Free Scarlet Lady by Sara Wood Page A

his conviction.
    He frowned at the floor and she felt certain that he had a good reason to be so confident. Her palms sweated and she rubbed them on her robe as she remembered her earlier suspicion that he wasn't telling her everything her knew.
    'Intuition,' he said, dissembling. 'It doesn't seem credible that your mother was married to him. Father told me that Vincente's wife was some society woman. She came from Britain, but she wasn't as poor as a church mouse. She... had money in her own right. I know your mother didn't have a penny. You told me. And the McKenzies told you that she had nobody to support her. It doesn't tie up with what we know of Vincente's wife. She fled from St Lucia and arrived back in England in some distress.'
    'So-?' she challenged, puzzled.
    'We look after our own, Ginny,' he explained. 'Vicente's wife would have been cared for. Your mother was on her own. For us there's an old-school network, a closing of ranks and a protection of one another. Even if Mrs St Honore's family disowned her—though I see no reason why they should—someone who'd known her in the social circuit would have taken her in, even as a governess or a companion.'
    'I suppose you can't have members of ancient dynasties dying before their time,' she said, feeling waspish about the British aristocracy.
    'Don't knock it,' he retorted curtly. 'It's a generous tradition and we're not the only community to practise it. Wouldn't Chas's wife be taken in by family, friends or neighbours if something happened to him?'
    'Yes,' she admitted reluctantly, thinking that the same wouldn't be true of the people in her line of business. Everyone lived for money and fame. There was no time for consoling those who'd fallen by the wayside. 'I suppose so—'
    'You do hate to admit you're in the wrong!' he said drily. 'Our community might be more scattered than Chas's, but it is intensely loyal. That's why we spend country weekends together. And why we meet regularly on social occasions. It renews our bonds of friendship and keeps them going.'
    'I remember,' muttered Ginny. Ascot. Gstaad. Polo at Cowdray Park. Ghastly weekends with nothing to say to anyone because she didn't know anything about fishing or hunting or shooting. Or the million ties that bound Leo's set. Horrible. She'd always felt like an exotic butterfly in a cage.
    'I accept that there's an instinct of group-preservation in what we do,' Leo mused. 'I find that laudable. Our families have a long history, Ginny. Only by cleaving together do we protect that history.'
    'Often at the expense of love,' she said quietly.
    Leo's eyes narrowed. 'It's easier if people from the same social group marry one another,' he said with chilling detachment. 'They know what to expect.'
    'I never fitted in,' she agreed levelly. 'Nor did I want to, to be honest. Some of the hallowed traditions are archaic! And you were so determined to be well- mannered that you didn't object when, for instance, we women were hustled out after dinners so you men could indulge in men's talk!'
    'I was brought up never to offend my host,' he said quietly. 'Should I have ruined everyone's evening and insisted you stayed?'
    'No,' she said hopelessly. 'It's the tradition itself that I can't stomach.'
    'Amber understands. She doesn't rail at the way other people live their lives,' he said in reproach.
    Ginny thought of Leo's father's red-headed goddaughter and sighed. 'Amber and I are poles apart,' she said wryly. 'She's mad about Castlestowe, for a start. Her idea of heaven is walking on the moors when it's raining. I can't be like her! I know you and she were virtually brought up together and you probably compare her with me constantly, but you shouldn't expect me to fit into your life the way she does! She was born to it. I wasn't.'
    'Ginny,' he said softly, 'it's over.' A spasm ran through her body, visible and mortifying. 'So,' he said with a brutal cheerfulness, 'you hate the British upper class but you're hoping to become