Free The Last of Lady Lansdown by Shirley Kennedy Page B

down with this.”
    She accepted the cup and gazed at it uncertainly. “Brandy in the middle of the afternoon? Mama would be scandalized. I’m not sure I—”
    “If ever there was someone who could use a bit of fortification, it’s you. Drink up. It won’t kill you. In fact, it will doubtless do you some good.”
    She didn’t feel like arguing. She brought the cup to her lips and took a generous sip. Umm ... the fiery liquid slid down her throat, leaving behind a delicious trail of warmth and comfort. She took another sip, which felt even better than the first. “It’s good, although I mustn’t make a habit of it.”
    “I doubt you will end up a drunken doxy lying in some gutter,” he said with some amusement.
    “How very kind of you to say.”
    After the meal, she leaned back against the oak tree, totally content. “I’m reminded of when I was a little girl and my father used to take us on picnics. It was such a happy time.”
    Looking as contented as she, Douglas stretched his lean body full out and propped himself up on one elbow. Even at rest, he looks powerful . Her gaze locked upon the rich outline of his strong shoulders straining against the fabric of his open shirt. “Tell me about your father.”
    His request opened a floodgate of memories. While the birds chirped, the lazy river flowed by and a warm, gentle breeze ruffled her hair, she recalled her childhood. “My sister and I had a governess, but even so, our parents spent a lot of time with us, not like other parents you hear about who hardly know their children exist.” She paused and smiled. “Papa gave me a pony when I was six, then Beauty when I was twelve. My mother and sister didn’t care to ride, but Papa and I used to ride together all the time—every trail on our estate and then some. What fun we had! That’s why I’m so reminded of him today ... all the good times.” A sudden heaviness settled in her chest. “The good times don’t last, do they?”
    “What happened?”
    “My father started spending more and more time at his clubs in London. Boodles, mostly. Mama was aware of his gambling, of course, but little did she dream he was throwing every last penny away. After he fled to America, she ... well, she has never been the same.”
    Douglas nodded in sympathy. “I have seen more than one man gamble himself to utter ruin at the faro tables.” He gave a self-deprecating grimace. “I almost did it myself.”
    “What stopped you?”
    After a long pause, he sat up and leveled a gaze at her, unspoken pain alive in his eyes. “What stopped me? A little girl dying in my arms stopped me.”
    Of course, the accident. Her hand flew to her mouth. “How thoughtless of me to ask. I am sorry I reminded you.”
    “Don’t be.” He gave her a rueful smile. “A day doesn’t go by that I’m not reminded. I provided enough scandal to the wagging tongues of the Ton to last for years. What they don’t know is my life changed forever on that day.”
    “Were you arrested?”
    “Of course not. I was a man of rank and privilege, beyond reproach,” his voice resonated with bitterness and self-derision, “whereas she was only an orange-girl and orphaned besides, obviously a lesser being.” He paused and took a shaky breath, as if touched by some deep emotion. “I left London immediately. No great loss to the Ton since I was labeled as a worthless reprobate anyway,” he raised a cynical eyebrow, “which actually, I was. Since then, I haven’t held a card in my hand.” He raised the silver flask high. “I’ve rarely tasted spirits until today.”
    She pulled back in feigned concern. “Good heavens. Have I driven you to drink?”
    “No. My drinking days are done except for special occasions such as this.”
    “So where did you go when you left London?”
    “After the accident, I knew I had to get away, to escape the memory of what I did. So I went north and found work on a canal.”
    “Was it interesting? Did you get to steer