Thornbrook Park Read Online Free Page B

side of his face. That was going to hurt for at least a week, and the bruising would last even longer, a suitable reminder to keep his wits about him at all times.

Three
    When Eve Kendal stepped off the train from London, she failed to notice Lady Averford’s driver waiting by the hackneys and horse-drawn carriages to take her to Thornbrook Park. The young fellow in the gray livery had to step forward and call her name from off to the side of the station, where he’d parked the motor car. She’d never thought to look for an automobile. But of course, Sophia, Lady Averford, had all the modern conveniences.
    â€œMrs. Kendal,” he said, with a nod and a sweep of his just-removed cap.
    Eve had never ridden in a car. There were few of them in India, most in military use and not intended for civilian pleasure jaunts.
    â€œI am Mrs. Kendal.” Eve stepped forward and extended her hand. “And you are?”
    He looked at her gloved hand, as if a little taken aback by the gesture.
    â€œDale. The chauffeur. Let me see to your bags.” He reached for her hand at last, a light touch before he brushed away and ran off to the porter.
    â€œJust the brown leather case, Mr. Dale,” she called after him. Her trunk had been shipped ahead, cargo class, but likely wouldn’t arrive for another week.
    Dale returned out of breath to help her into the car. The motor, once he started it up, purred like a hungry jungle cat from the wilds of Rajasthan. Other than the motor sounds and a faint petrol smell, the ride wasn’t much different than a ride in a horse-drawn carriage—slightly bumpy and not as fast as she’d hoped. But she could say she’d ridden in a car now, and that was something.
    They trundled through quintessential English pastoral scenes that cheered her, past white sheep grazing in green fields, broken intermittently by stretches of yellow rapeseed. The leaves had barely begun to turn, dots of gold and orange here and there scattered in the green. Home. How she had missed it all!
    In India, there was dust. Sand. Brown earth, water like clay. The people added color, though, wrapped in their hand-dyed silks and cottons, the same colorful fabrics that made up the tents of the bazaars. She already missed the spices, having been treated to last night’s bland English dinner. She’d finally acquired the skill to cook a long-simmering curry, rich and hot on the tongue, not that she would do much cooking now. It wasn’t proper for an Englishwoman to fuss in a kitchen with the help. On her own, though, she could break with convention—if the Dower House were far enough from the main house, and the staff could be trusted to keep secrets.
    Finally, they passed through the village, a quaint little square of shops, a tavern, and cobbled streets bustling with activity.
    â€œThornbrook,” Dale said, with an edge of pride that suggested he might be a native.
    At the edge of the square, they passed a church and a manor house behind a low gate before pulling into a long, winding tree-lined drive.
    â€œThe Dower House,” Dale tipped his head back in the direction of the manor house. Eve straightened up to get a better look, but they had already passed. “That’s the great house, up ahead.”
    All she could see were trees and a great stretch of green before they crested the hill and the rows of enormous gray chimneys came into view. Five, six, seven. She couldn’t count them all as the rest of the house gradually appeared, a veritable wonder of rose stone, standing in the middle of a hundred acres of good, green land. There would be farms not far off, surrounded by woods, and lakes well-stocked for hunting and fishing.
    A good old English country estate, Thornbrook Park, larger than she’d imagined but just as imposing. She should have felt at home, having grown up in such places, being doted upon and handed everything she could ever want. Everything