The Whispering Rocks by Sandra Heath Read Free Book Online Page B

wardrobe. “All these will be packed away soon, miss, so which one would you like to wear for the journey?”
    Sarah stared at the bewildering array of gowns which hung in profusion on countless hooks. The finest dressmakers in London had worked on the new Miss Stratford’s gowns, and the result was the envy of many an aristocratic lady; but to Sarah they presented merely another problem. Which was suitable for what? Which color was definitely not allowed before midday? Which hairstyle not suited to a particular kind of gown? And when finally she had arrived at the correct gown, which accessories did she put with it? Every day the same vexing matters arose, and every day she had to rely on Betty’s judgment.
    “Oh, Betty, you tell me! I’ve no idea. I doubt if I ever shall. Just make certain that I wear my mother’s brooch—the rest I’ll leave to you!”
    Betty took the amber pin from the dressing table and looked at it, frowning. “Sir Peter won’t like you wearing it; he says it’s not grand enough for his daughter.”
    “It embarrasses him because it was his only gift to my mother.” Sarah took a perverse pleasure in wearing the brooch before her father.
    Betty grinned and chose a dress, and soon Sarah was ready to go down the stairs for her final breakfast at Rook House. How she loathed these meals and having to sit with her father and his guests; at least during the hours between she could hide herself away. But soon it would all be over and she would be on her way to Mannerby. She sighed inwardly, remembering Paul Ransome’s savage whispering the day before.
    The chatter in the dining room died away as she entered. She moved to the long side table and took a plate from the warming tray, inspecting the vast selection of dishes which steamed invitingly. As she lifted a heavy silver lid, the strong aroma of kedgeree drifted upward. If there was one thing Sarah could not bear, it was the smell of fish first thing in the morning. With a clatter she dropped back the lid to seal in the smell, and the sound was like cannon fire in the polite room. She closed her eyes, cursing her gaucherie which made into a nightmare even a small task like choosing her breakfast.
    Edward was naturally delighted at this further exhibition of his cousin’s unease in her new surroundings, and he tried to catch his mother’s eye. But Hermione was busy with a full plate and ignored her son for once. Shrugging, he applied himself to his own meal, glancing now and then at his reflection in a huge mirror on the wall. The way he patted his bright golden curls was so narcissistic that Sarah wondered if he could ever manage to fall in love with someone else.
    She walked toward her seat, not bothering to look at anyone. She inclined her head coolly to the butler who hurried to pull out her chair for her.
    * * *
    The carriage which was to take her on her journey rumbled to the front of the house, stopping beside the moat, the horses stamping and snorting in the crisp winter sunshine. Sarah watched, noticing that storm clouds were once again looming on the horizon. Two horsemen rode slowly up toward the house and she soon recognized one as Paul Ransome.
    It was not long before he was shown into the dining room, where he took a seat and poured himself some black coffee. Edward paused in the act of touching his curls again, his eyes widening as he saw Paul’s reflection in the mirror. He turned swiftly. “Oh, I say, Ransome! What brings you here? Er ... how’s Melissa?”
    Paul seemed surprised. “She’s well enough, thank you.”
    Hermione glared ferociously at her son and he colored, continuing with his breakfast in silence. Sarah watched with interest. What had her cousin said that was so reprehensible? Hermione looked ready to strangle him.
    Sir Peter breezed into the room complete with new ebony cane from Bond Street, smiling benignly at his assembled guests. He was in an excellent mood and inclined to be garrulous, and soon the room