Dawn Song Read Online Free

leather strap.
    It was difficult to know what to make of him, Meg thought, observing him
    under her lashes. He didn't slot into any obvious category, either social or
    professional. But then, she was no expert, she reminded herself wrily. Her
    experience of men was minimal, unless you counted Mr Otway, or Tim
    Hansby who collected books on military history, and who'd invited her once
    to London with him, on a visit to the Imperial War Museum.
    Meg had enjoyed the museum more than she'd anticipated, but Tim, devoted
    only son of a widowed mother, would never be more than a casual friend. He
    still lived at home, and Meg pitied any girl who might fall in love with him,
    because Mrs Hansby was grimly determined to preserve the status quo.

    Whereas her companion today didn't look as if he could be tied to any
    woman's apron strings. But appearances could be deceptive. He might well
    have a shrewd-eyed wife, and a brood of children, and tonight, over dinner,
    he'd tell them how he'd rescued a lone English tourist from the storm,
    making it amusing—minimising their narrow escape.
    And later, his wife would ask when they were alone, 'What was she
    like—this English girl?' and he'd smile and say, 'Ordinary—I barely noticed
    her...'
    As he glanced towards her, Meg realised she'd allowed a tiny sigh to escape
    her, and hurried into speech.
    'Is it much further to the auberge?'
    'About a kilometre. Do you find the journey tedious?'
    'Oh, no,' she denied hurriedly. 'But I realise that you must have things to
    do—other plans. I feel I'm being a nuisance.'
    'You are wrong. It is my pleasure to do this for you. Besides, by taking this
    road, I pass the auberge anyway, so it works out well for us both.' He paused
    again. 'My name is Jerome Moncourt,' he added with a touch of formality.
    'May I know yours in return?'
    Her lips parted to say Meg Langtry, but she hesitated, the words unspoken.
    She'd come here to be Margot, after all, she thought guiltily, and she'd
    almost forgotten. But, she supposed, the deception had to start somewhere.
    So why not practise her new identity on this stranger? After all, she was
    never going to see him again. Yet, at the same time, she was reluctant to tell
    a downright lie. I'm not the stuff conspirators are made from, she thought
    with a stifled sigh.
    She forced a smile. 'Let's just say—Marguerite,' she temporised. It was a
    half-truth, after all, and, with luck, it might be all she'd need.
    'The name of a flower,' he said softly. 'And of a famous French queen.
    You've heard, perhaps of La Reine Margot who was born Marguerite de

    Valois and married Henri of Navarre? She held court at Nerac in Gascony,
    and was one of the famous beauties of her age. She was what they used to
    call une dame galante.'
    'Meaning?' Meg had moved with slight restiveness-when she heard the
    name. Margot, she thought. Of course, it would be. She couldn't get away
    from it.
    Jerome
    Moncourt
    shrugged
    again.
    'That
    she
    enjoyed
    adventures—particularly with men other than her husband,' he returned.
    'Her affaires were notorious.'
    'Then she couldn't have been very happy with this Henri of Navarre.'
    He laughed. 'Oh, he was not faultless, either. Maybe that is why he is one of
    the kings that France remembers with affection. Un vrai brave homme.'
    'And of course in those days all marriages were arranged,' Meg said
    thoughtfully. 'I suppose they could be forgiyen for straying if they were tied
    to someone they didn't care about.'
    'But what if the marriage had been for this thing we call love?' His voice was
    cynical.
    'Then there'd have been no excuse,' Meg said firmly.
    'I am surprised to hear you say so.'
    'Why?' Meg found herself bristling slightly.
    Jerome Moncourt hesitated momentarily, then lifted a shoulder.
    'Oh—because that is no longer a fashionable point of view. Easy marriage,
    easy divorce. That is the modern creed.'
    Meg shook her head. 'I don't believe that,' she said. 'Divorce is never