Free The Wagered Widow by Patricia Veryan Page B

its now crowded state, everything was orderly, the Great Hall seeming, like its owner, to reflect an air of calm refinement. The marble floors gleamed; Florentine gold benches were spaced about the walls which were painted a pale blue-green; two marble pillars soared to the ceiling at each end of an oval dome of blue and green glass that filtered an arboreal light into the room; and the draperies at the tall windows were of green velvet. The stairs climbed against a wall hung with many portraits: the largest of these depicted a flock of starlings, and there were smaller individual paintings of robins, sparrows, blackbirds, and an especially fine likeness of a snowy owl. Somewhat taken aback, Rebecca glanced at her aunt and encountered such a stunned look that she had to battle a sudden urge to giggle.
    In keeping with the luxurious quality of the mansion, their suite was sumptuous. It consisted of two large bedchambers, each with an adjoining dressing room, and having between them a cosy little parlour. The carpets were so thick that Rebecca’s slippers seemed to sink into them. The furnishings were rich, but not ornate, the drawer and wardrobe space more than ample. Several fine old bird prints graced the walls, and the view from the windows was delightful.
    There was no sign of Millie, but they had no sooner removed their bonnets and mittens than a knock at the door heralded the appearance of a maid bearing a tray with a pot of tea, cups and saucers, and, in addition to the milk and sugar, a plate of scones and sliced cake. Curtseying to Mrs. Boothe, the girl advised that Madame’s abigail would be up so soon as what she’d got the luggage straightened out, as there was “some sort of bumbling in the stables just now.”
    Rebecca began to pour the tea and her aunt watched, holding her sides and bemoaning the fact that she would not have time to put off her corsets did Millie not hasten. She sat down to accept the cup Rebecca offered and, stirring in her customary three teaspoons of sugar, took a sip, sighed blissfully, and said, “Was you as surprised as I, love, to discover The Monahan amongst us? Lud, but you could have knocked me down with a feather.”
    â€œAnd me, Aunt. And did you notice how she scratched at me? Wretched woman! It is de Villars’ doing, I make no doubt. He has sent her, in his stead, to thwart me at every turn!”
    â€œThwart you? But—whyever would she do such a thing, dearest? She cannot wish to aid you, if to do so means she will lose de Villars.”
    â€œIf she adores him so, why is she here sans her love? He would be just cunning enough to convince her she is helping to protect his friend against a designing woman, never allowing her to suspect what his own evil designs are! I tell you, Aunt Alby, de Villars means to prevent me attracting Sir Peter, for he plots that I am to become another of his collection of lightskirts!”
    One hand pressed to her bosom, Mrs. Boothe squawked, “Re— becca! What a naughty expression! Besides, if de Villars does not mean you to become—er, better acquainted with Sir Peter, why would he have urged the man to invite you to his ball last week? And why did he not bring his influence to bear so that we were not invited here? Ward obviously rates him high, and would listen.”
    Stirring her tea thoughtfully, Rebecca admitted the logic of this. “If Ward followed de Villars’ suggestion that Mr. Melton be invited, he would—”
    â€œDo you know, I had quite forgot that,” Mrs. Boothe interpolated. “Lud! How ungrateful in me, when I should instead feel a kindness for the scheming rascal!”
    â€œShould you, dearest?” Rebecca chuckled at her aunt’s blushes. “I vow each time I looked your way, there were Melton’s eyes, fairly glued to you. Has he not so much as thrown out a hint yet?”
    â€œHe looks, and smiles, and sometimes seems about to say something