Tempting Lucas. Catherine SpencerЧитать онлайн книгу.
Was it? Emily had wondered many times since if the punishment for her short-lived, unhappy illegitimate pregnancy had been the absence of babies later on, when it would have been perfectly acceptable for her to bear them. “His new wife gave birth within six months of their getting married.”
“The hussy!” Monique hissed on an outraged breath. “They deserve each other!”
“George is a perfectly nice man, Grand-mère. He just wasn’t the right man for me.”
Her grandmother eyed her narrowly. “No, he wasn’t, any more than that rogue from next door was. Dare I hope, Emily Jane, that you’ve learned your lesson and will choose more judiciously in future?”
In light of her recent discoveries about Lucas, and their effect on her peace of mind, that was not a question Emily felt equal to answering honestly. However, she was spared having to lie because, when she glanced at her grandmother, she saw that, suddenly and quite completely, Monique had fallen asleep in her chair.
A fine wool shawl lay over the back of the sofa. Emily draped it carefully around her grandmother’s frail shoulders, then stole from the room.
Consuela met her in the hall. “She’s sleeping?”
Emily nodded. “Dropped off in a matter of seconds. Does that happen often?”
“More and more.” Consuela sighed and looked as if she might say something else, then pressed her lips tightly together.
“What is it, Consuela?”
“Nothing—nothing. You see, don’t you, that she’s...?”
“Old.” The word emerged bathed in guilt and sadness. Why had she waited so long to come back when there was so little time left for Monique?
Consuela’s hand on her arm was sympathetic. “It can’t be helped, sweet child. Neither of us is getting any younger.”
The truth of that became obvious over the next hour as Emily renewed her acquaintance with the house that held so many memories for her. Contrary to her first impression, the place was not as well kept as she’d thought. On the main floor, only the morning room, the small breakfast room and the kitchen were in daily use. The rest were closed off, their furnishings draped in dust sheets, and with cobwebs festooning the chandeliers. A light had burned out in the back hall and not been replaced, leaving the area dim even in the middle of the day.
“I’d have done it myself,” Consuela said apologetically, when she caught Emily installing a fresh light bulb, “but I’m not so good with heights any more.”
“Don’t even think about using this stepladder,” Emily scolded. “For heaven’s sake, Consuela, why hasn’t my grandmother brought in someone to give you extra help? It isn’t as if she can’t afford it.”
“She is proud, just as she’s always been. It grieves her to think we must call in strangers and let them see...” Consuela’s voice trembled slightly “... that we cannot manage as we once did.”
Emily could have wept anew with shame. “Come and talk to me while I prepare us all some lunch—and no, Consuela, don’t try to talk me out of it! I’m perfectly capable in a kitchen and you’ve carried this burden long enough by yourself. It’s past time my grandmother’s family took some of the responsibility on themselves.”
From the kitchen, she could see out to the sweep of lawn that once had been manicured to within an inch of its life. Now it ran unhindered into the untidy straggle of shrubbery lining the path to the river, reinforcing what was already apparent: the days were gone when Monique was mistress of all she surveyed. If she refused to leave Belvoir, someone would have to remain with her, to oversee the running of the estate as well as monitor her well-being. And there was little doubt who that someone would be.
Trying hard to be tactful, Emily brought up the subject that evening, during dinner. “Don’t you miss being closer to the people you love, Grand-mère?”
“Not enough that I’m willing to move, just to be near them,” Monique informed her.
“But if one of them was to live here at Belvoir, would you object?”
“That,” her grandmother declared, “would depend entirely on which one of my so-called loved ones you have in mind, Emily Jane.”
As if there’d ever been any question of the most suitable candidate! Who among the family had no personal ties elsewhere? Who, for that matter, was the only one who could get along with Monique for more than an hour at a time?
“I’ve been feeling that I need a change,” she said, and it wasn’t so far from the truth. “New England winters are long and cold, and Boston—”
“You have a business there. You told me once that you were very busy and very successful. Are you proposing to give it up, so that you can babysit a feeble old woman? Or is it my money you’re after?”
“I neither want nor need your money, Grand-mère, but I do think I’d like to have your company. I didn’t realize until this morning how much I’ve missed you.”
“If you’re asking if my door is open, Emily Jane, then let me remind you that it always has been. It was your choice to stay away, not mine.”
Emily touched her serviette to her mouth. “Well, if it’s all right with you, Grand-mère, I’d like to make up for lost time. May I come and live with you for a while?”
A tear splashed down Monique’s wrinkled cheek and fell into her soup. “You may,” she said, head lifted proudly to indicate that she wasn’t about to acknowledge such a maudlin display of weakness.
Later, after the dishes were cleared away and Consuela had brought in the tea tray, Monique selected a cigarette from the silver box at her elbow and nodded to Emily to light it for her. “What about your business, Emily Jane? Will you sell it, or is there someone who can manage it for you during your absence?”
“I have a friend who’s been interested in becoming a partner in Done To Perfection for about a year now. I think she’ll be more than happy to buy me out.”
“And you won’t miss it?”
“If I do, I can always open up another branch here, once I’m settled. I like to be busy, Grand-mère. Come to that, I like being my own boss and making a success of things.”
“Success is all very fine, child, but you can’t warm your feet on it when you go to bed. Your grandfather has been dead seventeen years but I’ve never become used to sleeping alone. I miss him every night.”
“Because you were happily married, that’s why, but I’m not interested in that sort of life.”
Choking a little as she inhaled, Monique peered through the smoke already wreathing her face. “It’s unnatural for a woman your age to be so indifferent to men, Emily Jane, and it leads me to suspect you’re hiding something. Is there, by chance, someone in your life that you don’t want me to know about?”
“Certainly not,” Emily said. But it was a lie. A new lie, scarcely more than a few hours old, to be sure, but a lie nonetheless. The back of her mind had been filled with his face, her heart with racing dread, ever since she’d learned that Lucas Flynn was widowed and living next door again.
Aware that her grandmother had fixed a very speculative gaze on her, Emily changed the subject. Pushing the ashtray a little closer to Monique’s elbow, she asked, “Does your doctor know you smoke, Grand-mère?”
“Naturally. He’s fool enough to think he has the right to know everything about me.”
“And he doesn’t object?”
“There’s a difference between a fool and an imbecile, child. He knows better than to intrude with his opinions where they’re not welcome.”
“But it can’t be good for you.”
“If