Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) Read Online Free PDF

again and pushed Scorpius on, up the elm-lined drive to the house. Brambridge Manor stood ahead of him; built in the same stone that clad Exeter cathedral and had been quarried in the family mine not a mile away.
    It was beautiful; the stone glowed in the weak sunshine. It had been designed in the typical Elizabethan style of an E, with three wings. The roof on the west wing seemed to have bowed and ivy grew riotously around the house, smothering it in a strong grip.
    His surveillance was interrupted as the great oak front door opened, and a whirlwind cloud of flying muslin and black bombazine emerged.
    “James!” cried the young woman. “Oh James, you came!”
    James pulled Scorpius to a stop and dropped to the gravel. Catching the whirling figure around the waist, he looked down into her eyes. His sister had barely changed.
    “Hello, Ceci,” he said softly. “I'm sorry I'm late.”
    His sister gazed at him with large blue eyes framed by long quivering lashes. A tear rolled down her cheek. It was as if he had never left.
    “You came,” she said. “That is all that matters.”
    A forgotten pang of remorse gripped his chest. Cecilia hadn’t been involved in pushing him out of his own home. She had been the one to help him escape, ripping her petticoats and anchoring the makeshift rope of linen and clothes as he fled through the casement window two years before. Why hadn’t he written to her? It was hard to acknowledge that it had been easier during the hell of war to focus on the hatred for his father, and his plans for Brambridge Manor’s future, rather than on the only member of his family he had truly loved.
    “How is Mama?” he said simply.
    Cecilia hesitated. “She is better. Father’s death struck her hard. Edgar has helped.”
    James raised an eyebrow. “Edgar? What is Edgar doing here?”
    Cecilia visibly wilted and turned towards the house. “Mother and Father needed him. At least that was what they said. There was no one else in the family.” She paused and coughed. “No one else apart from me. He never left. He's been very good. As well as acting as the chief lace buyer in the village, he has time to manage the estate and oversee the mining interests for father.” Without looking back, Cecilia walked slowly up the steps. “I should say, had time.”
    Managed the estate? James turned to look back down the drive. Even from a distance it was evident that the gates hung at an angle and that weeds grew prolifically through the gravel. Cecilia pulled at his arm. They had been standing on the steps for a while. Shaking his head, he followed her through the front door.
    Passing through the oak-paneled hall, he looked briefly into the gallery and drew a quick breath. His lady was still there, the stars still glinting round her head. But this time she did not look out with benediction as she had done years ago. It seemed to James that her eyes glowed as if she was beseeching him to understand her. He flicked his eyes to the portraits of the male Stantons, their smirks as wide as ever.
    James blinked and looked away into the hall. Clenching his fingers, he reminded himself that the Stanton portraits would be the first to go. And then it would be the turn of his father’s study. He willed himself to turn to the door opposite, to open the door to the study. But his feet remained planted forwards in the hall. There would be time for it later. Taking a few hurried steps, he strode to the end of the hall.
    He took a deep intake of air as Cecilia paused outside the morning room. She turned to him with raised eyebrows. Letting out his held breath, he reached round her and pushed open the door. The atmosphere was oppressive; great velvet drapes hung across the windows blocking out the sunlight, whilst small tapers flickered in front of the Gothic mirror. His mother, clad severely in black, sat weeping in the corner, Edgar by her side. Seeing them enter, Edgar swiftly moved to greet him.
    “Hale, cousin.” Edgar