The Missing Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page B

could fail to enjoy.
    Faro, unused to such luxury, relaxed happily against the well-upholstered seats which smelt pleasantly of expensive cigars. The horses trotted briskly down twisting tree-lined roads and lanes, all with a splendid view across the estuary to the hills of Fife, following a coastline which had seen a fair share of Scotland's turbulent history.
    Through Prestonpans, where Prince Charles Edward Stuart, victorious after battle, glimpsed through the mirage of destiny himself crowned king in Edinburgh. A mirage as false, alas, as the gold shimmer of the sandhills twisting through the bent grass by the shore. To their left the long white rollers moved in majestically to break in a gentle thunder upon the sandy beach. Above their heads the plaintive calls of seabirds, of curlew and sandpiper; while on the rocks seals raised their heads to stare lazily at the passers-by.
    Behind them a fast-retreating prospect of Arthur's Seat, a crouching lion rampant over Edinburgh Castle on its rock. Ahead of them, the skyline was now occupied by the glacial leftovers of the Bass Rock and North Berwick Law. Their more immediate horizons were obliterated by groves of sea buckthorns, those eldritch trees forever leaning against the wind in attitudes of intense desolation which even the sunniest day refused to dispel.
    This scene of melancholy was at last interrupted by the high gates and drive to a pleasing Georgian mansion which had replaced the original Lethie Castle.
    Faro nodded approvingly. He found its clear and stately lines pleasing, preferring both his architecture and his lifestyle to be kept as simple and uncluttered as possible.
    At his side, Vince smiled. He had long ago decided that his stepfather's everyday existence, dealing with the tortured minds of criminals, had influenced his aversion to the modern taste for Gothic architecture.
    Climbing to the front steps, they were met at the door by the butler and ushered up a grand oak staircase to their rooms.
    While servants brought in his luggage, Faro stared into the rose garden below his window. One of the best views in the house, he decided, with its tranquil outlook over the once magnificent Cistercian priory, now reduced to a solitary ivy-clad wall.
    Vince appeared at his shoulder and whistled appreciatively.
    'You did better than me, Stepfather. I only overlook the front drive.'
    Warm water and soft fleecy towels had been provided for their ablutions, and when Vince returned a little later, his stepfather was adjusting his cravat in the long mirror. Vince watched approvingly. For one who cared not a jot for how he looked or what he wore, Jeremy Faro would, as usual, be the most distinguished presence at the gathering downstairs.
    Vince sighed, tugging at his own cravat and wishing he had chosen a different colour. It didn't seem quite fair that his handsome stepfather should have this inbuilt flair for what was right, without seemingly paying such matters the least attention.
    'Shall we?' he said.
    As they descended the stairs, the murmur of voices indicated the drawing-room where the Lethies already mingled with their guests.
    Sir Terence and his wife Sara were an attractive, lively couple in their late thirties. Sara was known to be bookish and a supporter of good works. A necessity, Faro suspected, since her husband spent a considerable time in London and when he was at Aberlethie was to be found mainly on the golf course.
    They greeted Vince warmly and, Faro duly introduced, they were whisked in the direction of a group of men chatting near the window. There were no familiar faces for Faro. Most were his stepson's golfing acquaintances, and after the briefest and most perfunctory of greetings, Vince was speedily involved in the mysteries of handicaps and birdies, the tragedy of the rough and the language of the golf course.
    Faro had no part in this, and neither apparently had the golfers' female partners, who had long since withdrawn to the opposite side of