The Secret History of the Pink Carnation by Lauren Willig Read Free Book Online Page A

need something nice and contagious.’
    ‘At least half a dozen people saw you running across the lawn in perfect health not half an hour ago.’
    ‘We’ll tell them it was a sudden case?’ Jane shook her head at Amy and handed her the peach gown. Amy docilely turned her back to Jane to be unbuttoned. ‘I haven’t the patience for Derek tonight! Not tonight of all nights! I have to plan !’ Her voice was slightly muffled as Jane pulled the clean frock over her head.
    ‘Why did it have to be a Thursday?’
    Jane gave Amy a sympathetic pat on the back as she began buttoning her into the peach dress.
    They would be twelve for dinner tonight, as they were every Thursday. Every Thursday night, with the same inevitable regularity as the shearing of the sheep, an outmoded carriage with a blurred crest on the side rattled down the drive. Every Thursday, out piled their nearest neighbours: Air. Henry Meadows, his wife, his spinster sister, and his son, Derek.
    Amy flung herself into the low chair before the dressing table and began to brush her short curls with a violence that made them crackle and frizz around her face. ‘I really don’t think I can take it much longer, Jane. Derek is more than anyone should be expected to bear!’
    ‘There are easier ways to escape Derek than to go chasing the Purple Gentian.’ Jane reached around Amy to pluck a locket on a blue ribbon off the dressing table.
    ‘How can you even combine their names in the same sentence?’ Amy protested with a grimace. Resting her chin on clasped hands, she grinned up at Jane in the mirror. ‘Admit it. You want to go chasing the Purple Gentian just as much as I do. Don’t try to pretend you’re not excited.’
    ‘I suppose someone needs to go with you and keep you out of scrapes.’ There was no mistaking the glint in Jane’s grey eyes.
    Amy leapt up from her stool and flung her arms around her cousin. ‘Finally!’ she crowed. ‘After all these years!’
    ‘And all our planning.’ Jane hugged Amy back exultantly. She added, ‘I do draw the line at soot on my teeth and Papa’s old periwig.’
    ‘Agreed. I’m sure I can think of something much, much cleverer than that…’
    Jane pulled back with a sudden frown. ‘What do we do if Papa says no?’
    ‘Oh, Jane! How could he possibly refuse?’ 

    ‘Absolutely out of the question,’ said Uncle Bertrand.
    Amy bristled in indignation. ‘But…’
    Uncle Bertrand forestalled her with a wave of his fork, sending a trail of gravy snaking across the dining room. ‘I’ll not see a niece of mine among those murderous French. Black sheep, the lot of them! Eh, vicar?’ Uncle Bertrand drove an elbow into the vicar’s black frock coat, causing the vicar to reel into the footman and the footman to spill half the carafe of claret onto the Aubusson rug.
    Amy put down her heavily engraved silver fork. ‘May I remind you, Uncle Bertrand, that I myself am half French?’
    Uncle Bertrand had little sense of tone or nuance. ‘Never mind that, lass,’ he replied jovially. ‘Your pa was a good chap for all that he was a Frenchman. We don’t hold it against you. Eh, Derek?’
    Derek smirked across the table at Amy. In his Nile green frock coat, he looked like a particularly foppish frog, thought Amy disgustedly.
    ‘If you feel the need to move about more, Amy, dear, you’re always welcome to call on us!’ chirped Derek’s mother from Uncle Bertrand’s right. Her double chins bounced with enthusiasm. ‘I’m sure Derek can find the time to take you for a lovely turn in the rose gardens – properly chaperoned, of course!’
    She waved a plump hand at the obvious proper chaperone, Mr Meadows’ maiden sister, commonly known as Miss Gwen. Miss Gwen responded in her usual fashion: she glowered. Amy supposed that if she had to live with Mrs Meadows and Derek, she would glower, too.
    ‘Oh, my love is like a red, red rose…’ Derek began, making sheep’s eyes at Amy.
    He was drowned out by his