Ransom Redeemed Read Online Free Page B

to follow. Unfortunately, Ransom had fewer navigational skills in sober daylight. Nothing seemed familiar.
    But then, while hurrying along and looking back over his shoulder at the same time, he slipped on the wet pavement and collided, like a blundering idiot, with a gas lamp that stood beside an arched entrance in the wall. Beyond this there appeared to be a small, cobble-stone passage, leading to an arcade of shops and offices. He would not otherwise have noticed the alley, had he not cracked his head on the lantern and been forced to stop, but there it was, the sooty brick brightened by a painted advertisement for laundry soap.
    So it was that Ransom Deverell discovered a new path, down which he'd never before ventured. Just when he thought there were none left.

Chapter Three
     
    Mary stared at the hard, stale muffin, trying to reassure herself that the black dots really were raisins. Sometimes the mind could play tricks with the alternate possibilities and quite put a person off. Even a very hungry person.
    She poked it with her finger and marveled at the cork-like texture. One thing was certain, if this muffin were thrown with force in a crowded place it would probably blacken an eye or two. Might have its uses after all, she thought wryly, if not the one for which it was made.
    But what she really desired was a large, fluffy Parisian pastry, bursting with whipped cream and dripping with sweet chocolate glaze. Oh, what was it called? Pain a la Duchesse . Yes, that was it! She saw one once, some years ago at a very fine garden party, and now she bitterly regretted passing the cake platter, forfeiting her chance to experience that delicious confection. At the time she gave it up for two reasons— the fortitude of her corset laces and the puzzling problem of how to consume such a creation in public without making an unsightly mess. It was the sort of delight one could only enjoy to the fullest in private, and she could not very well sneak away with it concealed in her reticule.
    Back then, of course, she couldn't have known that such gourmet opportunities would one day be nothing more than a memory and that she ought to make the most of it, regardless of who watched her eat the pastry. Let them be forever scarred by the sight of her wicked, unladylike greed and chocolate-stained cheeks. What did she care? Well, she'd know next time.
    Alas, there was no Pain a la Duchesse on her horizon. Not for the foreseeable future.
    "Mary, my dear! Dr. Woodley is here to collect his special order. Can you bring it from the back room?"
    She hastily set the dry muffin back on her plate and looked for the book she'd been perusing all night. "Yes, Mr. Speedwell. Just a moment. I...I was making the tea."
    But as she lifted the heavy book from a chair in which she'd earlier left it, Mary paused again, her fingertips tracing over the gilt letters on that thick leather spine. It was a very ancient manuscript with vellum pages, the text and pictures produced by monks in a scriptorium, probably overlooking a peaceful cloister, hundreds of years ago.
    Her father used to keep books like these in his library. When he was alive and had a library in which to keep them. Illustrated books on botany were one of his favorites. Dear Papa. He might have been one of the most frustrating, narrow-minded, old-fashioned gentlemen she ever knew, but she loved him for all his faults. If only he had been able to do the same for others. If only he had been a little less inflexible in his opinions.
    Ugh. What was wrong with her today that she should become so dreary and full of mopey-eyed nostalgia? Perhaps it was the grim weather, the skies being a dowdy shade of grey, heavy and low. And she missed her dear friend, Raven, who was spending the winter away in Oxfordshire. Without Raven she had no one of a like mind to share a devious chuckle. Although lately there had been very little at which to laugh, in any case. No doubt all this had combined to affect her