Strathmere's Bride Read Online Free Page B

folk.
    That was what she missed most of all. Being loved.
    She dreamed that night of swimming. Somehow, she could breathe when submerged, and it was exhilarating. Exploring delightful worlds, she kicked upward, beckoned by muffled screams.
    The screams were real. Rebeccah, she realized, her feet swinging out from under the covers. Without a second thought, she rushed into the nursery next door.
    “Do we call him Uncle Strathmere?” Rebeccah asked, frowning.
    “No, ma petite, you simply address him as you’ve always done.”
    “He never smiles. I do not like him. I think he may be mean.”
    Chloe angled her head, setting a mobcap onto the child’s dark curls.
    They were dressing up in the old garments from a trunk pilfered from the attics, one of Rebeccah’s favorite activities. She was currently garbed in a flowing empire gown, a fashionably flimsy piece from the previous generation, when bodices were dampened and nipples rouged. Now the once decadent garment sagged, sadly innocent on the thin coltishness of the little girl’s body.
    Turning to Sarah, Chloe dropped a huge bonnet made up in the fashion of the cavaliers, with one huge plume curling behind, on the tot’s head. Rebeccah cried, “I want that one!”
    “You have a fine bonnet,” Chloe protested, adjusting the hat so that the three-year-old’s eyes were no longer covered. “Sarah shall be your suitor.”
    “Oh, horrid!” Rebeccah cried in disgust. She ripped off the mobcap and flung herself down onto the floor with a flourish.
    “Please yourself,” Chloe said with a shrug.
    “All right!” Rebeccah replied when she saw Chloe meant to leave her alone to sulk. Snatching upthe mobcap again, she jammed it on her head. “But I’m ugly.”
    Chloe gave her a long, thoughtful stare. “Perhaps you are right, chérie. Let us find something that suits your fancy dress better, oui?”
    When investigation of the trunks failed to reveal anything as dazzling as Sarah’s hat, Rebeccah went into another sulk. “Everything is horrid,” she complained. “First Uncle is mean, and now I have no beautiful hat.”
    “Your uncle is not mean,” Chloe protested, although she could barely think of something positive to say about the man. He was rather dour. “Perhaps he has much on his mind. We must do our best to welcome him and help him. He has been away from Strathmere for a very long time.”
    The child folded her small arms across her chest. “He must not interfere with the nursery. You must tell him, Miss Chloe. Except, of course, for new toys. We simply have to have some new toys.”
    Chloe rolled her eyes.
    The child continued. “I shall tell him everything is dreadfully old. Grandmama won’t let us have any fun. He must tell Grandmama to stay away from us and to let—”
    Without a word, Chloe placed her hand on Rebeccah’s forehead and gave a gentle push. The little girl flopped backward, landing among the heap of dresses behind her, her legs flailing in the air.
    Chloe turned to Sarah, who smiled. “What do you think of your uncle, Sarah?” The child merely gazed back. Chloe continued, unperturbed by Sarah’s silence. “Ah, I agree. Much too serious. It is rather sad, I think, to mope about in such a manner all theday.” As if to herself, she muttered, “Moderation. Humph.” With a quick sigh, she reached out a hand and pulled the struggling Rebeccah to her feet. “Enough, Queen Rebeccah. You can think up orders for the new duke another time. Let—”
    Chloe stopped, stunned into silence, for she looked up just then to find a tall male figure standing inside the doorway of the nursery.
    Instantly, she was aware of the confusion around her, of the children’s mussed appearance, of her own rumpled dress and hair all astraggle. She sat there, staring at him, the picture of decorum in stark contrast to her dishabille. He was, as was his custom, dressed in dark trousers that had been so crisply pressed the seam was as fine and straight as a