Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📕

“Dear Josette, is it not marvelous? Am I not the luckiest of women? He loves me, and now that I am independent, I may wed him without the shame of being penniless. My father did love me, Josette. He did.” The old woman became suddenly rigid in Elsbeth’s arms. She shoved the girl away and dashed her stiffened fingers across her forehead.

“Josette, whatever is the matter?” Josette’s face seemed to crumble, as if some great unknown force were collapsing her inward upon herself. The old woman whipped back her head and shrieked, “By all the Gods, no!” Elsbeth recoiled, staring dumbfounded at the old woman. Her mind had finally snapped, she thought, revulsion holding her silent. Then compassion filled her. “Now, Josette, you must speak to me. Tell me what is wrong.”

The old woman’s anguished cry sent Elsbeth staggering back. “No, you cannot wed him, Magdalaine, no. It is against God. It is against everything that is holy.”

“I am not Magdalaine, Josette. Come, look at me. See, I am Elsbeth, her daughter.”

Josette stared at her young mistress and began to shake her head back and forth, wisps of gray hair escaping from her mobcap and whipping across her thin mouth. She whispered in a singsong voice, “It is God in his final retribution. All is finished now. It is over. I should have seen it coming, but I did not.” She could no longer bear to see the eager, concerned young face, and turned away, shuffling from the bedchamber.

“Josette, wait,” Elsbeth whispered, not really wanting the old woman to come back to her. No, not yet. She felt gooseflesh rising on her arms and a knot of fear growing. The door closed and she was alone. Clumsily she dressed herself and coiled her black hair into a thick roll at the back of her neck. She shook her head sadly. Josette was quite mad, her mind slipped irrevocably back into the past. But why, Josette, your muttering about God and His retribution? Of course, you thought I was Magdalaine, but still, why would you say such a thing about my mother?

Elsbeth forgot her questions when she was told by Lady Ann that Lady Talgarth and Miss Suzanne Talgarth were expected momentarily for dinner.

Elsbeth silently bemoaned Josette’s strange mood that had left her to clumsily knot her own hair. Upon the arrival of Lady Talgarth and Suzanne in a flurry of sparkling jewels and clinging satin and lavender gauze, she patted her own black gown, aware that a small lump of jealousy had risen in her throat. She felt awkward and tongue-tied, as she usually did in the presence of the voluptuous and laughing Suzanne. She gazed at Lady Ann and Arabella and decided that all the Deverill women faded into insignificance in their unrelenting black.

She was cheered when, as they filed into the dining room, Gervaise whispered in her ear, “How very fragile and delicate you are, ma petite, not like that pink-and-white English cow. She quite offends me.” She wanted to yell that she loved him, but of course she couldn’t. She lightly slapped his sleeve. She heard the earl chuckle, and looked up to see his dark head bent close to Miss Talgarth’s golden curls. Her eyes flew to Arabella, and she saw with confusion that her half-sister was smiling openly at the couple. Why was she smiling? Why wasn’t she furious at Suzanne Talgarth? Elsbeth thought she would kill any woman who flirted with the comte the way Suzanne was doing with the earl.

It made no sense.

Excellent, Suzanne, Arabella was thinking. I could not have planned for a more effective diversion. Father was really quite wrong about you, Suzanne. Witless, missish little fool indeed. If he could but see you now, I would wager that he would be vying with Justin for your attention.

“I declare, Ann, what am I to do with my little girl?” Lady Talgarth was saying, the weary shake of her crimped sandy curls belied by the ringing pride in her strident voice. “All smiles she is, and happiness. Such a beauty, isn’t she? Those incredible dimples of hers, those eyes so blue the summer skies cannot compete. Two offers of marriage in her first Season, Ann, and my little girl keeps both gentlemen languishing.” She bent her penetrating stare down the table. “Arabella, surely you met young Viscount Graybourn? Such an eligible young man, to be sure. Why, his father is the Earl of Sanbridge, and quite rich, not that it matters, of course since her father and I just want our little girl to be happy.

And their houses—I was told that Lord Graybourn’s father owns five fine estates, scattered throughout England. My darling could live any place that pleased her at the moment. Is she not blessed?” Arabella blinked, sent Suzanne a quick look, and said, “Lady Talgarth, surely you are not speaking about that dear clumsy young man with no chin to speak of?”

Suzanne laughed, full and deep, not a young lady’s trained laugh, but a very real one that brought smiles to nearly every face at the table. “You see, Mama, Arabella quite agrees with me. You forgot to add, Bella, that at but twenty-and-five, he is already paunchy. I had it on the best of sources that the only reason Lord Graybourn rises before noon is that he is afraid that he will miss his breakfast. I’m told he adores kidneys. It is enough to make me flee to France in naught but my petticoats.”

“Suzanne! Well, now, not exactly that, I trust. That is hardly kind, my little darling. Really, now, just think of all those delicious gowns and jewels you would own. Just think about all those houses, five of them.

Spread all over our fair country. Five, Suzanne.”

“But I already own all the delicious gowns I could ever want, Mama. As for jewels—” Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t think I could bear to have to be nice to Lord Graybourn