Amanda Scott Read Online Free PDF

then, her eyes perfectly dry and calm. “But do you not think it was all very unfair, Aunt Emily?”
    “We must all feel that, my dear. Your father was very young to die.”
    “I don’t mean unfair for Papa!” Dolly exclaimed. “I mean for me! Why cannot anyone else see how dreadful it is for me?”
    She jumped to her feet and ran toward the house without a backward look, her dark-blue cloak billowing behind her, and Emily watched her go, making no attempt to call her back. A few moments later she got up and walked to the shore of the lake, where she sat upon her heels and drew off a glove in order to test the temperature of the water with her fingertips.
    The lake was icy cold, and when she reached the northern end, she discovered why. It had been created by damming up the tumbling little brook, and the water in the brook was extremely chilly. A triple-arched stone bridge, much more elaborate than the wooden one she had crossed earlier, spanned the brook where it fed into the lake, making it possible to cross back to the western side and the white-pebbled road. On the east side, several paths led invitingly into the home wood, including one which seemed to follow the course of the brook, but Emily, deciding to postpone her exploration of the woods and the moors beyond them until another day, crossed the bridge, completed her round of the gardens, and returned to the house.
    When she discovered that Meriden did not take a nuncheon with the family, she decided that nothing would be gained by putting off their meeting any longer. Directed by William, she approached the estate office, located at the rear of the house in a separate building near the stables, then hesitated when she saw Oliver rush precipitately out the very door through which she intended to pass.
    The young man’s face was flushed bright red, and he looked to be both angry and on the verge of tears. When he saw her, he changed course abruptly and hurried away.
    Drawing a deep breath, Emily squared her shoulders and went up the stone steps to the door. Finding it ajar, she pushed it open before she could change her mind, and stepped inside.
    The office was warm and arranged in a utilitarian fashion with papers and books stacked neatly on the shelves that lined three walls. There were two desks in the room, one against the window wall that was piled high with ledger books, an example of which lay open with a quill thrown down across its pages. The other desk was larger and occupied space in the center of the room. Propped atop the welter of papers spread across it was a pair of large booted feet, crossed at the ankles. Although the door squeaked loudly at her entrance, the feet stayed where they were, and from behind the tall ledger propped open and upright on the knees beyond them came a deep, stern voice.
    “I have said all I intend to say on the subject, Oliver, so I will be grateful if you will take yourself off again without subjecting me to more of your infantile whining.”
    Emily said crisply, “I do not whine, Meriden, nor am I accustomed to being addressed by men from behind open books or with their feet rudely propped upon a desk. You will oblige me, sir, by attempting to behave in a more civil manner.”
    The ledger fell as the chair’s front legs and the booted feet crashed to the floor, and Meriden leapt hastily to his feet, his hands scrabbling to adjust his coat and neckcloth. He was two inches over six feet in height, and he was dressed in a dark-brown coat, white shirt and neckcloth, buckskin breeches, and topboots. His darkbrown hair was tousled, not as though he had spent hours creating the fashionable look, but as though he had recently shoved a hand through the thick locks in frustration.
    Although Miss Wingrave had previously expressed her approval of his looks, she knew that his was not the sort of countenance generally described as handsome, for his gray eyes were set too deeply beneath his thick dark brows. His nose, though