The Flood-Tide Read Online Free PDF Page B

beautiful,' Charles said. De Courcey nodded.
    ‘She was only twenty-five, poor child. She was much younger than me, all the children born between us having died; York has not been a lucky house. I named my daughter after her.' He smiled, and added, 'She is my first greatest treasure, you see. Or rather, you will see. She is resting upstairs but she will be down for dinner very soon.’
    Only moments later the door opened, and Eugenie-Francoise de Courcey came in. The two men stood, and Charles was introduced, bowed over her hand, looked into her eyes, and was lost. She was all in white - white lace over white silk, and white roses in her hair - a fit setting for her ephemeral beauty. She seemed to move as though drifting a little above the ground, her face as serene as an angel's, her gestures languid, as though she moved in an element apart from the common air. Her skin was transparently white, her glossy curls black, her features perfect, her eyes grey as rain, fringed with dark lashes.
    Charles was no fool. He was twenty-two, he had travelled the world and known women in many different countries. He could guess how much artifice went into the creation of an appearance of such simplicity, how much practice was needed before a woman could move with that natural grace, but it made no difference. She looked up at him gravely as he took her hand, and her lips moved a little, as if she was not sure whether it would be proper to smile, and his senses were ravished, his heart taken as neatly as a snared bird.
    *
    At Morland Place, that October of 1773 was unexpectedly warm and sunny, and the family were enjoying it by taking a long, leisurely Sunday walk about the gardens. Jemima, her hand tucked through Allen's arm, was savouring the bliss of having him back again. He was talking about Paris and Versailles, mostly for the benefit of Charlotte, who hopped about at his side asking questions; for Jemima it was enough that he was there, and while she felt the sound of his voice on her skin, she cared little what he talked about. William had drooped in the sunshine, and had been sent to sit in the shade, where Mary, with unexpected kindness, had joined him in exile and was telling him a long, involved story that required a great deal of gesticulation. Behind her, Jemima could hear Edward telling little James about school; ahead Flora walked on Cousin Thomas's arm, her enchanting little face tilted up to his in rapt attention, like a bird drinking from a flower. Jemima strained her attention for a moment to hear what Thomas was telling her that was so enthralling.
    ‘They're doing away with the old beakhead now, and Ariadne's to have a hull all in one piece. You can't conceive how it's been argued about, but to my mind there's no question that the new design is better, and in a few years they won't build ships any other way.' Flora nodded agreement, as if she had come to the same conclusion herself. Encouraged, Thomas went on. 'She can carry more sails on her bowsprit this way, and with headsails and staysails, and with her bottom coppered, there won't be a ship of her class she can't outrun - and she'll hold the wind better, and come round in half the time, which is most important.'
    ‘Most important,' Flora echoed, having only the vaguest idea of what he was talking about, but loving every word of it. ‘But can you be comfortable in your ship? Do you have your own room? And how does your cook dress your food? I suppose you must eat your meat cold when you are away from the shore?’
    Faced with such enchanting ignorance, Thomas drew her closer and set to with a will to tackle it, and their steps soon took them out of earshot. Charlotte had just dashed off to tell William what Father had been saying, and Jemima took the chance to say to Allen, 'What do you think of a match between those two? I think Flora is determined upon it. She makes herself a little obvious. I do hope he will be kind to her.'
    ‘Yes, I saw that he was under