The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) Read Online Free

the vicinity. Rebecca reminded Kendra of a vulture circling over dead sheep, with her gossipy nature and her too-close-together eyes and thin puckered lips. Kendra blinked away the picture. Her eyes felt scratchy and dry, her face overly warm.
    “And, what is it you instruct, Mr. Thomas?” Juliette asked. She was a pert, dark-haired beauty who could, no doubt, read with little trouble. Her forward manner was somewhat annoying, but Kendra listened while she concentrated on threading her needle through the delicate muslin.
    Mr. Thomas’s good-natured chuckle was indulgent. “I believe you mean, who is it I instruct.”
    Juliette grinned. “ Who is it you instruct, then?”
    “The offspring of the local gentry. The subjects range from mathematics and geography to Latin and writing. Mostly young men, but a few indulgent parents are adamant about their daughters’ education, as well, I’m happy to say.”
    “My parents were certainly adamant about mine,” Juliette groused. “If I never read another book on Egyptology as long as I live, ’twill be too soon for me.”
    Kendra’s fingers moved with the winning speed of a horse at Ascot, crossing the finish line.
    “Oh, I should love to read stories of Egypt.” A wistful sigh escaped Winifred Digby, a homely girl whose barrister father had emigrated to the New World several years prior and sent for his wife and daughter as soon as he could arrange their passage. “ ’Tis Latin I abhor most.”
    The poor child had recently lost her mother and, with no other relatives, found herself relegated to America through no choice of her own. To Winifred’s credit, she grasped it all as a Grand Adventure. Kendra suppressed a shudder at the girl’s circumstances while still envying her attitude. It was all quite brave.
    She was frantic to steer the conversation in another direction. They would expect her contribution, whether she wished to be forthcoming or not. Her heart pounded in her chest. With a delicate cough, she cleared her throat. “What is that you are reading, Mrs. Blythe?”
    Mrs. Blythe was a woman of indeterminate years and a short round body, with a gray chignon at her nape. She did not care for the talk surrounding her unless it pertained to her present reading material. Kendra loathed drawing their attention, but she was desperate.
    “Bernard de la Harpe’s explorations in the great plains of the New World. ’Tis quite fascinating. Of course, he was not the first adventurer to explore his opportunities in the southwest part of the continent. The Spaniard Coronado first traveled through the area in the fifteen hundreds, though he left little evidence behind. You are welcome to borrow it once I’m finished.”
    Panic seized Kendra, and she froze. She found herself unable to speak; words stuck in her throat.
    “I’ve read similar accounts to my charges,” Mr. Thomas said, smiling. He had a kind face, young despite his thinning hair. He must have been quite active with his charges, as he was certainly not soft about the middle compared to that Marquis of Bute. “ ’Tis fascinating reading, what with the Indians they encountered. Life was truly uncivilized.”
    Saved by Mr. Thomas, she let out a small relieved breath.
    “The Spanish control most of the area currently. It sounds darkly romantic.” Mrs. Blythe’s eyes took on a dreamy quality.
    A surge of fury flooded Kendra’s veins. It took her a moment to identify the emotion. She was jealous . Jealous that they could all read without a speck of trouble, no aching head for their efforts, no ridicule for stupidity or not applying themselves. Her finger slipped, and she pricked herself with the needle. Stark red drops appeared, then soaked into the soft muslin.
    “Kendra? I-I mean Miss Faye?” Niccòlo stuttered.
    Troubled ? Bah, every word struck as a condescending slap. She had to escape.
    “Is something the matter, Miss Faye?”
    Kendra raised her eyes to the concerned gaze of Mr.