Jennie About to Be Read Online Free PDF Page B

and now is owned by every moneylender in London.”
    Charlotte sighed. Jennie said to her, “All the really beautiful ones are flawed.” She thought of George Vinton, and sighed herself. If he was the best she could attract, she was a sorry lot. Not that she wanted any of these either; their horses were the best part of them. And if this wasn’t the last drive she endured in Uncle Higham’s maroon barouche, she was an everlasting disgrace to the name and memory of Carolus Hawthorne.
    A lady bowed graciously as her carriage rolled by; it was an elegant vehicle, with a footman on the box beside the coachman, and both in bottle green. Aunt Higham and Lady Clarke bowed in return, smiles stiff as grimaces, and then they turned to each other, both speaking at once.
    â€œHow she dares ! I shouldn’t have responded, but she took me by surprise! I feel quite soiled ! They say —” Lady Clarke honked discreetly behind her hand, Aunt Higham bent avidly toward her. Charlotte’s eyes ranged desperately over the traffic following and passing the barouche, as if she wondered which was permissible for her attention.
    Jennie’s head was hot in the small, tight straw, and its ribbons were scratching under her chin. Her hands burned in the gloves, and she was sweating inside the snugly buttoned pelerine. She wanted to rip off her gloves, she longed to unbutton at least partway before she suffocated or was steamed to mush like a haddock, but of course, that was unthinkable.
    This could be one version of hell, riding backward through eternity in a crowd of the other Damned, boiling in your stays and forbidden to move. She turned her head to the side where the traffic was least, in an attempt to isolate herself in a secret world away from the noise and the uncaring, unknowing faces. Mind over matter , she commanded herself. She tried to think of tranquilizing poetry, but even Mr. Wordsworth deserted her, and if she finished the drive with a blinding headache and had to go to bed, she’d lose her chance to get George Vinton alone tonight.

Four

    C HARLOTTE stiffened abruptly beside her, and a sharp little elbow knocked against her side. Was Charlotte also feeling ill? Then they could go home. With relief she looked around and saw the other three heads all turned like sunflowers toward the vision just coming abreast of the barouche.
    There was a strong whiff of warm horse and leather, a musical jingling as the big chestnut tossed his head against restraint, breathing impatiently, his eyes rolling; there was a high jackboot black and lustrous, a magnificent thigh in tight buff doeskin. All eyes rose devoutly past the deep-cuffed white gauntlet, up the blue sleeve past the thick gold epaulet, to the face that shown upon them. The rider removed the big black cocked hat with its red and white plumes and held it against his breast. His head was fair.
    If the others had been Phoebus, this was the Sun.
    â€œNigel, my love!” Lady Clarke’s raddled old face contorted grotesquely with joy. She announced him as if it were the Second Coming. “My grandnephew, Captain Gilchrist of the Royal Horse Guards!” Her eyes were wetly shining. “Mrs. Roger Higham.”
    â€œDear Auntie!” he replied in a pleasant baritone voice. “Your servant, ma’am.” He addressed Aunt Higham.
    â€œHow do you do, Captain Gilchrist?” There was something new about Aunt Higham, or rather something past: the ghost of the blooming country girl she’d been. Who knew but herself what other ghost this completely glorious young man had conjured up? She’d settled for Roger Higham, but in this moment Jennie saw the lost girl in her aunt’s solid flesh, and loved her as she never had before.
    The Sun shone impartially upon them all with a flash of beautiful teeth, an irresistible creasing of his fresh-colored cheeks. He had also a romantic cleft in his chin, which Charlotte would have seen