Free The Countess by Catherine Coulter

can’t imagine the sun ever touching you. You look like one of the statues of the goddess Diana I saw in the British Museum. George, maintain a modicum of decorum, if you please.”
    â€œToo white, I tell her,” said Thomas. He was standing behind her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Perhaps even dead-white in the winter, and that’s just around the corner now. I don’t like death or anything to do with it. My constitution, you know, isn’t what it should be.”
    â€œI don’t like freckles,” Amelia said. “The instant a single sun’s ray gets to my face, I grow freckles.” She smiled, and I was struck that the white skin on her face had flushed a bit.
    â€œFreckles have always reminded me of age spots,” Thomas said. “Age spots arrive just before death. No, I don’t like freckles, either. Amelia, my dearest, I prefer the dead-white skin to freckles. The more I thinkabout it, the more I believe I like all your white flesh. Yes, I now count myself content.”
    John, who was staring at his brother, a look of bafflement on his face, said then, “Thomas, what is all this talk about death? I see nothing at all wrong with you. You are healthy as a stoat. You will outlive us all.”
    â€œThat is nice of you to say, John, but you haven’t been around enough in recent years to see just how very precarious my health really is. Why, I coughed just this morning. It wasn’t even seven-thirty in the morning yet, and there came this cough, very deep into my chest, perhaps just a bit on the liquid side. I immediately feared a congestion of the lung. I’ll tell you that Amelia was right on it. Poured a potion right down my throat and wrapped a hot towel around my neck. Because of my careful darling, I have escaped something that could have put a period to my existence. Yes, it could have been a close thing. I say, Andy, that dog wants John very badly.”
    â€œEach day that God allots to Thomas is a gift to be treasured,” Lawrence said to no one in particular, no expression at all on his face. Did I scent a hint of sarcasm? Just a bit of loving contempt? I couldn’t be sure. Like John, Lawrence seemed to keep his thoughts close to his shirt pockets. “Yes, John, move away or take the wretched dog. He is creating a scene.”
    I looked beyond Thomas to John and held tightly to George. He had still not come forward, but now his eyes met his uncle’s. I began humming softly to George, one of his favorite tunes, the one about the dog catching the rabbit and chewing on its ear.
    â€œWell, John, I am glad to see you. You’re home to stay this time?”
    â€œI had believed so,” John said slowly, looking at me now, or at George, I couldn’t be sure.
    â€œWhat, you’re changing your mind again? You wish to be in peacetime Paris?”
    â€œNo, that isn’t it at all.”
    â€œDinner is served, my lord.”
    â€œAh, Brantley, your timing is perfect. My dear, would you like to do something with George?”
    â€œLet me carry him upstairs to Milly. She will take a tray in her chamber, you know. Did she already ask you, Brantley?”
    â€œYes, indeed, my lady. Mrs. Redbreast, our housekeeper, is taking fine care of your Miss Crislock. She simply told me to inform you that she would be delighted to meet everyone in the morning, when she is rested. Shall I remove the dog, my lady?”
    I looked at George. “Would you trust a man who looks like Moses to take you to Miss Crislock?”
    George leaned toward Brantley and sniffed at those long white fingers of his.
    I’ll say this about Brantley. He might look like a Biblical figure ready to hurl tablets to the ground, but he had a sense of humor and a good deal of kindness. He slowly eased his hand in George’s little face and let George sniff for all his worth. Finally, George wuffed.
    â€œExcellent,” I said, and