The Midnight Rose by Lucinda Riley Read Free Book Online Page A

Rebecca.
    “Potatoes to you, dear.” Mrs. Trevathan smiled.
    “I’m not very hungry, so maybe just a salad?”
    “I see.” Mrs. Trevathan surveyed her with a beady eye. “From the look of you, I’d say you’re on a permanent diet. If you don’t mind me saying so, Miss Rebecca, a puff of wind would blow you sideways.”
    “I have to be careful, yes,” Rebecca answered, embarrassed by the woman’s well-meaning scrutiny.
    “As you wish, but you’d be doing a lot better with a proper square meal inside of you. Shall I bring supper up to your room?”
    “That would be very kind, thank you.”
    As the housekeeper left, Rebecca grimaced at Mrs. Trevathan’s instinctive knowledge of her eating habits. There was no denying that she watched everything she ate, but what could she do? Her career depended on her slim figure.
    She left the drawing room and walked into the grand hall to mount the wide staircase up to her room. Pausing, she looked up at the magnificent dome above her, the small panes of glass set into the edges of it sending shards of light onto the marble floor beneath her feet.
    “Good evening.”
    Rebecca jumped at the sound of a deep male voice and turned around. She stared at the man standing by the front door, dressed in an ancient tweed jacket and threadbare cords tucked into a pair of wellingtons. His wiry, unkempt hair was graying and needed a decent cut.
    “Hello,” she replied uncertainly.
    “I’m Anthony, and you are . . . ?”
    “Rebecca, Rebecca Bradley.”
    “Oh.” His eyes registered a flicker of recognition. “The American film star. They tell me you’re very famous, but I’m afraid I’ve never heard of you. Films really aren’t my thing. Sorry.” He shrugged.
    “Please don’t apologize, there’s no reason why you should have heard of me.”
    “No. Anyway, I must be off now.” The man shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. “I’ve got work to do outside before the light fades.” He nodded at her briefly before disappearing out of the front door.
    Rebecca crossed the hall and made her way up the stairs, admiring the oil paintings of the generations of Astburys which covered the wall. Mrs. Trevathan appeared on the top landing with a tray and followed Rebecca into her room.
    “There we are, dear; I’ve found you some soup and some fresh crusty bread and butter. Oh, and I gave you a slice of my Bakewell tart too, with custard,” she added, removing the bowl shielding the pudding with a flourish.
    “Thank you.”
    “Now, anything else you need?”
    “No. Thank you. This really is the most beautiful house, isn’t it?”
    “It is, dear, it is. And you don’t know the sacrifices that have been made to keep it either.” Mrs. Trevathan sighed softly.
    “I can only imagine. By the way, I met the gardener downstairs,” Rebecca added.
    “Gardener?” Mrs. Trevathan raised an eyebrow. “Downstairs, inside the house?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, we have a chap who comes in once a week to mow the lawns. Maybe he was looking for his lordship. Right, I’ll let you eat your supper in peace. What time would you like your breakfast tomorrow morning?”
    “I don’t really eat breakfast, but fruit juice and yogurt would be great.”
    “Well, I’ll see what I can do.” Mrs. Trevathan sniffed with obvious disapproval of Rebecca’s eating habits as she walked toward the door, but turned to smile comfortingly at the younger woman as she made her exit. “Good night, my dear. Sleep well.”
    “Good night.”
    Rebecca ate the flavorsome leek-and-potato soup and all of the crusty bread smothered thickly with butter. Despite herself, she was still hungry, so she tried a small spoonful of the strange dessert Mrs. Trevathan had left for her. Finding it delicious, she finished that aswell, then threw herself guiltily on the bed, knowing she mustn’t make a habit of devouring stodgy English food, however tasty.
    When her stomach had settled, she rolled off the bed and