The Loves of Leopold Singer Read Online Free Page A

The Loves of Leopold Singer
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Squire Carleson’s estate southeast of Carleson Peak. A quarter mile past the church rectory an open carriage carrying the squire, Pitman, and Elizabeth, arrived at the courtyard of Laurelwood’s great house. It was twilight. Early stars twinkled overhead, and torches blazed to welcome them.
    “Oh, this is much larger than Grayside,” Pitman said with approval and, Elizabeth thought, not a little relief.
    In the fading light it was difficult to assess the house’s condition, but it appeared very old and not at all clean. Inside plentiful lamps and candles burned—no scrimping on that score. The paneled walls were stained dark, and the carpets were brownish gray, either by design or from accumulated dust and age.
    The squire led Elizabeth on a partial tour of the house. The great room’s fireplace took up most of one wall, the fire lit and roaring. A large dining hall looked unused. A smaller room was furnished for more intimate dining, the table set for two and wiped clean of dust.
    A room on the far end of the house had a desk in the corner and two comfortable-looking chairs in front of a charming, crackling fire. “My son will have an education.” Carleson waved at the leather volumes that covered one wall. “I’ll send him to Oxford when the time comes.”
    More interesting than books was the view through the picture window, a lake visible in the dwindling light. A crescent moon hung above a silhouetted oak at the lake’s edge. Elizabeth nearly retched at the smell when Carleson put his hand on her waist and stood close behind her. The moon disappeared, covered by a cloud.
    “This is your room,” he said. “You can sit by the fire and sew pretties and keep the household accounts at the desk here.”
    “It’s very fine, Squire.” She didn’t know if she should call him Squire or Mr. Carleson. He didn’t seem to have a preference.
    They returned to the small dining room. Carleson rushed through the meal while Elizabeth pushed tasteless boiled potatoes around her plate, too tired to eat. She let her mind wander over details of the household. How large was the staff? How much trouble would the housekeeper be after so much time running things her own way? Pitman would be an ally there. No doubt the two were having a frank discussion at this very moment.
    Carleson’s hair, riddled with gray, must have once been dark chocolate brown. He had the look of fading vitality, but she couldn’t imagine he’d ever been handsome. He was overly heavy, fat upon muscle. His skin was wrinkled and weather-beaten. Either he worked his land with his own hands, or he spent a good deal of time on other outdoor pursuits.
    He dropped his fork with a clatter and pushed back his chair. Without ceremony, he took her hand and led her to his room. Again she forced down a gag reflex. The air was heavy with tobacco and who knew what else.
    “Might we have the window open?” It sounded so formal, so impersonal. So out of place with what was about to happen. But she needed to breathe, and not just fresh air. She wanted to put some space between them, to delay what was coming if only a few seconds longer.
    As Carleson reached the window, a flash of light illuminated the grounds outside and a crack of thunder rattled the window panes followed by the sound of a heavy downpour. He looked at Elizabeth apologetically. There would be no fresh air. There was kindness in him, and she was glad of it, but it wasn’t in her to pretend enthusiasm.
    Another flash of lightning lit the room. “You’re like a boy.” He ran his hand over her hair. And then his other hand was on her breast. He smiled. “But not quite.”
    He half guided, half pushed her backwards to his bed. She couldn’t lie down. Her body just wouldn’t do it. He looked at her quizzically, as if she were a dog who’d failed to heel for unknowable reasons. Thoughtlessly, without anger or meanness, he pushed her onto the bed.
    In that moment, she understood her position
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