Persuasion Read Online Free PDF

recognized her.
    And then she realized that he hadn’t looked at his infant daughter a single time.

CHAPTER TWO
    S IMON STARED BLINDLY AHEAD . He was seated in the first row of the chapel with his sons, but he was in a state of disbelief. Was he really back in Cornwall? Was he actually attending his wife’s funeral?
    Simon realized that his fists were clenched. He was staring at the reverend, who droned on and on about Elizabeth, but he hardly saw him and he did not hear him. Three days ago he had been in Paris, posing as Henri Jourdan, a Jacobin; three days ago he had been standing amongst the bloodthirsty crowd at La Place de la Révolution, witnessing dozens of executions. The very last one had been his friend, Danton, who had become a voice of moderation amongst the insane. Watching him lose his head had been a test of his loyalty. Lafleur had been with him. So he had applauded each beheading, and somehow, he hadn’t become physically sick.
    He wasn’t in Paris now. He wasn’t in France. He was in Cornwall, a place he hadn’t meant to ever return to, and he felt dazed and disoriented. The last time he had been in Cornwall, his brother had died. The last time he had been in that chapel, he had been attending Will’s funeral!
    And maybe that was a part of the reason why he felt so ill. Still, the stench of blood was everywhere, as if it had followed him from Paris. It was even inside the chapel. But he smelled blood everywhere, all of the time—in his rooms, on his clothes, on his servants—he smelled blood even when he slept.
    But then, death was everywhere. After all, he was attending his wife’s funeral!
    And he almost laughed, bitterly. Death had been following him for a very long time, so he should not be dazed, confused or surprised. His brother had died on these moors. Elizabeth had died in that house. He had spent the past year in Paris, where the Terror reigned. How ironic it all was. How fitting.
    Simon turned and looked at the rapt crowd, who was devouring the reverend’s every word—as if Elizabeth’s death genuinely mattered, as if she were not one more innocent, lost amongst thousands. They were all strangers, he realized grimly, not friends and neighbors. He had nothing in common with any one of them, except for his nationality. He was an outsider now, the stranger in their midst....
    He faced the pulpit again. He should try to listen, he should attempt to focus. Elizabeth was dead, and she had been his wife. The disbelief was almost stronger now. In his mind’s eye, he could see inside that coffin. But Elizabeth did not lie inside; his brother did.
    His tension escalated. He had left the parish within days of Will’s tragic death. And if Elizabeth hadn’t died at St. Just Hall, he wouldn’t have returned.
    God, he hated Cornwall!
    Not for the first time, he wished that Will hadn’t died. But he no longer railed against fate. He knew better. He had learned firsthand that the good and the innocent were always the first to die, which was why fate had just claimed his wife.
    He closed his eyes and gave up. His mind ran free. Tears briefly burned his closed lids.
    Why hadn’t he been the one to die?
    Will should have been the earl; Elizabeth should have been his wife!
    Simon opened his eyes carefully, shaken by such thoughts. He did not know if he was still grieving for his older brother, who had died tragically in a riding accident so many years ago, or if he were grieving for those executed by the Terror, or even if he grieved for his wife, whom he hadn’t really known. But he knew he must control his mind. It was Elizabeth, his wife, who was in that coffin. It was Elizabeth who was being eulogized. It was Elizabeth he should be thinking of—for the sake of his sons—until he went back to London to begin the dirty work of playing war games.
    But he just couldn’t do it. He could not concentrate on his dead wife. The ghosts that had been haunting him for weeks, months and years began to