Gene of Isis by Traci Harding Read Free Book Online Page A

assured her. It was a great honour for me to be on such intimate terms with the Dowager Countess Cavandish, for she insisted that in private I should use her name. ‘I know what is expected of me. I shall do my utmost to uphold your standards and excellent tuition.’
    She smiled a knowing smile that conveyed her great affection for me. ‘I know you shall, child. I hold no fear on that account. I would not even raise this issue with you if I did not know from my own experience how difficult and frustrating such concealment can be. You will become aware of injustice that you cannot correct without exposure to ridicule and ruin; souls you cannot aid without risk to your reputation; beings and entities you must ignore to save ending up in an asylum for the rest of your days. More than most women, your knowledge will be a prison to you, I fear.’
    The lady’s eyes had drifted to the fireplace, and there seemed a great sadness in her countenance, or was it empathy for the trying times I had ahead of me? ‘Perhaps I shall one day have the good fortune to be an independently wealthy widow, like you, Lady Charlotte.’
    The countess responded to my suggestion with a slight laugh, which caught in her throat and caused her to cough. She steadied herself. ‘My greatest wish for you, my dear, is that you find a kindred spirit to take for a husband and have a deep and lasting love for the rest of your days. For I was not relieved to be widowed, nor shall I ever regret my choice of husband.’
    ‘Forgive my presumption. I meant no disrespect—’
    ‘I know you did not.’ She held up a hand to silence my apology. ‘You have the great advantage to be capable of discerning a good soul at a glance. I pray that you use your gift to secure yourself the greatest happiness.’
    ‘And so I shall, Lady Charlotte.’ I smiled warmly to make light of her fears.
    At this point the countess was seized by a coughing fit, and I was given my leave of her.
    My mind was still mourning my impending departure from Neith Manor as I entered my room, which was dark except for the fire that was keeping the cold at bay. The news of my society debut had caused me to lose my enthusiasm for further study this evening. There seemed little point in lighting a candle, as they were expensive and not to be wasted.
    I found myself pondering my mother’s death from consumption many years before and I feared that Lady Charlotte would soon be taken from me in the same manner.
    My mother had been very close to death by the time I had made the journey from Scotland to be at her side, but in her delirious state she had told me something that I had long forgotten.
    ‘Through me you have inherited the royal blood of the Scots,’ she had said. ‘Never forget that, Ashlee.’ To understand why this fact should be foremost in her mind at this vital moment, I held her hand in an attempt to read the thoughts that her condition prevented her from conveying. But her illness and the subsequent pain prevented me from making any sense of her intent without injury to my own physical health in the process.
    It surprised me that my father had not taken himself another wife since mama’s death; a young woman might give him a male heir to carry the Granville name. Perhaps he was fearful of rearing another child with my extraordinary talents? A male child would be far more difficult to control, or be rid of.
    At this point in time, however, I felt that my bloodline could explain my love of the landscape here in Dumfries, which nearly rivalled my attachment to the library.
    ‘Perhaps I shall catch myself one of Scotland’s country lords,’ I mused, trying to cheer myself up. ‘Then I could spend the rest of my days in a place such as this and ignore society and its graces.’
    But I knew very well that no man of breeding with high social standing would remain in the country all year round. Only late autumn and winter, through to early spring, gave such solace—provided one