The Carriagemaker's Daughter Read Online Free

“tell me you’ve come to stay. I’ve been so dreadfully lonely.”  Helène could hardly avoid noticing that her ladyship’s bosom, only half covered by the thin material of her dressing gown, was now pressed closely against the man’s chest. She  wondered if it was accepted practice for the ladies of the ton to walk about en déshabillé . Her own father–
    “Hello, Celia,” the man said, and Helène could have sworn she saw a flicker of disgust on his face. The lady, undeterred, continued her enthusiastic embrace, and if it hadn’t been for that brief flash of expression Helène would have concluded that they were lovers. She was turning to leave–it was high time to find Mrs. Tiggs–when she heard the man’s voice.
    “Celia, perhaps you could introduce me to your new governess. I believe she is in some need of assistance.”
    “Oh, Charles, simply look at the pathetic creature!” said Lady Sinclair, waving her hands vaguely in Helène’s direction. “I can’t imagine why Jonathan hired such a girl, her reference was quite inadequate. I’ve half a mind to turn her out this instant, she’s dressed abominably , Charles, it’s a disgrace to the household. You have no idea what I endure here, absolutely no idea–”
    Helène didn’t hear the rest. She stood rooted to the carpet, a strange buzzing in her ears, and wondered if this is what it felt like to faint. Ridiculous. She had never fainted before.
    I just need something to eat, thought Helène. I need to find Mrs. Tiggs. She tried to take a step but the hallway contracted and skewed sideways around her. A figured rose carpet... plush, soft...
    The buzzing grew louder. She heard an exclamation of annoyance, somewhere in the far distance, and then even the carpet disappeared.
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    Lord Quentin pushed Celia away and caught the girl as she fell.
    “Charles!” screeched Lady Sinclair.
    The governess–although of more than medium height–weighed next to nothing, Lord Quentin discovered. He could feel the bones of her hips as he cradled her against his chest, and,  if the bodice of her dress had not hung so loosely, he guessed it would be a simple matter to count each of her ribs. For the first time he looked closely at the girl’s face and saw the signs that he had missed earlier, signs familiar to him from three wretched years on the Spanish peninsula.
    The chit was half-starved. Charles was suddenly furious with Celia.
    “Oh, just leave her there and I’ll call a footman,” the lady was saying. He looked at the marchioness blankly, unwilling to believe that even Celia could be that callous. But no–
    “I’ll have James take her to the kitchen,” said the marchioness. “Cook will feed the girl and send on her way first thing tomorrow. Of all the cheek, to show up at Luton looking like that. Really, Charles, she’s filthy!  How can you stand to touch her?”
    Lord Quentin considered his options. He had no idea where the girl’s room might be and, all things considered, it was entirely possible that Lady Sinclair had never bothered to have one prepared. His own bedchamber, on the other hand–as a frequent visitor to Luton–was not far away down the adjacent hall. He started to push past Celia.
    “Oh, Charles!” protested Lady Sinclair, but, seeing the frank determination in the set of his shoulders, she changed tactics in an eyeblink. She laid a well-manicured hand on his arm to stop him as he passed and flashed a disarming smile, the invitation written plainly on her face.
    “Don’t be so tiresome, Charles.”  Her voice was warm, honeyed. “James will collect the silly girl in a minute. Come, tell me all about London... ”
    Celia motioned toward the open door of her rooms.
    Lord Quentin hesitated. What had gotten into Celia?  She’d always been a flirt, but this brazen invitation–as a married woman–was not her usual style. Despite the long journey and the unconscious, rather grubby woman in his arms, Lord