Bending Tyme Read Online Free Page A

Davenport.”
    Logan hesitated, that furrow reappearing between his brows at her tone, then left, slamming the door behind him.

    Esme tried to rest, but the task proved impossible. She paced in her bedchamber, turning over the events since the launch party, finally sinking down on a bench, exhausted.
    At least I can find out more about my…host , she told herself.
    On cue, Betsy tapped at her door. “I’m here to attend to you for the ball, Miss.”
      Another fucking ball. Esme grimaced.
    Noting the maid’s curious stare, Esme forced herself to smile as Betsy poured tea for her.
    Recovering her composure, Esme sipped at her tea. “Tell me about Lord Davenport.”
    Betsy smiled back, happy to oblige—Esme was by no means the first guest here this week to ply the ladies’ maids with sweet smiles—and perhaps coins—to learn useful secrets about the enigmatic and eminently marriageable Lord Davenport, secrets his family’s servants were sure to know.
      “Tell me more about his parents. Such an…intriguing story.” Esme held her breath, praying something, perhaps, was intriguing enough to cover her shot in the dark.
    Watching a smile light up Betsy’s face, Esme let her breath out. Betsy reached for the silver-backed hairbrush, obviously happy to oblige her lady by attending to Esme’s hair in preparation for the evening’s entertainment. Esme protested, then forced herself to relax under Betsy’s ministrations when she saw the confused look on the woman’s face.
    “Well, Miss, Lord Davenport’s mother was the second Lady Davenport. I am certain you know that his Lordship married for love the second time.”
    Esme made some agreeable sound, as if she had any idea…
    Betsy continued, “Oh, the first Lady Davenport, now there was a cold one. Some say…” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Some say she refused the former Lord Davenport his conjugal rights and died a virgin, afflicted with a woman’s ailment left to fester since she let no surgeon part her knees, neither.”
    Esme choked on her mouthful of tea. Betsy patted her on the back, continuing her story.
    “Ah, the second Lady Davenport…what a beauty. Black Irish, she was. Lord Davenport’s love of riding and breeding horses came from his father, but he favours his mother in his looks, with his light eyes and those black curls and that pale skin…meaning no disrespect, Miss.” Esme smiled at the flush rising under Betsy’s fair skin, amused by the maid’s obvious crush on her employer.
    “A bit of a scandal, his Lordship marrying a young Irish miss, but his wealth and titles soon enough laid the gossip to rest. Except…” Betsy’s voice dropped to a whisper again.
    Esme put down her tea.
    “Except it was widely known she carried the gift of the second sight. She had some skill with the brush, too, often painting her visions.”
    Betsy motioned Esme to her feet. “We had better get you dressed for the ball, Miss.”
    Betsy began lacing Esme’s corset. “They say she dreamt of her son’s true love and commissioned a portrait of who she saw, not satisfied with her own skill in drawing her face.” Betsy laughed. “More than one young miss this evening will be out of sorts with you, Miss.”
    Esme’s eyes widened. “What does it have to do with me?”
    “Lord Davenport’s mother said his love would come from afar.”
    Esme started. Surely Betsy had no idea she came from…another time.
    “Why so surprised, Miss? Boston seems far enough away to the likes of me.”
      “Betsy, has anyone ever seen this picture?”
    “No—none but Lord Davenport, so they say.”
    Esme fingered the locket she still wore.
    Betsy reached to undo the clasp. “Lord Davenport has sent you others to choose from…”
    “No, thank you,” Esme said, wondering if Logan knew of his portrait around her neck.

    * * * *

    Esme fidgeted, feeling like a child caught playing dress-up in her mother’s best finery, the infernal corset under the ornate