Cinders & Sapphires Read Online Free PDF Page B

room, and by that time she felt exhausted. She had never been close to her cousin William, but he seemed to have grown even more obnoxious, and Lady Edith even more irritating, in the ten years they had been apart. To make matters worse, her father was clearly angry with him, though she was not sure why. The atmosphere had seethed and bubbled over stilted conversation in the drawing room. It was a horrid situation. William was the steward and the heir, and Lord Westlake had been like a father to him and twelve-year-old Philip since their parents had died. For them to be at odds cast a shadow over her family’s return.
    She sighed as she sat down in the chair before the window. It was a small room, but it had the best view, across the lawn to the ha-ha and the deer park. The fire warmed it up quickly, and Ada found herself aware of a sweet, familiar scent in the room. It brought back memories of being a child and playing in the rose garden, with Georgiana and another little girl—what had her name been?
    She looked around for the source of the scent, and spotted it at once. On the dressing table, she saw, someone had placed a white rose in a silver bowl. It was simple but beautiful. All the light in the room seemed to be drawn into it, making it more luminous and larger, glowing like a pearl. Ada felt grateful to whoever had placed it there. It reminded her of the flowers placed at Hindu shrines.
    There was a knock at the door.
    “Come in!” Ada jumped up happily. Georgiana had found her, then. But the door opened to reveal a stern-faced woman in a black dress. It took Ada a moment to remember who she was: the housekeeper.
    “Yes, Mrs. Cliffe?”
    “I have a letter for you, my lady. It arrived this morning.” She offered Ada a silver tray, on which lay the envelope.
    “For me!” Ada was startled. There was no one who would write to her—perhaps a few friends from India, but none who would be likely to write so soon. She took the envelope. “Thank you.” She smiled, and noticed that though Mrs. Cliffe looked stern, she had very handsome blue eyes. At some point she must have been beautiful.
    As soon as Mrs. Cliffe had gone, Ada took her paper knife and opened the letter. She did not recognize the hand; it was firm and masculine. She scanned the single sheet of paper, and a line leaped out at her: I have the honor of requesting your hand in marriage.
    “What!” she exclaimed aloud.
    She dropped into her chair. The words blurred in front of her eyes. The first person she thought of was Ravi, and she had to read the name at the bottom three times before it sunk in. Douglas Varley.
    “Douglas Varley?” She still didn’t understand, and she turned the paper over, as if there might be some explanation on the back of it. Perhaps Varley was writing on behalf of his protégé. But no: how could she have expected that? Men didn’t marry girls they kissed. The thought was like a knife in her heart. She reminded herself that it would be impossible anyway, even if he hadn’t doubtless lost all respect for her the moment she allowed herself to give in to him. They were far too different in every way. She forced herself to read the letter through properly.
My dear Lady Ada,
    You may be surprised to receive such a letter from one who you no doubt consider a stranger. However, I claim a connection through my long-standing friendship with your father. I shall come straight to the point: I have the honor of requesting your hand in marriage. I shall be at your father’s wedding and shall expect to hear your answer then.
    I hope that my boundless affection and respect will encourage you to accept my proposal and become my wife, so that the ties between our families may become ever closer.
    Just a few lines, businesslike and brusque. As if he was offering to buy a horse, she thought, and crumpled the paper in her fist.
    She got to her feet and paced up and down, not seeing the room around her. It was inexplicable. Douglas Varley