The Prince of Eden by Marilyn Harris Read Free Book Online

"Not yours, Elizabeth. Mine."
    She seemed to digest this for a minute, her one good hand continuously stroking her damaged one. "And what am I to be doing there, sir?"
    "Whatever you wish," he said, then added quickly, "after a wash-up and a hot meal, that is."
    At length she went back to gaping, the fear in her face beginning to relax a bit. She giggled prettily. "I feel like a grand lady," she murmured, eyeing the interior of the carriage. "I ain't never been carried about so before."

    "You are a grand lady," Edward graciously replied and saw the becoming blush on her face and looked hurriedly out the window to relieve her of further embarrassment.
    It always pained him to see how Oxford Street had changed. Once an avenue of private dwellings, now it was an unbroken row of commercial shops. His house alone was the only remaining private establishment, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd have to sell and go somewhere else. Curiously, this was the one piece of property he had no desire to sell.
    He looked up from his thoughts and now saw it just coming into view, wedged tightly between plate-glass museums of capricious fashion, looking rather stodgy and stubborn in its sixteenth-century lines and angles. He leaned forward as the carriage drew up alongside the pavement, the shadow of the impressive structure devouring all, horses, carriage, and occupants. No, he would postpone as long as possible the sale of the grand old house which had been in his family for over three hundred years. He felt peculiarly at home with the ghosts who resided within.
    Then old John Murrey was there, opening the door. And he saw his friend, Daniel Spade, just coming through the arched doorway and down the steps, his face creased with concern.
    "Edward," he shouted, still coming forward. "Are you well? Did John Murrey wait all night for you? I sent a cab to Newgate this morning, but they said you had already left." Then the man was upon him and love was in full possession of Edward as he clasped Daniel to him and reassured him that he was well.
    "My God," Daniel muttered, seeing the small dried wound over Edward's eye. As Daniel examined the insignificant cut, Edward gave in to his small attentions and focused on the face of this dearest of friends. At times like now, in moments of fatigue and confusion, Edward had difficulty even remembering when this long relationship had started. They had played together as boys at Eden Point. Daniel's father, Jack Spade, had been Edward's father's loyal overseer, a mountainous, untutored man who had performed all the unpleasant tasks inherent in an estate the size of Eden. A mere two weeks had separated the boys' births, Daniel the older. But nothing had separated them since. They had grown up together, and they had been joined in 1810 by Edward's adored younger sister, Jennifer, who as soon as she was capable of steps had trailed mindlessly behind the two boys, dogging their every movement.
    At some point—Edward could not say exactly when—Daniel had fallen in love with Jennifer. Now one of Edward's fondest hopes was for a union between the two, thus legally binding Daniel to him forever,

    this friend who was more of a brother to him than his real one.
    While Daniel continued to examine the bruised flesh above Edward's eye, Edward found himself thinking briefly, sadly, on poor Jennifer, exiled to some school in the Midlands, a teacher of pianoforte. And he remembered as well the endless arguments that had raged between his mother and father on his choice of companions. But his father had been no match for the persuasive Marianne. And when the time had come for Edward to go up to Oxford, Daniel had gone with him, accepted on the strength of the Eden name and purse, not as servant, but as an equal. Unlike Edward, who had barely muddled through, Daniel had taken to his books like a thirsty man discovering a spring. He had come down with honors and a few radical and peculiar notions such as