Midnight at Mallyncourt by Jennifer Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

her dolls to that of real people.”
    â€œThat’s terribly sad,” I said quietly.
    â€œDon’t waste any sympathy on Lettice, my dear. At ten she’s already an accomplished shrew. On the rare occasions when she’s forced to abandon her dolls and join company she can be utterly scathing. She has no friends, naturally. The other children in the neighborhood detest her.”
    I was silent, thinking about this strange assortment of people I would soon be acquainted with. We had left the farmlands behind and were now passing through a wooded area, branches joining overhead to make a leafy green canopy through which only a few thin rays of sunlight sifted. Edward’s face was in shadow. He sat stiff and erect beside me as the wheels of the phaeton whirled over the hard uneven dirt road, the sound of the horses’ hooves echoing with the dense woods on either side.
    â€œIt’s a rather unusual ménage,” Edward remarked, almost as though he were reading my mind, “but you needn’t feel intimidated. I’m sure you’ll be able to hold your own.”
    â€œI wonder about that,” I said nervously.
    â€œYou’re no vapid, timorous maiden, Jennifer. You’ve got spirit. That’s one of the reasons I—er—selected you—” Although he couldn’t have cared less what the servants thought, he was careful to avoid saying anything that might have given away our game. The coachman might have been some mechanical robot perched up on the high front seat, but he could hear every word we said.
    â€œI hardly know what’s expected of me,” I said.
    â€œYou’re to be a well-bred, obedient wife, and you’re to charm my uncle.”
    â€œFrom the way you’ve described him, that hardly seems possible.”
    â€œThe old man still has an eye for the ladies,” he replied. “He may be on his death bed, but he still appreciates a beautiful woman.”
    â€œDoes he appreciate Vanessa?” I asked.
    â€œHe finds her amusing,” Edward said idly.
    â€œI see.”
    The woods were behind us now. We passed through two tall, weathered brownstone portals, a wrought-iron arch spanning across them with a large, ornate M worked into the center of the design. The road wound around splendid green lawns with tall, majestic trees spreading their boughs, and a few minutes later we passed under the archway of the weathered brown gatehouse elaborately decorated with pinnacles and strapwork. Ahead, beyond the deliberately untidy and multicolored walled front gardens, I could see the house itself. It was a magnificent sight, making a proud silhouette against the darkening sky. The rooftops were adorned with the same pinnacles and elaborate strapwork I had observed on the gatehouse, and the walls, once a soft tan, were now a streaked, mellow brown, the dozens and dozens of windows a gleaming silvery blue that reflected the last rays of light in brilliant sunbursts. I was amazed at its size, its imposing yet strangely unassuming grandeur.
    â€œQueen Elizabeth once stayed here,” Edward told me, “and Mary Queen of Scots was, briefly, a prisoner in the west wing, but I shan’t bore you with the history of the place. There are a number of books in the library you may consult if you’re interested. It’s a draughty pile, impossible to heat properly, an aged dinosaur of a house incredibly surviving the centuries and totally incongruous in this day and age.”
    â€œIt’s—beautiful,” I said in an awed voice.
    â€œIt has beauty, yes, but it’s highly impractical.”
    â€œYou don’t love Mallyncourt?”
    â€œI have no love whatsoever for it,” he said, bored. “If I inherit, I’ll sell. There are any number of wealthy Americans who’d snap it up without a moment’s hesitation.”
    I found this attitude incredible, but it was in keeping with his character. Family