True Story (The Deverells, Book One) by Jayne Fresina Read Free Book Online

single protest, even though the task of feeding and
cleaning them out soon fell solely to her— as she'd suspected it
would— because he found himself much too busy, and the dirt too
pungent.
    And that was not all. When a tree had
to be chopped down it was Olivia who tackled it with an axe to save
William's back and his coin, because the local woodcutter charged
more than her husband would pay for the service which "anybody
could do for themselves", and she found his inevitable need to
bargain far too humiliating.
    She'd dug an entire vegetable garden
without help, chased pushy tradesmen off the doorstep armed with
nothing more than an apple corer, faced bill collectors without the
slightest tremor— or ability to pay them, and had removed wasps
nests by herself. Subsequently tending to her own stings
later.
    So no, she was not squeamish .
    Jameson— poor, misguided fellow— had
no inkling of what he was up against.
    His gaze now filled with little
flames, reflecting the firelight and the glow of the lamps. Deep
lines carved into his skin shot outward from the corner of his eyes
like sunrays. "At least you're plain," he muttered. "That's one
thing they got right."
    She drew her toes even further back
under her chair and sat straighter. "Your master hired me to be
useful, not an ornament."
    "Are you sure? Doesn't sound like
him."
    "Never underestimate a plain woman,
Mr. Jameson. I am at peaceful liberty to do a great deal more
thinking about the world, and I never have to worry about the
arrangement of my face while doing so."
    He squinted at her, scratching his
chin with a rather long and disturbingly lively set of fingers.
"You'd better be damned useful. I hope, for your sake, you don't
disappoint the master."
    "He will have no cause to complain.
I'm a hard worker, diligent and efficient."
    "But the master can be a difficult
man. Hard to please. Demanding. Can fly off into rages if he
doesn't get his own way. Haven't you heard the things they say
about Deverell?"
    "I've heard plenty. None of it tries
my courage, only my willing suspension of disbelief."
    His lips couldn't seem to decide
whether they should turn up or down. "Sims was right, you are a
mouthy wench."
    "Sims? Is that the butler's name? He
didn't introduce himself."
    "I daresay he thought it wouldn't be
worth the trouble." He leaned across the table toward her. "Decided
you probably wouldn't stay long, but would turn your frilly little
tail and flee as soon as the tide goes out again."
    "Mr. Jameson, there is
nothing frilly about me. Have you naught else to do but sit here being
tiresome?"
    Abruptly he brought his palm flat down
on the table, making another loud bang that echoed through her
bones and was felt in the very balls of her feet. "Come then. Let's
get on with it."
    Thinking he meant to show her to her
room, Olivia got up again.
    But he remained in his seat. "Did they
tell you about the tradition of Roscarrock?"
    "What tradition?"
    His eyes narrowed. "A Jameson has
worked here, keeping the place standing since it was built. I'm the
last of the line, a lucky mascot of sorts. But I have to be kept
happy or else a dreadful fate will befall the residents of the
castle."
    Olivia wondered where this was heading
and had the distinct feeling it wouldn't be good for
her.
    "When a new woman sets foot on the
island she has to give Jameson a kiss." He sighed, flexing his
shoulders. "It's tradition."
    She promptly took her seat again.
"Such nonsense."
    The cocksure fool grinned, his eyes
gleaming wickedly. "In the olden days it was more than a kiss that
got sacrificed to a Jameson to keep bad luck at bay. Good thing for
you, we've moved on with the times, eh?"
    Olivia decided to finish her supper,
as if he and his suggestive remarks could not be heard. Sadly that
was easier thought than done.
    "Tell you what, woman, you and I will
wager how long you stay, before you've had enough of this place and
our odd ways and run back to Chiswick."
    "No, thank you. I