Some Enchanted Evening Read Online Free PDF

menial work like sewing"
    "No." Clarice watched her younger sister and wished things could be different. She wanted Amy to be happy, to hold the position of honor she was born to hold. But Amy had been so young when they left Beaumontagne. She'd been only ten. At fourteen Clarice had been the second oldest, and she well remembered the protocol and the luxury, the duties and the joys. She missed it, but more than that, she wanted Amy to know what it really was to be a princess, to enjoy the privileges and treasure the duties.
    "Are princesses supposed to sell people products that don't work?" Amy demanded.
    Patiently Clarice repeated what she'd said so many times before. "We tried being seamstresses. We could barely make enough money to feed ourselves. We have to locate Sorcha, and together we have to make our way back to Beaumontagne and find Grandmamma."
    With a brutality she'd never shown before, Amy said, "She's dead. You know she is. Father and Grandmamma didn't mean for us to be on the streets. Sorcha is lost."
    Amy had spoken aloud Clarice's deepest fears, and the pain of those words made Clarice's breath rasp in her throat. "Papa's dead. We know that. Godfrey said so, and so did the papers in London . But the papers said Grandmamma is back in power."
    "And Godfrey said that Grandmamma instructed that we should not come back until she sent for us. He said there were bad people hunting us, and that we should hide until she placed an announcement in all the papers that it was safe to return." Amy's quavering voice recalled the fear of that time, when Grandmamma's favorite messenger had arrived at the school and sent Clarice and Amy fleeing while he took Crown Princess Sorcha to a secret sanctuary. "There hasn't been an announcement. We check every paper in every town, and you know Grandmamma. If she said she would put in an announcement, she would."
    "I know. I know." If there was one thing both girls comprehended, it was that their grandmother was a force of nature.
    "I tell you, everyone's dead, the bad people have won, and we can't go back."
    "We don't know that. Sorcha could already be there, waiting for us. I promise you'll love it. The palace is so beautiful, and you'll have the finest gowns and a beautiful pianoforte to play. . . ." Clarice's voice wobbled as she fought back tears,
    "Dear Clarice." Amy came to her at once and put her arms around her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I only wish we could stop selling ourselves like cheap —"
    Clarice put her fingers over Amy's mouth. "We're not selling ourselves . We're selling the creams Grandmamma showed me how to make. And the creams really are royal, and they are wonderful for the complexion, and —"
    "And they really don't make anyone beautiful. If they did, I wouldn't have to go into town a fortnight ahead of you, wearing a fake nose and white powder."
    "But for a little while they give the women hope. That's not so bad, is it?" Clarice cajoled.
    Glumly Amy replied, "Those people in England who want to hang you from the highest gibbet think so."
    "It was that awful man." Clarice set her chin. "That magistrate."
    Now Amy's ashen complexion owed nothing to white powder and everything to fear. She lowered her voice as if afraid of being overheard, and in Italian said, "He wanted you."
    "I know." Clarice walked a fine line. The wives wanted her creams, but the husbands held the purse strings, so Clarice had to be pleasant and charming to everyone, and at the same time never go over the invisible line that separated the lady from the fallen woman.
    Sometimes the men didn't see the line. Frequently they saw only an attractive young female living without the protection of a man. That made her easy prey — and Magistrate Fairfoot had more than one reason for wanting her dead. She had hurt his pride in every way possible, and even now, in her nightmares, she could see the gray towers of the fortress at Gilmichael clawing the bloodred sky, waiting to swallow her