A Passionate Endeavor Read Online Free PDF Page A

passing his hand over his forehead. “And many a night my
sister and I were convinced it was haunted by the long-dead
religious, who, we guessed, frowned upon our escapades.”
    He looked at her with a slight smile and
continued, “I would hear my sister’s little bare feet padding down
the hall at a dead run a full half-minute before she would fling
open the door and jump into my bed,” he said, laughing. “She hated
to be separated from Edwin and me at night—left all alone in the
dark in a room down the hall and one floor above. Our nurse, who
was quite hard of hearing, slept in a small chamber off the room
Edwin and I shared.”
    He paused, and a shadow crossed his features.
His eyes became unfocused.
    “And then the day arrived when we were
caught. Her Grace arrived much later than usual one evening to say
her goodnights. She was very fond of… of children. Well, of her son
at least, and she made a habit of coming in every night to coddle
and kiss him goodnight, then sing a lullaby to him.”
    Charlotte was confused but remained silent.
She watched him swallow before continuing.
    “And of course, she noticed the large shape
in my bed, as Rosamunde had hidden, pressed against me, when Her
Grace had entered. There was quite the fracas. Rosamunde was
banished from being near me—a harsh punishment we managed to
circumvent often, but equally often received hefty punishments for.
My stepmother said it was—unnatural—our attachment.” He almost
stopped altogether, then added, “Perhaps she was correct.”
    Many moments passed before Charlotte knew he
was finished. “Her Grace is not your mother?” “Yes, well, she
tries to insist that we call her that, but no, she is not.”
    “When did you lose your mother?”
    “When I was six, and Rosamunde, three.”
    He had been almost the same age she had been
when her mother died in France. “I am sorry.”
    “So am I, Miss Kittridge, so am I,” he said,
looking down at her hand that had grasped his during the awful
story. He covered her fingers with his other powerful hand and
squeezed.
    “And your stepmother did not feel compelled
to show you and your sister the same affection she gave her son
each night?” Charlotte’s composure shriveled with anger.
    “No. But I could hardly expect it. I was not
her flesh and blood.”
    “You consider it normal to kiss and cuddle
one child while leaving the other half-orphaned child in a darkened
corner of a room with nary a word of affection?” Now fury was upon
her. “Your stepmother was wrong, you know. There is nothing
unnatural about two motherless children seeking comfort from each
other—especially in the pitch darkness of night, when fears run
amok in a child’s mind.” Charlotte stopped for a moment to collect
herself. “I’m sorry for my outburst.”
    “I am honored to have a defender.” He
appeared pleased by her spirited words. “I would have liked to have
you in my darkened corner, I think,” he said, his eyes crinkling in
the corners.
    She could not stop. “I myself spent many a
night in my father or brother’s arms when night fears took hold. I
was more fortunate than you. They never turned me away. Many would
say I was spoilt beyond redemption.”
    “I would not say you were poorly reared by
any means, my dear Miss Kittridge. Except when you are intent on
disobeying my every command,” he said, smiling.
    She opened her mouth to disagree.
    “Now you are not going to play the
contrarian, are you?” he interrupted. “I thought we made strong
headway today, against our poor start. Don’t you agree?”
    “Well… yes. In fact, since I am agreeing with
you in this case, I will be much obliged if you allow me to encase
your leg in this linen, stiffened with egg whites. I could not
obtain plaster of Paris, which is a new technique being used in
some parts of Europe now, so this will have to do.” She knew she
was rambling. She did it in an effort to avoid his certain censure.
“It will help