The Passion of the Purple Plumeria by Lauren Willig Read Free Book Online Page A

with soft dark hair, in a modest gray dress that matched the weather. She was a small woman, with the mushroom-like complexion of someone who had never encountered a tropical sun. She had identified herself as the French mistress, Mlle. de Fayette.
    She also looked distinctly wary. William supposed he couldn’t blame her, faced with a strange man holding a bouquet of battered flowers, standing at the doorstep. One couldn’t be too careful with a house full of impressionable young ladies.
    â€œI have the fear—,” she began, taking a step back. “That is, I am most desolate, but—”
    â€œIt’s her father, I am,” William said quickly. He swept a quick half bow, smiling to show her that he wasn’t a rake, rogue, or seducer, but just a parent come to call. “Colonel William Reid. Lizzy might have mentioned me?” He tipped the French mistress a wink. “Not that a mere father is much in the mind of a young girl.”
    If anything, Mlle. de Fayette looked even more distressed.
    Was he losing his touch in his old age?
    â€œColonel Reid,” she said, rolling out the syllables of the title in the Continental fashion. She twisted her hands together, pale against the dark material of her dress. “I am of the most sorry. Miss Reid, she is—it is of the most unfortunate!”
    â€œWhat’s she done now?” William asked resignedly. “In disgrace, is she?”
    That sounded like his Lizzy. He could hear the lamentations of his housekeeper back in Madras, ten years past, in different accents, but the same general tone. Lizzy had a way of wreaking havoc, but with a smile so sweet it was hard to take against her.
    â€œMiss Reid, she—” Mlle. de Fayette bit her lip, hard enough to leave a mark. “We would have sent the letter, but we did not know where—”
    The hairs on William’s neck prickled. This wasn’t just a case of Lizzy eating the jam out of the biscuits or trying to climb the trellis on a dare.
    â€œA letter?” he said, as casually as he could. “And what would that be about, then? She’s not got herself sent down, has she?”
    â€œNo, no. That is—” The woman in the doorway made a notable effort to compose herself. She pressed a hand to her lips.
    â€œThere, there. I’m sure it’s not so bad as all that,” said William reassuringly. “Whatever she’s done, I’ll see it put right. Now, what’s the minx done now?”
    â€œMinx indeed!”
    William’s head snapped up as a voice rang imperiously through the hall.
    A woman strode forward, wafting Mlle. de Fayette out of the way. The glass prisms on the wall sconces quivered with the force of her movement. Next to the diminutive French mistress, the newcomer looked like an Amazon, although a great part of her height were the tall plumes that curled from her elaborate purple turban.
    She moved with rangy grace, her skirts moving briskly against her long legs. Paris tailoring, unless William missed his guess, the material fine and cut narrow. An expensive rig for the proprietress of a young ladies’ academy.
    â€œAre you the parent of Miss Reid?” she asked in ringing tones.
    It felt like an accusation.
    William retaliated with the full arsenal of his charm. “I have that honor,” he said easily. “But I fear I haven’t yet the pleasure of your acquaintance, Madame—”
    The woman sniffed. It was a most effective sniff, conveying the full range of her displeasure. “Don’t call it a pleasure until you’ve had a chance to judge.” Using the point of her parasol, she neatly prodded the younger woman out of the way. “In or out? Make up your mind. You’re letting in the most appalling draft.”
    William chose in. The door snapped shut behind him. Mlle. de