Sonnet to a Dead Contessa Read Online Free

Lady Margaret Acton, who was sitting beside Serafina, was studying the viscountess carefully. Lady Margaret was Serafina’s closest friend. Part of that was due to the fact that she had two children, Charles and Roger, who were favourite playmates of Serafina’s son, David. But Margaret and her boys had been away for a while, visiting Margaret’s ailing mother, and David had sorely missed them. Serafina had missed Margaret even more than she expected. She fondly looked at her friend’s clear brown eyes and thick brown hair. She was very lively and vivacious, far more outgoing than Serafina herself, and Serafina admired her immensely.
    “I’m enjoying this play,” Margaret said, “but I must confess I can’t watch anyone but Dylan. He’s such a handsome fellow!”
    “Oh yes, he is,” Serafina said, nodding her agreement, “but I don’t believe he ever thinks about that.”
    “Well, that’s very rare. Usually good-looking men are proud as peacocks. Can’t pass a mirror without preening.”
    “Dylan doesn’t even think to get his hair cut. I have to remind him sometimes.” Serafina leaned back in her seat and ran her eyes over the audience, then turned back to Margaret. “So nice that we’re able to go out and do this. We owe it all to Irene.”
    “Yes, she’s the best sister anyone could ever have. She’s been so sad—unable to have children and then losing her husband.” Margaret shook her head, and grief passed her eyes briefly. “She’s thrown herself into taking care of Charles and Roger. Sometimes I think she’s more of a mother to them than I am.”
    “Don’t say that,” Serafina said quickly. “You’re just different, that’s all. She likes to stay home, and you like to go out—and you enjoy so many things.”
    “Yes, I suppose I do. Too bad that Fredrick doesn’t.”
    Serafina was surprised. Margaret seldom mentioned her husband, Count Fredrick Acton. It was obvious to most that the two did not have a good marriage. Fredrick stayed on long hunting trips to the south of England and often went to France. He was actually home very little, and Serafina was aware that this hurt Margaret. There was nothing to say about it, however, for Fredrick was not about to change his habits nor modify his drinking problem. Margaret moved uncomfortably and looked up. “There’s the Prince of Wales and that American actress with him. He doesn’t have any shame about appearing with his mistresses. Makes no secret of his affairs at all.”
    “I’m sure the Queen and Prince Albert are terribly hurt by him.”
    “I feel sorry for the poor man.”
    “For who?”
    “For the Prince of Wales, of course. Queen Victoria is a young woman. She could live to be an old lady, and until she dies the Prince has really nothing to do.”
    “He could find something useful to do if he wanted to.”
    “I suppose so, but what he’s interested in mostly is gambling and races and fast horses—and faster women.” Margaret winked roguishly. “That’s the sort of man we can look forward to as king one day.”
    Serafina stirred restlessly in her seat. She was enjoying the play. She had read it and had seen it twice performed. She was well aware that Dylan dominated the role and also the audience.
    “It is strange the way you got interested in Tremayne. Half the women in London are chasing around after him now, and you have him all to yourself.”
    A slight flush touched Serafina’s cheeks. Although she had no real beauty, she did somehow have a sensual quality that did not pair with her scientific mind. She was of average height, and at the age of twenty-seven still had the figure of a much younger woman. She had dressed more carefully than usual, though she cared little for fancy attire. She wore a modest pearl grey skirt and jacket with dark green buttons and accents on the hem of the skirt and the sleeves and lapels of her jacket. A touch of delicate white lace edged with green showed at the opening of the