No Place For An Angel. Gail WhitikerЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

      Valbourg mulled over the significance of his brother’s words as he stood listening to Catherine Jones perform a few hours later. The guests had all assembled in the music room, and when Catherine appeared, elegant in a gown of rose-coloured silk and with pearls glowing at her ears and throat, they had burst into applause, aware that a special treat was in store for them. She had positioned herself beside the piano, waiting for her lady accompanist to begin the opening strains of her first song.

      A hush had fallen over the room as Catherine began to sing. In contrast to her petite body, her magnificent voice had swelled to fill every corner of the room, each note crystal clear and perfectly struck. It was as though the music lived within her, the glorious sound bursting forth every time she opened her mouth.

      Even her physical appearance changed as she sang. Caught up in the music, her body began to sway, her arms and hands floating gracefully in time. Indeed, there was something decidedly sensual in the way she moved and, judging from the expressions on the faces of most of the men in the room, Valbourg wasn’t the only one who was aware of it.

      ‘Oh, Val, isn’t she wonderful,’ his sister Mary whispered in his ear. ‘I cannot thank you enough for arranging to have her sing for us.’

      ‘The pleasure was all mine, dearest. After all, what kind of brother would I be if I did not see to your every wish, especially on a night like this?’

      ‘You would be like Hugh, who neither sees nor cares about anyone’s desires but his own.’

      ‘Now, Mary, Hugh is a product of his upbringing,’ Valbourg felt compelled to point out. ‘Third in birth order and second in line to the title, he has always felt the need to compete with me for our parents’ affection and respect.’

      ‘And never succeeded. At least not with Papa,’ Mary said in a wry tone. ‘Mama spoiled him outrageously, but you were always Papa’s favourite.’

      ‘Actually, I believe Sarah held that honour,’ Valbourg said softly. ‘Father never spent as much time with any of us as he did with her.’

      ‘Perhaps because he sensed he wouldn’t have as much time with her as he would with the rest of us.’ Mary sighed. ‘Thank goodness we still have Sebastian. Every time I look at him, I see a little reminder of Sarah in his face. Is he feeling better today? Papa told me you had to have the doctor round to see him.’

      ‘I did, but thankfully his fever broke last night,’ Valbourg said. ‘He will likely be weak for a few more days, but Tennison said he should make a full recovery.’

      ‘Thank goodness. I know how worried you were about him.’ Mary hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Still no regrets about having him come to live with you?’

      ‘Not a one.’

      ‘Then you don’t mind living the life of a monk? Sorry, dearest. Hugh’s words, not mine,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘But I don’t suppose they’re all that far off the mark. Everyone knows how much you’ve changed your life to accommodate Sebastian’s arrival and I really couldn’t blame you for feeling a little put out. I understand your evening entertainment is now restricted to tame forms of cards and the company of safely married couples.’

      ‘Dear God, have I truly become so boring?’

      ‘I’m afraid so. And we all know you’ve Dorothy to thank for that.’

      Yes, because when his eldest sister Dorothy had heard that Valbourg was assuming responsibility for Sebastian’s upbringing, she had bluntly called it the most idiotic idea she had ever heard. It didn’t matter that Sarah had asked him, rather than Dorothy or, God forbid, Hugh, to care for Sebastian in the event something should happen to her and her husband. Dorothy maintained it was ridiculous that a man who was only concerned with drinking and whoring should be responsible for the well-being of a child. Even their father had suggested it might be in everyone’s best interests if Sebastian went to live with Dorothy and her husband, given that they already had a son and a daughter in the nursery.

      But Valbourg had stood firm. He informed them he had given Sarah his word that he would honour her request and honour it he would. For the most part, he just ignored Dorothy hovering in the background like a dark foreboding cloud.

      And then, as though summoned by the mention of her name, Dorothy appeared, drab in a fawn-coloured gown that did nothing for her complexion or her figure.

      Not, Valbourg reflected, that his eldest sister had been particularly blessed in either regard. ‘Good evening, Dorothy.’

      ‘Valbourg,’ she said, adding with a brisk nod, ‘Mary.’

      ‘Hello, Dorothy. I was beginning to wonder whether or not you were coming.’

      ‘I was delayed by a crisis below stairs,’ Dorothy said. ‘Some scandal involving one of the maids. Mrs Plinkin came to see me about it just as I was leaving. I told her I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with it and that she should just get rid of the girl.’

      ‘Compassionate, as always,’ Valbourg murmured.

      ‘Don’t take that tone with me, Brother,’ Dorothy snapped. ‘I don’t want my children exposed to behaviour like that under my own roof. Speaking of servants, I really must talk to Papa about his new valet. The man is rude and condescending and needs to be taught his place. But I suppose that is what you invite when you hire an Irishman.’

      ‘I don’t know why you would say that,’ Mary objected. ‘I find Tully very pleasant to deal with.’

      ‘Of course, because you find everyone pleasant. It is the reason you will fail so miserably as a wife,’ Dorothy stated. ‘Servants need to be taught their place. You do that by maintaining a firm hand. I don’t care if my servants like me. All I require is their obedience and their willingness to work hard.’

      ‘Which I am sure they do,’ Valbourg remarked. ‘But if Mary’s servants work hard it will be because they like and respect her, not because they are afraid of her. As for her new role, I have no doubt she will make Tyne an excellent wife.’

      ‘Of course I will,’ Mary said, stung by her sister’s criticism. ‘I love him and he loves me.’

      ‘Love,’ Dorothy said with a sneer. ‘A highly overrated emotion that serves as no useful foundation for marriage whatsoever. You would have been better off accepting Lord Troon’s proposal.’

      ‘Troon? The man is sixty if he’s a day,’ Mary said, incredulous. ‘And he is not at all handsome.’

      ‘Handsome? Of what value are looks when in twenty years’ time they will have vanished, leaving you shackled to a man with whom you likely have nothing in common and with no financial recompense to salve your wounds for being so silly as to accept his proposal in the first place. At least Troon is a worthy catch. He is heir to a dukedom.’

      Mary blinked at the harshness of her sister’s reply, but Valbourg simply smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mary. Tyne may not be as wealthy as Troon, but I suspect his looks will last far longer so that even in thirty years’ time, you will have no reason to regret your decision to marry him.’

      ‘Oh, yes, be sarcastic if you like, but people would do a lot better if they made decisions based