The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne Read Online Free PDF Page A

had.
    But how much was truth?
    “Oh, James, do you remember our cheerful girl?” Frances’ voice seemed to crack, a rare show of sentiment from the matriarch.
    His own throat grew tight. He resisted the urge to hook his finger into his cravat and yank it loose. Instead, he turned away, pretending to gaze out the window, but his eyes saw only Sunny and the wild, anguished look he’d seen in her eyes earlier today. His girl. His brilliant, sparkling girl. The tightness spread into his chest, and he took his next breath with surprising difficulty.
    What the devil had they done to her?
    Well, between Frances and Sunny’s parents, what chance had the poor girl ever had?
    For Christ’s sake, she hadn’t even been allowed a season.
    No free will to grow up and find her own life.
    He didn’t know all the details, of course, but he had gleaned enough years ago from letters and gossip and servants’ talk. Frances had first seen a fifteen-year-old Sunny at the Duke of Hartley’s parlor, at a dinner party meant to raise monies for her clergyman papa’s missionary work. Accompanied by her mama on the piano, Sunny had sung an aria in her sweet soprano voice with far more emotion than any girl so young should be allowed.
    She’d been merely passing pretty then, her face too thin, her mouth too wide and full. Yet, anyone who had ever heard Sunny sing would find themselves spellbound. Enchanted. Her quick wit, combined with a sweet innocence and the most radiant smile the Creator had ever gifted upon a female, had enabled Sunny to charm even the crustiest of hearts.
    Just being near her, people felt they were standing next to a star that had fallen from the heavens. She had sparkled that brightly. And yet, she was possessed of a rare humility, a deep sincere kindness. She was the most singular person James had ever known.
    He wasn’t the only one to feel that way.
    The daughterless Frances had been smitten almost instantly, and Sunny had quickly become her dearest companion. In no time, there was talk of the marriage of this common-born, dowerless girl to Freddy Blayne. When her parents had lamented her tender age and made clear that they planned to move away to India soon and had no wish to leave their youngest and dearest child behind, Frances had immediately offered them an outrageous amount of money to fund their work.
    Instantly, Sunny’s papa, a grandiose man James believed to be moved more by personal vanity than religious piety, had become an important man, with power and money to fund whatever missionary plan moved his fancy.
    But what of Sunny? She had been pushed and pushed, led along with heaps of obligations and gratefulness. Led to give all her loyalty to Aunt Frances. Led to believe herself in love with the likes of Freddy Blayne.
    She had rejected James.
    And so doing, she had broken his heart beyond all repair. Had shown him every fanciful, sentimental, mawkish weakness that had lain hidden within him, thereby forcing him to transform himself into something sterner, harsher than he might otherwise have been.
    Did he owe her scorn for that?
    Or gratitude?
    A memory of that pain wrenched through his gut, like swallowing a spoonful of ground glass. He fisted his hands, trying to block it out. It was no good, the feelings were just as vivid as though he had been transported back in time. God, that unbelievable, soul-hollowing pain, grief that could never be quenched by any amount of spirits or nights spent exhausting himself with nameless, faceless women.
    He tightened his fists, straining the cloth of his gloves. Anger at himself arose, bitter and hot as bile rising his throat. This was so unnecessary and far too dramatic a lapse in self-control. Unworthy of him. It had been years since he had allowed himself such a foolish self-indulgence as to remember.
    “James, you don’t know how I miss the old Sunny.” Frances voice, still shaking with emotion, cut jarringly into his thoughts.
    Strengthened by the anger at