My Sweet Folly Read Online Free Page A

and James.
    The bedroom door opened. “Whatever is it?” As Folie turned, Melinda slipped in, her pretty face clouded with worry. “What’s the news?”
    Folie stood up from the chair. “Your guardian wishes to see you.”
    “Oh.” Melinda’s expression relaxed. “Well, that is not so bad! Sally and Cook said that from the look upon your face, it was something very shocking.”
    “It is shocking,” Folie said dryly. “Considering that he has not lifted a finger on your behalf in years!”
    “Lieutenant Cambourne? Well, he has been in India, has he not?” Melinda’s lashes swept upward. “Surely he does not expect us to travel out there!”
    “No, only as far as Buckinghamshire, I’m afraid. He is at Solinger Abbey.”
    “Solinger! Oh, I shall like to see that place! It must be very grand.”
    “As grand as all the gems in India can make it, I have no doubt. But happily for our self-respect, we need not concern ourselves with vulgar calculating designs on the Cambourne fortune. He is married.”
    “I shall pay him no mind, then.” Melinda gave a pert grin. “Besides, as a calculating hussy, I insist upon having all the sport of hunting down my own rich bachelor—perhaps a few years younger!”
    “Why, today of all days, is this household so haunted by allusions to decrepitude and old age?” Folie exclaimed. “The poor gentleman is but four years older than I. But never mind, if he is too dilapidated for your taste, you shall simper prettily at him anyway. We might move to his house in town for the season if—”
    “Of course! Of course! Oh, Mama, you are wicked!”
    “If the notion should happen to occur to him,” Folie finished gravely.
    “That will be no problem. You can wrap him about your little finger,” Melinda said.
    “I quite doubt that. He has not written since—” Folie paused. “Shortly after your papa died, God bless him. But we shall do our best to squeeze Lieutenant Cambourne for our own nefarious purposes. You are to leave for Buckinghamshire tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow! As soon as that?”
    Folie waved a limp hand at the packet. “Hawkridge and James,” she said helplessly. “You know how they are.”
    Melinda made an unladylike snort. “I know for a certainty that you can wrap them about your finger. Why should we hurry so?”
    “I see no reason to delay. Your spring wardrobe is quite ready.”
    “But the packing—”
    “Why, have you never stayed up all night to pack for a mad flight from your evil creditors? It is most diverting.” She walked past Melinda, sliding a finger under her stepdaughter’s chin. “Seize your gowns and what’s left of your jewels, my child, and you shall be off to skin fresh pigeons!”
    “Such a shady character you are, Mama,” Melinda said fondly.
    “I know,” Folie said from beyond the door. “I really believe I should have been born a highwayman.”
     

     
    She finished packing for her stepdaughter at 4 a.m., long after a somnolent Melinda had fallen asleep in a chair and been coaxed off to bed. Folie decided it was best simply to stay awake until seven, when the post chaise was scheduled to arrive at their door. She made herself a cup of tea in the kitchen and sat alone at the table, reading the letter again.
    Her sweet knight. From half a world away, he had come to her through his letters, whimsical and intriguing, shy and flirtatious, a unicorn stranded in the solid beef of the Indian Army.
    She sipped her tea and toyed with the corner of the paper. It had been a woman’s dream, of course. All an impossible fancy.
    She had not been able to remain angry at him. In the days after his last letter, she had hated him; hated herself for what she had allowed to happen to her. But that had faded, slowly faded, with time and an eternity of heartache. How could she blame him for deceit, for drawing her into loving him, when she had slipped and skidded so easily down that slope herself? She could hardly remember the unhappy girl she