The Legend of Lyon Redmond Read Online Free PDF Page A

Violet Redmond, and Lord Lavay had just married his housekeeper, Mrs. Elise Fountain.
    Olivia wasn’t certain whether she would categorize these events as rewards or as punishments.
    â€œOh, but Le Chat is a lawless pirate!” Mademoiselle Lilette exclaimed. “ Oui? Surely not a hero?”
    â€œNevertheless, I would like to shake his hand. For he seems to have found the only thing that vanquishes immorality and greed: fear.”
    â€œBut ’e might ravish you if you shake his hand. It is what pirates do, non ?”
    â€œWell, I couldn’t say for certain, as I do not move in the same circles with pirates.”
    Ravish . Another very French word.
    Another word that belonged to her past.
    Though the ravishing had been rather mutual, then.
    She only realized she’d stirred restlessly when Mademoiselle Lilette implored, “ Please be still, Miss Eversea.”
    â€œSorry, sorry. I haven’t heard of any new Le Chat attacks. Though I haven’t kept up on the news during wedding preparations, which have lasted nearly my entire life, by my calculations. Worth it, of course,” she added hurriedly, lest she wound any delicate dressmaker feelings. Ever conscious of how very fortunate she was.
    Mademoiselle Lilette clucked soothingly. “You will be so happy when the talk is of how beautiful you look in your dress. Perhaps Le Chat, the pirate, ’e is dead.”
    â€œSeems likely. I imagine most pirates go into pirating with the full awareness they likely won’t expire in their beds from old age.”
    â€œStill, if Le Chat is dead, your work is needed. For every woman should have passions. I am certain your fiancé the viscount admires this quality a great deal and feels himself fortunate indeed.”
    It was another particularly, irritatingly French thing to say. Passion.
    Another word that Olivia had managed to dodge for some years now.
    Passion was now synonymous with pain and she wanted none of it.
    â€œI don’t think my fiancé would consider it a . . . passion,” she said carefully.
    â€œNo? But surely such a thing is important to you? Your work weez ze poor, and such?”
    Mademoiselle Lilette sounded genuinely confused.
    â€œWell, certainly. But I suspect he categorizes it along with embroidery and pianoforte playing. He minds it as much as those things—that is to say, pays little notice. To him, it’s just . . . something I do.”
    â€œAh. Rather than something you are?”
    The dressmaker made this startling, incisive observation as casually as she’d pinned the next inch of hem.
    â€œ Oui ,” Olivia said finally.

Chapter 3
    â€œO LIVIA . . . I THINK THOSE are your brothers.”
    Colin and Ian Eversea were, indeed, standing in front of Ackermann’s Repository of Arts, looking conspicuous, both because they were so tall and handsome and so alike, and because they were having what appeared like an earnest discussion, perhaps even an argument, complete with emphatic hand gestures.
    Pedestrians eddied around them, heads turning to admire them as they passed. Her brothers would be turning heads well into their nineties, Olivia suspected. Her heart squeezed a little. She was so very proud of both of them. Both had been a bit wild when they returned from the war, and now both were happily married, Colin to the lovely Madeline of whom he was tenderly protective, Ian to the startling and very pretty American heiress who had caused an uproar in Pennyroyal Green and had, in fact, given even Olivia pause, which was very difficult to do, as Olivia’s social supremacy had remained unchallenged for a very long time.
    â€œYes. Well, it’s two of them, anyway.” Olivia thought their appearance was a little too coincidental. “You didn’t happen to mention to them that wemight be going to Ackermann’s, did you? When you stopped in at St. James Square.”
    She knew they were worried about her. They