Angel in Scarlet by Jennifer Wilde Read Free Book Online Page B

while I graded exams, and then we had our lessons.”
    â€œCould he read and write?”
    â€œBarely, but he was amazingly quick. Amazing ly quick, far outstripping all my other students in curiosity, native intelligence, aptitude. We had a most pleasant relationship for several years, Hugh absorbing learning like a sponge absorbs water. No one ever knew. It was our secret. I grew quite fond of the boy. He was always borrowing books, asking for more. Alas, he had to stop coming a year and a half ago—his duties at Greystone Hall left him no more time for the luxury of learning. He informed me of the fact with no little bitterness. I was sad to see the last of him.”
    I was sad, too, deeply touched by what my father had told me. He shuffled some more papers and sat down at the desk, a wavering ray of sunlight touching his brow, gilding his pale gold hair. He looked older then, weary, almost frail, and I felt a moment of terrible panic at the thought of someday losing him. The panic stabbed me, sharp as a knife, and I bit my lower lip, longing to rush to him and hug him and beg him never to leave me, then he looked at me fondly and smiled and everything was all right again.
    â€œA pitiful case,” he said, “a pitiful case indeed. Poor Hugh hasn’t had much chance.”
    â€œIt—it must be dreadful to be a bastard,” I said quietly.
    â€œI shouldn’t imagine it would be pleasant, people being what they are. Ours is a hypocritical age, Pumpkin. A hypocrite is something I trust you’ll never be.”
    I felt guilty then, for I had talked about The Bastard and made fun of him like everyone else. I shifted uncomfortably on the stool, holding the book tightly. Father looked at me with those lovely gray eyes, as though he could read my mind. I looked at the littered floor, studying the crumpled brown paper and bits of twine with apparent fascination, a slow flush tinting my cheeks. Father sighed and shook his head.
    â€œThere’s some question as to whether or not Hugh actually is illegitimate,” he said. “When Lord Meredith first came back from Italy with the boy, everyone assumed he had married the Italian woman. He was treated as a grief-stricken widower by one and all, and then he went to London and met the current Lady Meredith—a lovely thing she was then, cool and patrician and haughty as they come. But lovely, a vision of loveliness. When Lord M. brought her back to Greystone Hall, everything had changed. She was expecting a child, you see, and she wanted her son to inherit. Talk was that she had made his disowning Hugh one of the conditions of her marrying the noble Lord M.”
    â€œBut that—that’s dreadful,” I said hotly. “Disowning his own son, pretending he wasn’t his rightful—”
    â€œAll this was just talk, Pumpkin. No one knows for sure if there was a wedding in Italy or not. Hugh was given the name ‘Bradford’ and when Lady M. gave birth to a son he was declared heir. Hugh, perforce, was a bastard. People forgot all about that hypothetical wedding in Italy, assuming quite naturally that it had never taken place.”
    I found this quite fascinating, a bit confusing as well. Father picked up a paperweight and toyed with it as the sunlight grew dimmer and hazy shadows began to fill the room. I could smell Marie’s cooking and knew I would soon have to go set the table.
    â€œThe baby died a month later,” Father continued. “Lady M. was never able to bear another. Her looks faded fast. Drink had a lot to do with it, I fancy. When his brother and sister-in-law were killed in a boating accident in Cornwall, Lord Meredith brought his young nephew to Greystone Hall. Master Clinton will inherit the estate.”
    â€œAnd Hugh sleeps in the stables.”
    â€œAs I said, a pitiful case indeed. The boy is rightfully bitter. Legitimate or no—and he probably isn’t—he has been