
    Madeleine smiled again and lifted