In My Wildest Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman,” Throckmorton said. “I’m surprised you don’t remember, Ellery.”
    Celeste allowed her eyes to twinkle at Throckmorton.
    The daughter had all the charisma of the mother. Mrs. Milford had had a bevy of admirers among the servants, and occasionally among the gentlemen visitors. Although she had been steadfast in her devotion to Milford, incidents had occurred . . .
    Was Celeste like her mother, unwavering in her fidelity? Like her father, dedicated to her work? Or was she nothing but a giddy girl, seeking only fun and a life of leisure? Testing her, he said, “The Paris art galleries are magnificent, truly the equal of any city in Europe.”
    Leaning toward him, she exclaimed, “Did you go to the Louvre? Most people love the Mona Lisa, but I adored the Egyptian antiquities. And the Greek marbles! Did you see the statues?”
    So she had a thought in her head. He didn’t know whether to be relieved she would be a capable teacher to the children, or disappointed that she would be all the more fascinating to Ellery. “I did enjoy the statues. I suppose you escorted your charges to the museums.”
    â€œOh, yes. And sometimes went alone.”
    â€œWhat charges are those?” Ellery asked.
    Throckmorton ignored him. “For the most part, the work must have kept you chained to the schoolroom.”
    She turned to face him fully, but she retained Ellery’s fingers in her own. “Not at all. The society there is much freer, less structured—a result of the revolution, no doubt. Monsieur et Madame Ambassador encouraged me to join their parties, and I met so many people—Eugene Delacroix, the painter. Monsieur Rendor, the Hungarian revolutionary. Monsieur Charcot, who hypnotizes peopleand makes them act in amazing fashions.” She smiled fondly, enigmatically. “And dear, dear Count de Rosselin.”
    Like a dog snapping a dangled bone, Ellery asked, “Who’s Count de Rosebud?”
    â€œRosselin,” she corrected placidly. “He is a gentleman of the old school, kind, generous, knowledgeable. He taught me so much—to enjoy life, to dress well, to cook, to laugh at myself.”
    â€œI hate him,” Ellery said.
    â€œHe is eighty-six years old,” she finished.
    Ellery stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed aloud, a burst of enthusiastic merriment that drew all eyes. “You’re a minx.”
    Time to dash some cold water on Ellery’s ebullience before they attracted too much attention. In as dry a tone as he could manage, Throckmorton said, “Well put, Ellery. I was thinking the same thing. Our little Miss Milford has grown up to be a minx.”
    Ellery’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Miss . . . Milford.”
    Celeste waited placidly for Ellery to make the connection. When he did not, she stopped the elderly footman to take a glass of champagne and a single ripe strawberry from the bowl on his tray. “Herne, so good to see you.”
    The footman reddened and shot a nervous glance at the brothers. “Good t’ see ye, Miss Celeste, lookin’ so well.” Giving way to joy, he grinned. “Lookin’ pleasin’!”
    â€œI had a good visit with my father this afternoon.” She looked sideways at Ellery, then back at Herne. “I’ll be down in the kitchen first thing in the morning to see the rest of you—Esther, and Arwydd, and Brunella . . . is Frau Wieland still the pastry chef?”
    â€œIndeed she is.” Herne grimaced. “Bossy as ever.”
    â€œLondon and Paris were wonderful, but I’ve missed you all so much.”
    At last, light dawned over Ellery’s perfect features.
    â€œThe gardener’s daughter,” Ellery exclaimed. “My God, you’re Celeste Milford!”
    Throckmorton had to admit Celeste handled Ellery’s dismay well, sipping her champagne while waiting to hear her fate.