Portrait of a Scandal. Annie BurrowsЧитать онлайн книгу.
really felt that she flinched back from her touch.
‘I promised to take her out to see the sights of the city today. She will be so disappointed.’
‘No, she won’t, for I shall take her myself. You look as though you need to go back to sleep. Don’t even think about stirring from this room until after you have had your luncheon, either. Which I shall order the staff to have brought to your room.’
Fenella caught her hand and kissed it. ‘You are too good to me. Too kind. I don’t deserve your understanding...’
‘Fustian! It is about time you stopped being so perfect. I like you the better for it. Makes me feel less of a failure, if you must know.’ Usually, she felt like a hardheaded, prickly, confrontational excuse for a woman in comparison to the perfect manners of her elegant and utterly feminine companion.
Amethyst was wealthy, courtesy of her aunt, and she had a good head for business, but she didn’t make friends easily and simply could not imagine ever getting married. If a man made up to her, it was because of her wealth, not anything intrinsically attractive about her. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when she’d been too young and vulnerable to withstand the experience. It had scarred her. Wounded her. She’d felt a staggering amount of empathy for those beggars they’d seen so many of, lying by the roadsides of every French town they’d travelled through, for a vital part of her had been ruthlessly amputated in battle and she would never be quite whole again.
Not that it mattered, according to Aunt Georgie. Lots of people led perfectly good lives in spite of what other people thought of as handicaps. So what if she could never trust a man again? Neither did her aunt.
‘Useless pack of self-serving, scrounging scum, if you ask me,’ she’d sniffed disparagingly, when she whisked Amethyst from the village on what was supposed to have been a therapeutic trip round the Lakes. ‘Don’t understand why any sensible woman would wish to shackle herself to one. And I’m beginning to think you are capable of being sensible, if only you will get over this habit of thinking you need a man in your life. All any of them do is interfere and ruin everything.’
After what she’d been through, she’d been inclined to agree.
Fenella moaned again, drawing her attention back to the present, and then she flung the back of one hand over her eyes.
Amethyst pursed her lips. She sympathised with Fenella for having a sore head. She sympathised with her feeling embarrassed at having to be helped home. But...
‘Good heavens, Fenella, anyone who is not used to drinking might have made the same error. It is not the end of the world.’ And there was absolutely no need for all these theatrics.
‘I know what you’re doing. You are worrying about what people will say. But nothing is ever solved by worrying about what other people think of you. Especially not the sort of people who would love nothing better than to condemn you. They’re mostly cowards, you know. Too scared to take life by the scruff of the neck and live it. Instead, they prefer to sit about gossiping in a vain attempt to liven up the boredom of their useless, unprofitable lives. You should never modify your behaviour in an attempt to win the regard of their sort.’
Good heavens. Had she really just repeated one of Aunt Georgie’s favourite homilies? In the very tone of voice her aunt would have employed whenever Amethyst had been a bit blue-devilled?
She had.
She wrapped her arms round her waist and walked rather jerkily over to the window. For years, people had been warning her that if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up just like her aunt. But she’d told them she didn’t care. She’d been so grateful to her for the way she’d stood up to Amethyst’s father. From the moment Aunt Georgie had gone toe to toe with him in his library, telling him he’d been a pompous little boy who’d grown into a pompous prig of a man without a shred of compassion in him, her life had begun to take an upward turn. Well, she could hardly have sunk any lower. So she hadn’t listened to a word of criticism levelled at her aunt, not from anyone.
But sometimes...
She thought of the single tear she’d seen tricking down Fenella’s face, a tear she’d provoked with that heartless little homily, and wanted to kick herself. She’d sounded as callous and unfeeling as Aunt Georgie at her very worst.
‘It’s different for you,’ said Fenella woefully. ‘I am a mother. I have to think of Sophie. Whatever I do has an impact on her. And there are certain things a lady should never do.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Amethyst, going back to her bedside and perching on the nearest chair.
‘I’m sorry I spoke harshly. It’s just—’
‘You are so strong that it is hard for you to sympathise, sometimes, with weakness in others.’
‘I wasn’t always strong,’ she said. ‘You know I would have gone under if Aunt Georgie hadn’t stepped in to rescue me when she did. It was her example that gave me the determination to do something for you. I knew what it was like to be alone, unjustly accused of something I hadn’t done, with nobody to defend me.’ It had been hellish. Her whole family had turned their backs on her just when she’d needed them the most. ‘You needed a friend, to stand with you against all those wagging tongues. Just as I needed Aunt Georgie to believe in me. Just as you need me to be a friend now, not...not tell you to pull yourself together. Forgive me?’
‘Yes, of course, but—’
‘No. Please don’t say another word about it. I know it must have been distressing to have been helped home, slightly foxed, last night, but I’ve already told you I do not think the worse of you for it. And who else knows about it? Only Monsieur Le Brun, and if he dares to make you feel in the slightest bit uncomfortable, he will have me to deal with,’ she finished militantly.
Fenella pressed her hands to her eyes and whimpered.
‘I will leave you now,’ she said, far more quietly. It had occurred to her that a loud voice might bring more distress than comfort, no matter what words she actually said, and that Fenella just needed to sleep it off.
‘I will look after Sophie today,’ she said, tiptoeing towards the door. ‘And make sure no word of what you got up to last night ever reaches her ears.’
She shut the door on yet another moan of anguish, only to jump in shock at the sight of Monsieur Le Brun standing in the corridor, not three feet away.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to startle you. I only meant...that is...Madame Montsorrel. How is she?’
‘She is feeling very sorry for herself. And very guilty.’
Monsieur Le Brun lowered his head. ‘I hope you have not been too harsh with her. Indeed, the fault was not hers. It was mine. I should not have—’
‘Oh, don’t you start,’ she said. ‘She made a mistake. That was yesterday. And anyone can see how sorry she is for it. But if you think it was at all your fault, then all you need do in future is to make sure the wine we order is not so strong. And that none of us has more than a couple of glasses. We lived very simply in Stanton Basset and never partook of more than one glass of wine or Madeira, and that only on special occasions.’
‘The wine,’ he gulped. ‘Yes, yes, but—’
‘No, I don’t wish to discuss this any more.’ She was getting a most uncomfortable feeling, seeing him look so concerned about Fenella’s health. She’d have assumed he would have been irritated, not remorseful. If she wasn’t careful, she might stop disliking him. And then where would she be? Vulnerable!
‘We have a busy day ahead of us. Have you dealt with Monsieur Harcourt yet?’
He already had on his coat and was turning his hat round and round as she spoke, as though he had just snatched it off. Or was he just about to put it on?
‘Yes, madame, I went first thing. I could not sleep, you see. I—’
She