Once Beloved Read Online Free PDF Page B

London might be a thousand times larger than the tiny hamlet of Marksby, but it stood to reason that everyone would visit the Great Exhibition. Mere coincidence that, amid the throngs of thousands, she would appear before him. He wasn’t such a monster that he would resent aiding a person in need, even one so undeserving as that woman. Was he?
    Mr. Clarke swirled the liquid in his glass and nonchalantly said, “Now she has in mind that your heroic rescue of our friend, Mrs. Martin, needs grand and proper recognition. It would be best for you to concede with good grace and simply allow her to make a fuss over you. Dinner this evening or tomorrow, whatever suits you. And I must admit it would be a relief to have some masculine reinforcements when Mrs. Clarke has her sewing circle in attendance.”
    So this was how the affable man got on with his bold, outspoken woman—he acceded to her wishes whenever possible. Daniel could easily picture the cycle—she demands, he acquiesces, she advances, he retreats. Daniel knew that cycle all too well, knew too accurately what it was like to try to please an increasingly unsatisfied spouse. Another swig of port. If his mind continued to follow this path, the day would truly be ruined.
    â€œThat would include Mrs. Martin, I take it?” he asked. Under no circumstances would he break bread with that woman. Surely, she would be just as averse to the idea. The image of her insensible and so very fragile loomed behind his eyelids, sparking a contradictory impulse to see her again and make sure she was safe. He tossed back the remainder of his glass. His mind wouldn’t stop racing, diving down these unexpected and unwelcome paths. One moment he wished he’d never laid eyes on her, and the next he longed, however fleetingly, to see that she was intact. It must be the strain of this trip. Get yourself together, man.
    â€œUndoubtedly,” Mr. Clarke said. “Mrs. Martin is most keen to convey her appreciation as well. She cares deeply for her friends and watches over them all like a mama bear. But I suppose you don’t know about their little coterie.” The man stood abruptly, as if just remembering an important appointment. “I say, would you care for a stroll? I don’t suppose you’ve done much sightseeing. During one of the many recent episodes when Mrs. Clarke has sung your heroic praises, she has mentioned that you are visiting Town on business. I would be happy to introduce you to some of my colleagues who I expect to be out and about at this time of day.”
    He breathed an inward sigh of relief and agreed. He found the man’s demeanor puzzling, but this chance meeting could be a profitable turning point after all. A sorely needed spot of hope. Once they’d exited the building, he fell into step with Mr. Clarke easily, and they ambled toward Hyde Park. After talking perfunctorily about how Marksby weather differed from London’s, Mr. Clarke circled back to the topic of the little group of which his wife and Mrs. Martin were members—self-importantly called Needlework for the Needy—as if they’d never been interrupted.
    â€œShe’s known those women for a dog’s age, all fine and upstanding. I don’t know who you would have met. Obviously, there’s Mrs. Martin. You might have also seen their partner in crime, Mrs. Duchamp. She’s quite a bluestocking, that one. Widowed. Owns her own bookshop. Quite enterprising.”
    He could appreciate business acumen, but he wondered at Mr. Clarke’s admiring tone. Independent women . . . bluestockings . . . his wife had admired such women too. Mrs. Martin had apparently found like-minded women to reinforce her self-absorption. All the more reason to avoid her.
    â€œThe other member of their merry quartet is Mrs. Martin’s sister,” Mr. Clarke continued, “but I believe she’s had her hands full these last few weeks. Some minor