The Duke by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page A

I, for one, am going to be a rich and fine lady. Just maybe Percy will become rich. He’s very smart. You’ll see, he’ll be rich soon.”
    Constance whipped about, her dark hair swirling about her shoulders, and flounced away from the promontory back toward the castle. Even her walk was enticing, Brandy thought. Where had she learned that? She wanted to tell her sister that she didn’t want to stay here and rot either, that she too wanted to have a husband and a family. That she wanted to be a lady.
    She started to call after her sister, but Connie’s back was so righteously stiff that she didn’t bother. They’d just fight some more. That’s all they seemed to do recently—fight and snipe at each other. It had been different just two years before. How could she believe that Percy would ever earn any money on his own?
    She finally called out, nearly shouting over the rising wind, “Connie, wait for me on the path. I’ve got to find Fiona.”
    She saw her sister pause and turn about. She looked impatient, even to her tapping toe.
    Brandy hurried to the edge of the cliff and started down the winding, rocky path, careful to watch her footing on the treacherous rocks and pebbles. “Fiona.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and called her sister three more times. “Fiona!” Shelooked up and down the desolate beach below, searching for the bright red thatch of hair that topped Fiona’s head. There was no movement among the coarse marram grass that grew thick and sturdy amongst the rocks on the beach, and the only sound above the waves was the hoarse squawking of barnacle geese and redshanks, intent upon finding their dinner. Her attention was caught a moment by a large, bobbing porpoise, alternately skimming and floating on the white-tipped waves, oystercatchers dipping low over him.
    â€œBrandy, Brandy, here I am. Just look!”
    She turned about to see Fiona scurrying toward her up the path, her once neat braids hanging about her small shoulders in a fiery red, wet tangle. Her woolen gown was damp and clung to her skinny legs. Brandy didn’t doubt that the gown was thick with gritty sand.
    She forgot about scolding Fiona for getting so dirty when Fiona grabbed her arm and cried, “Did ye see him, Brandy? The porpoise? He’s been lying on his back ever so long. I called to him and I promise that he twitched his nose at me. Isn’t he lovely?”
    What was a sister to do? “Yes, love, I saw him. But he is gone now, searching for some abalone for his dinner. And that, little poppet, is what we must do. It is growing late and we must go back.” She ruffled the flying red hair and resolutely turned the child about.
    Constance was standing in the protection of a beech hedge, combing her black hair with her fingers. She gave an ugh of distaste at Fiona’s appearance. “Really, Fiona, ye look like a crofter’s brat. Don’t ye look at me like that, for I have no intention of brushing the tangles out of that rat’s nest of hair.”
    â€œI can remember when both of us looked just like Fiona,” Brandy said. “Don’t you remember, Connie,how we used to swim and gather driftwood and built sand castles? We used to sing all the old songs?”
    Constance looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
    â€œWe were children,” Constance said flatly. “Now we’re grown up, at least I am. I never want to be dirty again.”
    Fiona gave a secret smile to Brandy, a smile filled with wonder at the gray porpoise. Brandy doubted Connie had even heard her.
    â€œYe won’t have to worry about her, Connie. I shall make her presentable. Come, it is growing late.”
    They rounded a curve in the path that led onto the rhododendron-lined avenue. Penderleigh Castle rose before them like a giant gray monolith, its ancient stone gleaming in the dull gold of the setting sun. Constance paused and picked