Free The Heiress by Evelyn Anthony Page B

curtsied. ‘Yes, Madame, I will try to remember.’
    It seemed a very long time to Anne before she returned, but it was only a few minutes. One of the hall footmen had answered her question with a grimace. Monsieur had been out riding early. He was in the library if Madame wanted him.
    Charles was reading when she came in; he was sitting on top of the tall library steps, turning the pages of a book.
    â€˜Charles.’
    He looked up and then turned another page.
    â€˜I am reading,’ he said curtly. ‘What do you want?’
    For a moment she could not answer him; she felt her colour changing and all her happiness disintegrated in the second when she looked into the cold, disinterested face.
    â€˜You have a very good library,’ he remarked. ‘Thank God I shall have some means of passing the time here.’
    He put the book back and came down the steps; he was still in his riding dress, his boots covered with dust and the crop thrown on a chair. ‘That and your horses,’ he went on. ‘I’ve taken the black gelding for myself. No one is to ride him in future.’
    â€˜No,’ she said at last. ‘No one will, if that is your wish.’
    â€˜It’s my order,’ he snapped. ‘Well, I asked you what you wanted?’
    She came towards him; she felt sick, sick and desperately near to tears, and she knew instinctively that it was not the moment to cry in front of him.
    â€˜Has nothing changed between us, then? Last night—you meant none of it?’
    He sat down and stretched his legs out and laughed at her. It was not a pleasant laugh and there was no humour in it.
    â€˜What exactly do you mean by that; to which incident are you referring? The little lesson in obedience I taught you?’
    â€˜No,’ she said desperately. ‘I accept that, it’s past. But the other time. You were so gentle, I thought …’
    â€˜My dear Anne, I am not responsible for what you think,’ he said. ‘Are you so ignorant of men that you suppose they always behave in the same fashion. One must have variety, even with one’s wife. Come, don’t let’s embark on a sentimental scene; it would bore me to death. And I’m an unpleasant fellow when I’m bored. I shall see you at dinner. There’s a letter for you from my mother and one from Jeanne. I opened them, naturally, in case there was anything of interest to me. Both made me feel profoundly glad that they had the tact to take their leave so quickly.’
    â€˜How dare you! You have no right to open my letters!’ There was no danger of tears now; she was angrier than she had ever been in her life, her anger was that of a woman whose will had never once been thwarted, hereditary mistress of herself and the great Château and thousands of acres of land. Not even her guardian, the Comte, had ever committed such an outrage. She came very close to him.
    â€˜You have the manners of a lackey,’ she said. ‘If I were not your wife I’d call my servants and have you whipped out of the house. If ever you do such a thing again that’s exactly what I shall do!’
    Before he could answer she picked up the letters and left the room, slamming the door after her. For a moment Charles stayed on in the chair; he whistled a little tune to himself and smiled. At least she had some spirit in her. He could respect that, even though he intended to crush it. Still whistling, he climbed the library steps again and resumed his inspection of her books.

Three
    The atmosphere in the Salon d’Appollon was stifling; the King held his evening reception in the magnificent hall, one of the most splendid in all the superb salons and halls of the grands apartements of Versailles, but much of its beauty was hidden by the crowd of more than three hundred courtiers who pushed and trampled their way into it, fighting for places at the front where they could see the King and be seen by