voice
trailed away as she contemplated if she had ever felt passion.
“I’ll never fall
victim to my passions,” mumbled Caro.
Sarah quirked an
eyebrow at the huddled bedclothes then returned her gaze to the darkness beyond
the gardens. Not even a sliver of moon touched the landscape with light.
“Really?” Her tone was droll. She sighed. Such talk made her restless. She
wanted to feel desire but it was as if in this household love, desire, passion
… had destroyed the trust of a generation. Passion at Larchfield was the
handmaiden of sin and vice. If Caro were lucky enough to experience the same
spark of feeling which Sarah found so necessary to sustain her enthusiasm for
life, she’d be forced to extinguish it long before it took root and blossomed.
“Do you not wish to fall in love, Caro?”
she asked. “Is it not the desire of your aunt and father that you marry a good
man? That you marry for love?”
Caro said
nothing.
Sarah sighed
again, the girl’s pubescent virtue suddenly irritating her. Caro would be dried
up by nineteen.
She turned back
to the window. “Do you not long for the embrace of the man whom you admire
beyond all others? The caress of his hand upon your cheek…?” Her voice dropped
to a whisper as she added, “The sweet, gentle touch of his lips upon yours.”
Turning at the
loud thud of the book thrown forcefully upon the floor Sarah realised she’d
gone too far.
It was time to
apologise and take herself off to bed before she reversed all the gains she’d
made with her difficult, but increasingly endearing charge.
Chapter Five
As Roland
turned into the gallery, he was arrested by the odd sight of his sister-in-law
on her toes upon the window seat, peering through the mullioned windows.
She swung round, red-faced — with anger not embarrassment
— at the sound of his footstep. “If Harriet’s new dress is ruined I want
Miss Morecroft dismissed upon the spot.”
Roland put out his hand to help Cecily to the ground. “I wonder if
their expedition will be as successful as last time?” His tone was mild.
“Harriet and August tell me they captured a dozen inmates for their new worm
farm.”
Cecily glared at him. “I do not share your amusement, Roland. Miss
Morecroft is impulsive and wayward and as such, highly unsatisfactory.”
Unsatisfactory? With an effort Roland kept his expression neutral as
an image of Miss Morecroft’s lovely face, eyes dancing with merriment, mouth
trembling with barely suppressed laughter, appeared before him.
Steeling himself against the extraordinary and dangerous yearning to
possess that which he knew could only bring heartache, he asked through gritted
teeth, “How could I refuse Godby’s wife?”
Cecily stamped her foot. “What Godby did to you, not to mention to
his men in battle can never be forgiven. His daughter is cut from the same
cloth, Roland. Do you see the way she courts attention? It’s a good thing
Cosmo’s returning to his own home-”
“Miss Morecroft may not be as docile as her mother led us to
believe, but she is capable and the girls are fond of her.”
Cecily glanced over Roland’s shoulder at Venetia’s portrait and her
eyes narrowed. “Surely you are not suggesting Caro model herself on Venetia!”
Roland turned away from the venom in her eyes, even though he
acknowledged the many good reasons Cecily had to despise his late wife. “I am
suggesting nothing of the sort.” Though his response was mild he could feel the
blood pumping through his veins, under great pressure. Normally he avoided
Venetia’s name, but now he felt it was pertinent.
Striving to keep his growing anger in check, he went on, “However
Venetia was her mother. I believe Caro tries too hard to be everything Venetia
was not.”
“Of course Caro must endeavour to be everything Venetia was not!”
Cecily flared. “And if you think I am responsible for the whispers, you are
wrong.”
Roland looked at her steadily. Her face was red,
trailed away as she contemplated if she had ever felt passion.
“I’ll never fall
victim to my passions,” mumbled Caro.
Sarah quirked an
eyebrow at the huddled bedclothes then returned her gaze to the darkness beyond
the gardens. Not even a sliver of moon touched the landscape with light.
“Really?” Her tone was droll. She sighed. Such talk made her restless. She
wanted to feel desire but it was as if in this household love, desire, passion
… had destroyed the trust of a generation. Passion at Larchfield was the
handmaiden of sin and vice. If Caro were lucky enough to experience the same
spark of feeling which Sarah found so necessary to sustain her enthusiasm for
life, she’d be forced to extinguish it long before it took root and blossomed.
“Do you not wish to fall in love, Caro?”
she asked. “Is it not the desire of your aunt and father that you marry a good
man? That you marry for love?”
Caro said
nothing.
Sarah sighed
again, the girl’s pubescent virtue suddenly irritating her. Caro would be dried
up by nineteen.
She turned back
to the window. “Do you not long for the embrace of the man whom you admire
beyond all others? The caress of his hand upon your cheek…?” Her voice dropped
to a whisper as she added, “The sweet, gentle touch of his lips upon yours.”
Turning at the
loud thud of the book thrown forcefully upon the floor Sarah realised she’d
gone too far.
It was time to
apologise and take herself off to bed before she reversed all the gains she’d
made with her difficult, but increasingly endearing charge.
Chapter Five
As Roland
turned into the gallery, he was arrested by the odd sight of his sister-in-law
on her toes upon the window seat, peering through the mullioned windows.
She swung round, red-faced — with anger not embarrassment
— at the sound of his footstep. “If Harriet’s new dress is ruined I want
Miss Morecroft dismissed upon the spot.”
Roland put out his hand to help Cecily to the ground. “I wonder if
their expedition will be as successful as last time?” His tone was mild.
“Harriet and August tell me they captured a dozen inmates for their new worm
farm.”
Cecily glared at him. “I do not share your amusement, Roland. Miss
Morecroft is impulsive and wayward and as such, highly unsatisfactory.”
Unsatisfactory? With an effort Roland kept his expression neutral as
an image of Miss Morecroft’s lovely face, eyes dancing with merriment, mouth
trembling with barely suppressed laughter, appeared before him.
Steeling himself against the extraordinary and dangerous yearning to
possess that which he knew could only bring heartache, he asked through gritted
teeth, “How could I refuse Godby’s wife?”
Cecily stamped her foot. “What Godby did to you, not to mention to
his men in battle can never be forgiven. His daughter is cut from the same
cloth, Roland. Do you see the way she courts attention? It’s a good thing
Cosmo’s returning to his own home-”
“Miss Morecroft may not be as docile as her mother led us to
believe, but she is capable and the girls are fond of her.”
Cecily glanced over Roland’s shoulder at Venetia’s portrait and her
eyes narrowed. “Surely you are not suggesting Caro model herself on Venetia!”
Roland turned away from the venom in her eyes, even though he
acknowledged the many good reasons Cecily had to despise his late wife. “I am
suggesting nothing of the sort.” Though his response was mild he could feel the
blood pumping through his veins, under great pressure. Normally he avoided
Venetia’s name, but now he felt it was pertinent.
Striving to keep his growing anger in check, he went on, “However
Venetia was her mother. I believe Caro tries too hard to be everything Venetia
was not.”
“Of course Caro must endeavour to be everything Venetia was not!”
Cecily flared. “And if you think I am responsible for the whispers, you are
wrong.”
Roland looked at her steadily. Her face was red,
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