The Secret Woman by Victoria Holt Page A

somewhat indelicate matter. That is why I find your company stimulating. You are not the sort of woman to refuse to discuss a subject simply because it is…unconventional.”
    â€œIt is true?”
    â€œAh, so you have heard. Yes, it’s true. Sir Edward was my father; I was brought up as a son of the house, and yet not with the same status as my half brother. All very reasonable, don’t you think? It’s had its effect on my character, though. I was always trying to outdo Rex in everything, as much as to say, ‘See I’m as good as you are.’ Do you think that excuses a boy for being shall we say arrogant, eager to attract attention, always wanting to win? Rex is the most patient of fellows. Far more worthy than I but then I always say he didn’t have to prove he was as good. He was accepted as being better.”
    â€œYou aren’t one of those tiresome people with a chip on your shoulder, I hope?”
    He laughed. “No, I’m not. In fact trying so hard for so long to convince people that I was as good as Rex meant that I succeeded in convincing myself.”
    â€œThat’s all to the good. I could never bear people who are sorry for themselves, perhaps because there was a time when I started to feel life had treated me rather harshly. That was when my mother died.”
    I told him about my mother, how beautiful she was, how enchanting, her plans for my future, how my father and I had doted on her; and then I went on to speak of his death and how I was left, an orphan, at the mercy of Aunt Charlotte.
    I was unusually animated. He had that effect on me. I felt I was being amusing, interesting, attractive, and I was happier than I had been since my mother died. No, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. I wanted this evening never to stop.
    There was a gentle tap on the door and Ellen came in, bright-eyed and conspiratorial.
    â€œI was going to say, miss, that there’s supper nearly ready and if Captain Stretton would be joining you for it, I could serve in fifteen minutes or so.”
    He declared his delight in the suggestion. His eyes rested on Ellen and I noticed that the color deepened in her cheeks. Could it be that he had the same effect on her as he had on me?
    â€œThank you, Ellen,” I said, and I was ashamed that I had felt a little jealous. No, it was not really that, but the thought occurred to me that his charm was not for me alone; he possessed it in such abundance that he could afford to squander it so that even a maid announcing a meal was aware of it. Was I attaching too much importance to his interest?
    Ellen had set a meal in the dining room and had, greatly daring, put two lighted candles in the lovely carved gilded seventeenth-century candlesticks and had set them at either end of the Regency table; she had placed two Sheraton dining-room chairs opposite each other and the table looked delightful.
    About us loomed the bookcases and chairs and two cabinets filled with porcelain and Wedgwood pottery, but the candles lighting the table shut off the rest of the room and the effect was charming.
    It was like a dream. Aunt Charlotte never entertained. I wondered fleetingly what she would think if she could see us now, and I thought too how different life here would be without Aunt Charlotte. But why think of her on such an evening?
    Ellen was in high spirits. I imagined her giving an account of it all to Mr. Orfey the next day. I knew she believed—for she had told me often—that it was time I had “a bit of life.” This would be in her opinion a very delectable slice of life, not just a bit.
    She brought in the soup in a tureen with deep blue flower decorations and the plates matched. I caught my breath with horror that we should be using such precious plates. There was cold chicken to follow and I was thankful that Aunt Charlotte was to be away another day which would enable us to replenish the larder. Aunt Charlotte ate