Daughters of the Storm Read Online Free Page A

shafts of the dying sun tipping cheeks flushed with health and exercise. Her grey, thickly lashed eyes opened wide and in their depths lay a troubled expression which alarmed her mother.
    â€˜Sophie. You do wish to marry Ned?’
    Sophie shook her head to banish a doubt that had crept, unwanted, into her mind. Why had Margaret Wainwright been at the stables when they came back from their ride? And was she imagining it, or had Ned given Margaret a little nod which she had thought nothing of at the time?
    â€˜Sophie,’ repeated her mother. ‘You are happy about Ned?’
    Sophie looked at her and tried to think clearly. Was it possible that Ned was conducting an intrigue with Margaret?
    â€˜I wish for nothing more,’ she said at last.
    â€˜You are sure?’
    She smiled to reassure her mother. ‘Yes,’ she said, and meant it.
    â€˜Then, why do you look like that?’
    â€˜I was thinking,’ said Sophie slowly, fumbling for some sort of answer. ‘I shall change, shall I not, over a year? I wish to visit France very much, but it won’t be the same when I return. I shall be different and I hope it won’t spoil our happiness.’
    Satisfied that Sophie was only expressing the normal doubts of a young girl about to embark on society, Lady Luttrell caressed Sophie’s abundant fair hair.
    â€˜It is in the nature of things,’ she said. ‘You must not be afraid.
Reste tranquille, ma fille,
your father and I are quite sure that you will not let us down either in France or when you return.’
    Comforted by Lady Luttrell’s soothing words, Sophie let her cheek drop on to her mother’s hand where it rested for a long moment.
    Sophie was so sleepy that she decided to retire early that night and, after bidding her parents good night, she let herself into the hall to collect her candle. Darkness had falled and she stopped by the hall table to light the candle before mounting the stairs to her room. She was attending to the wick, which needed trimming, and was surprised to see the figure of Ned appear at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in his overcoat and gave a start when her candle flared into the gloom.
    â€˜Sophie. I didn’t expect...’
    â€˜Are you going out, Ned?’ she asked, cupping her hand to steady the flame, hoping that he would stay to talk to her.
    â€˜For a while.’
    â€˜At this hour?’
    â€˜Curiosity did for the cat, dearest Sophie.’
    Ned was teasing, but it was clear to Sophie that he did not wish to discuss the subject.
    â€˜Of course,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
    â€˜Good,’ he said, pulling the cuffs of his coat down over his wrists. ‘You must be tired, puss. You gave me a good ride, you know. Sleep well.’
    He patted her hand, set his hat on his head, dropped a kiss on to the top of her hair and swaggered away down the corridor.
    A desolate feeling opened in the pit of Sophie’s stomach. It was so intense that she was forced to grasp the banister for support until it passed. But as she ascended the stairs, she failed to silence the voice whispering in her head what she knew now to be true. Ned was going to meet Margaret Wainwright.
    Once in her room, she set down the candle beside the mirror on her dressing table. The reflection of the flame danced up the silvered glass. Was it mocking her? She peered into the mirror and ran her fingers across her cheek. Surely she was not so ugly? Jealousy was not something Sophie had experienced before, but now it flamed unchecked in her. Ned didn’t love her. He preferred a black-haired, brown-skinned, unlettered girl, and it hurt so much she could not bear it.
    After a while, the first shock of her discovery receded a little and she was able to sit up and look round the room, surprised to find that nothing had changed. Her innate good sense began to reassert itself. Of course Ned had been diverted, and she could not