Enduring Passions Read Online Free Page B

tapped the door with the other. She opened it a fraction, then entered the darkened room, setting the tray down on the bedside cabinet.
    ‘Good morning, miss. It’s ten o’clock.’
    She went to the heavily curtained windows and allowed some light in. All that could be seen of the occupant of the bed was dark hair spread on the pillow; when she turned she heard a groan.
    ‘Thank you, Brenda.’
    The maid knelt at the small, black grate, and used some rolled up newspaper balls and kindling to start a fire. It was soon crackling and smoking.
    ‘There you are, miss. Fire’s going. I’ll draw your bath in ten minutes, all right?’
    A muffled sound that she took to be ‘yes’ came from the bed. Just to be on the safe side, using her apron to protect the cord from her slightly dirty hands, she drew the curtains back a further few inches.
    Another groan came from the bed.
    Grinning, she said as she left, ‘It’s your aunty’s wish that breakfast be finished by eleven o’clock today.’
    When she’d gone the figure stirred, and slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position. With the bloom that only youth gives, Fay Rossiter was stunningly beautiful even in disarray. Her black hair was awry, one strap of her silk night-dress down over her shoulder and eyes full of sleep, but still large and clear and unpuffy.
    She sipped her tea, watching the flames spread up the wood to the lumps of coal.
    The fire was taking root but still no warmth came from it as she slid her feet into her slippers and drew on her silk dressing-gown with itsChinese pattern – a gift from an aunty in Singapore.
    After she’d used the lavatory down the hall she made her way to the bathroom, with the big claw-footed bath in the centre of the black and white marbled floor, and a large aspidistra in its brass pot near the window. She tested the water, and turned on the hot tap for more as she slipped out of her dressing-gown and night-dress.
    With the water temperature just right she stepped in and sank down. She began to soap her flannel, thinking about yesterday. She’d had another miserable night because Daddy had rung to wish them all a Happy New Year and Aunty Cynthia had told him about the fuss at the hotel.
    She winced. When she’d gone downstairs to the elegant hall of the Regency house and had taken the receiver he’d given her an awful wigging. ‘Why hadn’t she stayed in Cirencester? Gone to one of the many house parties like previous years? It had been a dreadful idea to go to a public do, she had to think of her reputation.’
    She’d rolled her eyes at the grandfather clock.
    It was useless explaining that they had all wanted something livelier this year – it wasn’t just her idea, everybody in her set had wanted it, including that idiot Jeremy who had started the whole thing.
    Her aunty only knew because her friends had come home all excited about it, laughing and talking. Jeremy had had to be helped in, still groaning and holding his jaw; he’d lost a side tooth. As she dressed, choosing a dark tailored frock after turning side to side, trying it up against her petticoat, she remembered the incident the previous evening and the man who had been involved, the one she had caught staring at her in the ballroom.
    Fay felt the same unsettling shiver run up her back as she did at the time. He had been so obvious in his approval of her that she had been quite taken aback, then frankly a little frightened.
    Those intense blue eyes beneath black hair were quite something.
    Then she remembered the appalling violence, ending when the other men had set on him like that. She had tried to go to his aid, but had been restrained and ushered away. She wanted, somehow, to meet him. Maybe she could find out more through the band – the hotel would have a contact number. As she packed, she thought about it further, resolving to make enquiries on Monday. She was always organizing events – that would be her excuse.
    Later, she pulled the draw