Free A Flight of Fancy by Laurie Alice Eakes

corners like headless warriors, niches set with some sort of statuary, and one area set up with a fire and chairs to make the cavernous space welcoming. “But I am certain she’ll do well to lie down flat.”
    Bless Honore. Indeed, the backs of Cassandra’s legs itched and burned. She needed soothing ginger lotion rubbed into them. She also needed a show of protest.
    “I am truly quite all right, my lady.”
    “Nonsense, you are too recently an invalid.” Lady Whittaker herself bustled toward one end of the hall, leading the way down a corridor off the main hall, past a grand staircase so old a somewhat rusty dog gate hovered over it like the blade of a guillotine, and around another bend. “Watch your step here—the floor changes, as this is the newer wing of the house.”
    The floor turned from stone to wood. The dull tap , tap of Cassandra’s cane turned into an echoing thud , thud . She winced with each contact. So loud. She would wake anyone nearby. Except no one would be nearby. All the rooms opening off the corridor appeared to be small, cozy parlors, a breakfast roomthat would receive the morning light, and—hurrah! She smelled it before she saw the long table, globe, and shelves through the half-closed door—the library.
    Without any books.
    She could not resist stopping to push the door wide and look inside. Though two of the walls bore row upon row of shelves, not a one held a book. The only book in the room was an enormous Bible open on the table. The rest of the shelves were either empty or laden with decades of periodicals. The Gentleman’s Magazine , La Belle Assemblée , The Ladies’ Monthly Museum .
    “But Whittaker reads.” The words burst unbidden from Cassandra’s lips. She clapped her hand to her mouth, smacking herself in the chin with her reticule.
    “But of course he does.” Lady Whittaker paused a yard away and turned back. “He has his own library in the master suite on the other side of the house.”
    And up a floor, no doubt.
    “This is the ladies’ library,” Lady Whittaker continued. “My husband, God rest his soul, gave me a few copies of The Gentleman’s Magazine when it held articles he thought I would find of interest and not objectionable to a lady’s sensibilities, and I have simply scores of sermon pamphlets I do intend to have bound soon.”
    “I am certain those will do us a great deal of good,” Cassandra managed past a strangled throat.
    The truth. They would be a tremendous help getting her to sleep should she have difficulty—if she did not fret about all Whittaker’s lovely books out of her reach unless she got herself well enough to climb steps.
    Realizing Lady Whittaker was smiling at her as though shehad granted Cassandra a great gift, she smiled back. “It’s a lovely room.”
    Which was the truth.
    “Whittaker may have told you that I am interested in a bit of engineering, so that table will come in quite conveniently.”
    “It does.” The proud mama nodded and simply glowed. “He uses it himself for his drawings.”
    His drawings? What drawings? Surely she hadn’t been betrothed to the man for a year and more without knowing he drew . . . anything.
    “You will find all the paper and pens you need in there.”
    “And I can read to her while she calculates.” Honore winked at Cassandra behind Lady Whittaker’s back. “We may make her a fashion plate yet.”
    “She is very pretty as she is.” Nothing but sincerity shone in Lady Whittaker’s glance from Cassandra’s crooked hat to her crumpled hem. “Rich colors suit you better than pastels, do they not?”
    “So Honore tells me.” Cassandra looked down, too conscious that what lay beneath that hem was anything but pretty—as opposite as it could get.
    “But we are embarrassing you, are we not?” Lady Whittaker turned abruptly and bustled ahead.
    Cassandra hastened to follow, afraid in the dimly lit corridor that her ladyship would turn yet another corner and she would be too