Daughters of the Storm Read Online Free

country hours), she sat with her mother in the drawing room which overlooked the lawn. The long windows trapped every trace of late-afternoon sun and warmed the room. Sophie was drowsy from her ride but made an effort to concentrate on a pile of white work that needed repair. They had dined well and the men were still at the table, occupied by a bottle of port that required attention.
    Lady Luttrell had chosen her moment with care.
    â€˜Sophie...’
    Her charmingly accented English caught Sophie’s ear for the thousandth time. Lady Luttrell would never speak English well, despite having lived in England for nearly twenty years. Nor did she wish to. And since Sir Brinsley spoke excellent French, Lady Luttrell’s less than perfect grasp of her adoptive language had posed no bar to a successful marriage.
    â€˜About your cousins in France,
ma chère.
I think we should discuss them a little.’
    Sophie flung down her needlework.
    â€˜I am all attention,
Maman.’
    â€˜Naturellement,
you do not know them well, apart from what I have told you. I, too, have lost touch a little, although my sister, your
tante,
Marguerite and I correspond regularly. Perhaps one day, I might... after all...’
    Lady Luttrell’s voice trailed into silence and Sophie, ever quick to sense her mother’s moods, knew she was longing for her country.
    â€˜Tell me more,
Maman,’
she said to divert her.
    â€˜In France, things are ordered differently,’ Lady Luttrell continued after a moment. ‘Daughters,
par exemple,
are not free to say and do as they please, as is more the custom over here, a custom that your father and I approve of, and we have always allowed you to speak your mind within reason. But you will have to watch your tongue
un peu
and take care to observe how your cousins, Cécile and Héloïse, behave and try to copy them. I don’t want you to feel too restrained, but I want you to be a credit for us.’
    â€˜To us,’ Sophie interposed from force of long habit.
    Her mother frowned at her. ‘To us,’ she repeated with dignity and switched into French. ‘What was I saying? Ah, yes, your aunt Marguerite is strict in her views.’
    â€˜What is she like,
Maman?’
Sophie tossed aside her ill-treated sewing and settled herself more comfortably. Lady Luttrell reflected for a moment.
    â€˜She was the beauty of us two. So beautiful that men would stop and stare openly. I used to be quite jealous of her until I married, and then I knew that I had more than enough to be content.’ Lady Luttrell smiled, a tender, disarming smile. ‘The de Guinots’, she continued, ‘have many estates, a beautiful house in Paris and the apartments in Versailles. I hope you will visit La Joyeuse, their château near Paris. I thought it a most exquisite place.’
    â€˜But my cousins, what of them?’ asked Sophie.
    â€˜I know as much as you do,
chérie.
I have seen them once, that time your aunt brought them to us here.’
    Sophie had a distant memory of two rather proper young girls who refused to climb trees. Her chief recollection was one of exasperation.
    â€˜You must remember’, said Lady Luttrell gently, ‘that you are an ambassador for our – your – country and what you say or do will reflect on us in a noticeable way.’
    â€˜Yes,
Maman,’
said Sophie, rising in a frou-frou of muslin and going over to the window.
    â€˜Does anything trouble you,
ma fille?’
asked her mother.
    Sophie now sat down on the comfortable sofa over which Lady Luttrell had flung some pretty striped calico as a cover. She fingered it restlessly.
    â€˜No... nothing,’ she said. ‘But we have been so happy as a family, have we not?’
    â€˜Yes. Yes, we have. We have been blessed.’
    Sophie thought for a moment.
    â€˜And I shall marry Ned.’
    â€˜That is our dearest wish.’
    Sophie gazed past her mother, the low