virtually no plot, seriously flawed pacing and a cast of characters even the best troupe of actors would be hard pressed to make interesting, would have to do.
The devil was close by and no one knew better than Laurence how wretchedly unprepared he was to do battle.
* * *
It was nearly two weeks before Joanna finished Volney’s Travels . The book contained a far more detailed account of life in that time than any of the other books she had read, but the fact she had made notes as she went along contributed much to the time it had taken. The author offered such fascinating insights into life in the Ottoman Empire that she had found herself reading many of the sections several times over. She could see why Mr Bretton had recommended it.
Equally aware, however, that she had kept it longer than intended, Joanna set out for Green Street the very next day. She had some shopping to do and so would not be taken much out of her way to return the book on her way there. With any luck, Mr Bretton would not be at home.
Joanna knew it was silly she should feel that way, but the truth was, she still wasn’t comfortable in his company. While she had moved past the issue of his not having told her the truth about his being a successful playwright the first time they’d met, she could not so easily dismiss the events that had taken place on the night of her father’s lecture. First the scene in the hall when Mr Bretton had taken her to task over what she had said about his not being able to be both a historian and a playwright—even though it was his omission of the facts that had caused the conflict in the first place—and then that disturbing interlude in the carriage on the drive home when he had displayed such kindness.
Joanna had not expected compassion or understanding from the man when she had talked about her mother, and his demonstration of both had left her feeling decidedly confused. So she had chosen avoidance as the way of dealing with him and had drawn out the time for as long as she could. But one could only hold on to another’s possessions for so long and, knowing she had gone past that point, Joanna set out, hoping simply to drop the book and leave.
* * *
Unfortunately, as so often happens when one has wishes to the contrary, Mr Bretton was at home and when Joanna was shown into an elegant drawing room, it was to see him seated at the pianoforte playing an extremely complicated study. She heard only a few bars of the piece before he looked up and saw her, but it was enough to give her yet another tantalising glimpse into the complexity of his character.
‘Lady Joanna,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Mr Bretton.’
At the same time, his sister, whom Joanna’s aunt had pointed out to her at Mrs Blough-Upton’s reception, rose to greet her. ‘Lady Joanna, how nice of you to call. I am Mrs Devlin.’
‘Good afternoon,’ Joanna said. ‘I hope I am not intruding.’
‘Not at all. I just came to pay a call on my brother and said how pleasant it would be if someone else were to arrive as well, and now here you are.’
It was impossible not to like Victoria Devlin. Her natural vivacity and bright, sparkling eyes were guaranteed to make a guest feel at ease and Joanna found herself smiling back at the lady as though they were friends of long standing. ‘I was en route to do some shopping and thought I would return Mr Volney’s book on the way. Your brother was kind enough to lend it to me and I have enjoyed it immensely.’ Joanna turned to look at the gentleman who was still standing by the pianoforte and said, ‘Forgive me for keeping it so long, Mr Bretton, but there was a great deal of material to be covered.’
‘No apologies are necessary, Lady Joanna, I was not anxious for its return,’ he assured her. ‘I have been reading Viagio che o fato l’anno 1589 dal Caiero in Ebrin navigando su per el Nilo .’
Joanna’s eyes opened wide. ‘By the gentleman who called himself Anonimo
The devil was close by and no one knew better than Laurence how wretchedly unprepared he was to do battle.
* * *
It was nearly two weeks before Joanna finished Volney’s Travels . The book contained a far more detailed account of life in that time than any of the other books she had read, but the fact she had made notes as she went along contributed much to the time it had taken. The author offered such fascinating insights into life in the Ottoman Empire that she had found herself reading many of the sections several times over. She could see why Mr Bretton had recommended it.
Equally aware, however, that she had kept it longer than intended, Joanna set out for Green Street the very next day. She had some shopping to do and so would not be taken much out of her way to return the book on her way there. With any luck, Mr Bretton would not be at home.
Joanna knew it was silly she should feel that way, but the truth was, she still wasn’t comfortable in his company. While she had moved past the issue of his not having told her the truth about his being a successful playwright the first time they’d met, she could not so easily dismiss the events that had taken place on the night of her father’s lecture. First the scene in the hall when Mr Bretton had taken her to task over what she had said about his not being able to be both a historian and a playwright—even though it was his omission of the facts that had caused the conflict in the first place—and then that disturbing interlude in the carriage on the drive home when he had displayed such kindness.
Joanna had not expected compassion or understanding from the man when she had talked about her mother, and his demonstration of both had left her feeling decidedly confused. So she had chosen avoidance as the way of dealing with him and had drawn out the time for as long as she could. But one could only hold on to another’s possessions for so long and, knowing she had gone past that point, Joanna set out, hoping simply to drop the book and leave.
* * *
Unfortunately, as so often happens when one has wishes to the contrary, Mr Bretton was at home and when Joanna was shown into an elegant drawing room, it was to see him seated at the pianoforte playing an extremely complicated study. She heard only a few bars of the piece before he looked up and saw her, but it was enough to give her yet another tantalising glimpse into the complexity of his character.
‘Lady Joanna,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Mr Bretton.’
At the same time, his sister, whom Joanna’s aunt had pointed out to her at Mrs Blough-Upton’s reception, rose to greet her. ‘Lady Joanna, how nice of you to call. I am Mrs Devlin.’
‘Good afternoon,’ Joanna said. ‘I hope I am not intruding.’
‘Not at all. I just came to pay a call on my brother and said how pleasant it would be if someone else were to arrive as well, and now here you are.’
It was impossible not to like Victoria Devlin. Her natural vivacity and bright, sparkling eyes were guaranteed to make a guest feel at ease and Joanna found herself smiling back at the lady as though they were friends of long standing. ‘I was en route to do some shopping and thought I would return Mr Volney’s book on the way. Your brother was kind enough to lend it to me and I have enjoyed it immensely.’ Joanna turned to look at the gentleman who was still standing by the pianoforte and said, ‘Forgive me for keeping it so long, Mr Bretton, but there was a great deal of material to be covered.’
‘No apologies are necessary, Lady Joanna, I was not anxious for its return,’ he assured her. ‘I have been reading Viagio che o fato l’anno 1589 dal Caiero in Ebrin navigando su per el Nilo .’
Joanna’s eyes opened wide. ‘By the gentleman who called himself Anonimo
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