The Highlander Read Online Free PDF Page B

authority … or much in the way of confidence, for that matter.”
    â€œThat’s why it’s called acting,” Millicent prompted, moving to make way for Madame Sandrine as the tiny, dark-haired Frenchwoman bustled in with a basketful of frippery. Setting it down, the seamstress bent to check the hem of the final dress to be added to Mena’s new trousseau. “And I’ve found that, frequently, whatever you convey you can trick yourself into believing.”
    â€œMillie’s right, dear.” Farah abandoned her tea to a side table and stood to join her friend. “Often we must seem to have confidence, and in doing so it tends to appear.” Her clear gray eyes inspected Mena’s face with just the right mix of sympathy and encouragement.
    â€œYour wounds will heal,” Millie reassured her. “They already look much better. I think we’ve concocted a brilliant story with which to explain them.”
    â€œA brilliant story all around, I’d wager,” Farah agreed. “And this position is not forever. Dorian has already started on your emancipation from the insanity verdict, though the process is infuriatingly slow.”
    â€œLet’s go over the lines again.” Though she had the demeanor of a seductress, Millicent LeCour possessed the single-minded work ethic of an officer drilling a regiment. “What is your new name?”
    Mena took a deep breath, trying to be certain everything was stored correctly in her memory to match the entirely new persona Dorian Blackwell had created for her. “My name is Miss Philomena Lockhart.”
    â€œAnd where are you from?”
    â€œFrom Bournemouth in Dorset originally, but these past four years from London, where I was employed as a governess.”
    â€œI still think we should change her name entirely,” Farah suggested. “What about something rather common like Jane, Ann, or Mary?”
    Millicent shook her head emphatically. “She doesn’t look like any of those women, and I know that it’s easier to keep track of a lie if there is a shred of truth to it. She’ll answer to the name Philomena because it is her own. And it’s common enough. We selected Bournemouth because it’s near Hampshire, where she was raised, and she’s familiar with the town and can call it to memory if need be.”
    Farah considered this, tapping a finger to the divot in her chin before declaring, “You’re right, of course.”
    Miss LeCour’s ringlets bounced around her startlingly lovely face when her notice snapped back to Mena. “Whom did you work for in London?”
    â€œT-the Whitehalls, a shipping magnate and his wife.”
    â€œTheir names?”
    â€œGeorge and Francesca.”
    â€œWho were their children?”
    â€œSebastian, who is off to Eton, and Clara, who is now engaged.”
    â€œEngaged to whom?”
    Mena stalled, her eyes widening, then she winced as the bruise around her eye twinged with the movement. “I—I don’t remember going over that.”
    â€œThat’s because we didn’t.” The actress selected another truffle with the patient consideration of a chess master. “I was demonstrating that you’re sometimes going to have to improvise. Just say the first plausible thing that happens to appear in your head.”
    â€œMy head seems to be frighteningly empty of late.” Mena sighed.
    Farah made a sympathetic noise. “You’ve been under a lot of strain. Millie, perhaps she needs a break.”
    â€œNo.” Mena shook her head, receiving a sharp look from Madame Sandrine. Remembering herself, she stood as still as could be. “No, I’ll try harder.”
    â€œWhat is Clara’s fiancé’s name?” Millie pressed.
    â€œUm—George?” She plucked the first name that arrived in her head.
    â€œThat’s her papa’s name,” Madame Sandrine corrected