recognize by its exquisite lines and
elegant upholstery. A book on India lay on the table before her. Dark
green curtains, velvet and quite expensive, hung from the windows. A fire
warmed the room, crackling merrily in the hearth. The room, as comfortable and
cheerful though it was, bothered Alexandra. The fire, the way the
furniture was situated, even the tassels of the curtains, gave the impression
of being all too perfect. Staged. Nothing in the room showed the
least bit of wear. The room, immaculately clean, did not feel used or
lived in. It struck her that she saw nothing personal in the room. No
portraits of Runyon ancestors. No pipe or reading glasses. The
feeling of unease returned. Something was odd here, but she couldn’t
quite put her finger on it, and wasn’t sure she wished to.
She watched Mr. Runyon from underneath
her lashes, wondering again why he wished to marry her. It didn’t really
matter of course, since she had no intention of actually becoming his
wife. It was a pity, since Mr. Runyon would likely make an excellent
husband for any woman. He was kind, possessed a quick mind and wit and
was thoughtful and intellectual. Exactly what Alexandra, had she any
desire to marry, would wish for in a husband. She glanced again at the
too perfect room. An ugly thought crossed her mind. Stubbornly, she
pushed it aside.
Alexandra reached to the table before her
and casually picked up the book on India she noticed earlier. Flipping
open the front cover, she noted that the binding of the book was stiff, as if
it had never been opened. The sherry made her bold. “Are you enjoying
this book on India, Mr. Runyon? I’ve read several on the Far East.
The area is of particular interest to me. I’ve heard all sorts of tales
of Macao – what a wicked place it is. Have you –“
“Alexandra!” Her uncle
sputtered. His moon-like face took on a horrified look.
Mr. Runyon’s turned pale cold eyes to
her. A light purplish flush crept up from the top of his cravat, ruining
the perfection of his skin.
What had she said? Both men
regarded her as if she committed murder.
“I beg your pardon, Runyon.” Odious
Oliver apologized. “My niece speaks before thinking. This is what comes
from overeducating women. Letting them read and have opinions.”
Mr. Runyon took a deep breath and pinched
the bridge of his nose. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as if
composing himself before addressing Alexandra.
“Mr. Runyon?” She leaned forward in
concern. She put down her sherry.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” His eyes opened and
he smiled kindly. “My stomach can be contrary at times and I fear that
the sherry,” he swished the dark liquid in his glass, “does not agree with me
on an empty stomach. Shall we?” He stood and offered his arm to
Alexandra. “A bite of food and some of the excellent Madeira I’ve chosen for
dinner will no doubt put me to rights.” He patted her hand and leaned
closer. “And I find your opinions on everything quite to my taste.”
Alexandra stood and bit back the retort
she was about to fling at her uncle. She didn’t wish to upset Mr. Runyon.
Soon. Soon she would reach Mr. Meechum. Mr. Runyon would assist
her. Then she would be rid of Odious Oliver and return to her beloved
Helmsby Abbey. She lowered her eyes afraid her thoughts would show as she
allowed Mr. Runyon to lead her to the dining room, in as docile a manner as she
could muster.
***
What a lovely dinner! Alexandra
swayed slightly with the movement of her uncle’s carriage as they pulled away
from Mr. Runyon’s elegant home. The conversation over dinner ran the
gamut of politics, art and history. Alexandra delighted in showing off
her knowledge, especially enjoying her uncle’s discomfort. Oliver had
little to contribute. Her uncle was ill suited to any type of
conversation that didn’t involve food or drink. She knew he
elegant upholstery. A book on India lay on the table before her. Dark
green curtains, velvet and quite expensive, hung from the windows. A fire
warmed the room, crackling merrily in the hearth. The room, as comfortable and
cheerful though it was, bothered Alexandra. The fire, the way the
furniture was situated, even the tassels of the curtains, gave the impression
of being all too perfect. Staged. Nothing in the room showed the
least bit of wear. The room, immaculately clean, did not feel used or
lived in. It struck her that she saw nothing personal in the room. No
portraits of Runyon ancestors. No pipe or reading glasses. The
feeling of unease returned. Something was odd here, but she couldn’t
quite put her finger on it, and wasn’t sure she wished to.
She watched Mr. Runyon from underneath
her lashes, wondering again why he wished to marry her. It didn’t really
matter of course, since she had no intention of actually becoming his
wife. It was a pity, since Mr. Runyon would likely make an excellent
husband for any woman. He was kind, possessed a quick mind and wit and
was thoughtful and intellectual. Exactly what Alexandra, had she any
desire to marry, would wish for in a husband. She glanced again at the
too perfect room. An ugly thought crossed her mind. Stubbornly, she
pushed it aside.
Alexandra reached to the table before her
and casually picked up the book on India she noticed earlier. Flipping
open the front cover, she noted that the binding of the book was stiff, as if
it had never been opened. The sherry made her bold. “Are you enjoying
this book on India, Mr. Runyon? I’ve read several on the Far East.
The area is of particular interest to me. I’ve heard all sorts of tales
of Macao – what a wicked place it is. Have you –“
“Alexandra!” Her uncle
sputtered. His moon-like face took on a horrified look.
Mr. Runyon’s turned pale cold eyes to
her. A light purplish flush crept up from the top of his cravat, ruining
the perfection of his skin.
What had she said? Both men
regarded her as if she committed murder.
“I beg your pardon, Runyon.” Odious
Oliver apologized. “My niece speaks before thinking. This is what comes
from overeducating women. Letting them read and have opinions.”
Mr. Runyon took a deep breath and pinched
the bridge of his nose. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as if
composing himself before addressing Alexandra.
“Mr. Runyon?” She leaned forward in
concern. She put down her sherry.
“I’m sorry, my dear.” His eyes opened and
he smiled kindly. “My stomach can be contrary at times and I fear that
the sherry,” he swished the dark liquid in his glass, “does not agree with me
on an empty stomach. Shall we?” He stood and offered his arm to
Alexandra. “A bite of food and some of the excellent Madeira I’ve chosen for
dinner will no doubt put me to rights.” He patted her hand and leaned
closer. “And I find your opinions on everything quite to my taste.”
Alexandra stood and bit back the retort
she was about to fling at her uncle. She didn’t wish to upset Mr. Runyon.
Soon. Soon she would reach Mr. Meechum. Mr. Runyon would assist
her. Then she would be rid of Odious Oliver and return to her beloved
Helmsby Abbey. She lowered her eyes afraid her thoughts would show as she
allowed Mr. Runyon to lead her to the dining room, in as docile a manner as she
could muster.
***
What a lovely dinner! Alexandra
swayed slightly with the movement of her uncle’s carriage as they pulled away
from Mr. Runyon’s elegant home. The conversation over dinner ran the
gamut of politics, art and history. Alexandra delighted in showing off
her knowledge, especially enjoying her uncle’s discomfort. Oliver had
little to contribute. Her uncle was ill suited to any type of
conversation that didn’t involve food or drink. She knew he
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