A Christmas Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page B

saw that many windows on the main floor were brightly lit. Perhaps they were dining, she thought with a shade of hope. Then she would have Bently take her upstairs and she could hide in her chamber. She knew she must make an entrance eventually, but she had far rather have the opportunity to repair what must surely be a disastrous toilette.
    Taking a deep breath, she dismounted, marched to the door and pulled the bell. It was some time before this summons was answered and, as she stood in the chilling wind, Fanny could not help but feel a little sorry for herself. Flops had almost immediately squirmed free of her grip and was now looking up at her in an exceedingly aggrieved manner, as if she were herself responsible for the snowdrift from which he refused to move. Indeed, she was just beginning to read him a scold when the door was pulled open and she was greeted by Bently’s quelling gaze.
    “I am sufficiently chilled already, Bently,” she told him in what she hoped, despite her chattering teeth, was a regal manner. “Do stop staring me out of countenance and let me come stand by the fire.”
    “My lady?” Only the merest suggestion of a croak in the servant’s voice revealed his amazement at her sudden appearance.
    “Yes, Bently. It is I. The prodigal returneth,” she said with a brittle laugh as she entered. Bently’s sober face betrayed not the least trace of curiosity, Fanny was relieved to note, although she would have been exceedingly surprised to detect any there. Bently was, after all, a model British butler: competent, correct, and utterly composed. In short, the sort of staid individual one wishes to see set upon by naughty children and large, boisterous dogs.
    “My carriage is bogged down in a drift some miles back,” she continued. “You must dispatch a party to help them and call a groom to see to my horse. Now, what has become of Flops?”
    By this time, however, Flops had already made his way boldly into the hall and was now industriously rolling on the carpet, drying his wet fur. As Bently went to dispatch a footman with her orders, Fanny looked about the entry way. It was hung with heavy garlands of holly and ivy. Red velvet ribbons held candles in place. Kissing boughs hung in every doorway. How welcoming it looked. How cruelly it twisted her heart. Apparently, everything went on, just as it had before.
    When the butler returned from his errand, he led her to the green sitting room where a fire was burning brightly on the hearth. This room, too, was lavishly hung with seasonal greenery. Clearly, the holidays were as much celebrated now as in her own time.
    “The family has finished dinner and are gathered in the gold salon. Shall I tell Sir Giles you are arrived, my lady?”
    “I think it would be wisest if I waited until morning,” she told him. An infinitesimal twitch betrayed Bently’s consternation at this suggestion. “Do not forget I am still mistress here. I shall take complete responsibility. Now, I should like to be shown to my rooms.”
    “I am afraid they will be quite damp, my lady. They have not been in use in . . .”
    “I know how long it has been,” she said quietly. “Just the same, I should like those rooms.”
    “I shall see they are prepared, my lady,” he said with a slight bow, “and I shall send Sally to attend you. Your trunks will be brought up when they arrive.”
    “Very good, Bently,” she said. “As soon as I have warmed myself a little here, I shall find my own way up the stairs.”
     

Chapter Four
     
    Lady Fanny leaned back against the chamber door and surveyed the room before her. One maid was already busily removing the Holland cloths from the furnishings while others quickly aired the bed and made it up. As she wrinkled her nose against the faint smell of dust and damp, she wondered if perhaps she should not have requested one of the guest chambers more currently in use. That she felt an overwhelming urge to sleep once again in her marriage