The Paradise Will Read Online Free PDF Page A

Deathridge, Flyte and Bartley, he cursed his luck at missing the appointment by a single day but was not unduly perturbed; he could wait a little longer for confirmation of his inheritance. The following morning, he shaved and dressed at an unusually early hour with the intention of going to Chancery Lane. However, when a letter was brought in by his servant, Piers smiled with satisfaction. It was obviously a legal missive containing the news he had been waiting for and, placing the unopened letter on the breakfast table, he indulged in some agreeable speculation as to its contents before breaking open the seal. As he read, his smile faded and his colour ebbed away. He scanned the contents again before screwing up the sheet and smashing a china dish into the fireplace with a strangled cry of fury.
    His servant, who unwisely opened the door to investigate, encountered his master in a towering rage.
    ‘Get out!’ he screamed, ‘Get out, damn you!’
    The man hastily retreated to leave Piers striding back and forth, grinding his teeth and muttering King Lear-like threats of retribution.
    When, eventually, his fury cooled and he had exhausted his vocabulary of curses and expletives, he retrieved the letter. Apart from requesting he call in Chancery Lane at his earliest convenience, the only other details were the amount of his annuity and that his cousin was to receive Hawkscote.
    ‘Of all the scheming, manipulative, wicked harpies !’ he cried.
    In his way, he had always been fond of his cousin but now he was staggered by the depths of her deceit. Alyssa must have secretly encouraged Tom to leave Hawkscote to her! Piers tried to collect his thoughts. The letter was dated only yesterday so Alyssa was most likely still in town. He needed to speak to her; he would get more information from his cousin than from a crusty old attorney stuffed full of jurisprudence. Recalling where she stayed on her infrequent visits to London, he collected his hat and left his lodgings for Flemings Hotel in Half Moon Street.
     

    A short time later, Alyssa, who was drawing on her gloves and about to venture forth to do some shopping, saw her cousin immediately he entered the hotel reception. Piers was dressed in his usual fashionable style, wearing an expertly cut blue superfine coat, striped waistcoat, buff-coloured pantaloons, Hessians, and a cravat tied in the most intricate arrangement she had ever seen. He noticed her and began to walk over, and Alyssa gave a little sigh of resignation. She was not surprised to see Piers; it was inevitable he would seek her out once he heard.
    She held out her hand and greeted him, observing a sulky expression marred his handsome features. ‘It is good to see you, Piers. You look well.’
    ‘No thanks to you and Uncle Tom!’
    ‘Whatever can you mean?’ she said, her eyes twinkling. She was unable to resist briefly feigning ignorance, even in the face of his fury. Piers generally projected an air of boredom and Alyssa was amused to see this replaced for once by honest, simmering anger.
    ‘Don’t play the innocent, Alyssa! I suffered the shock of my life an hour ago.’
    ‘Ah, you have received Mr Bartley’s letter.’
    ‘Yes, I’ve received the damned letter and I’m furious.’
    ‘Naturally,’ she replied, calmly. ‘Pray, do not let us stand here arguing. If you must raise your voice, we should move somewhere a little less public.’ She turned and led the way into the empty coffee-room which led off the hall.
    When they were seated and Alyssa had ordered coffee, she began, ‘I understand the news must have been a shock—’
    ‘Do you?’ he interposed, with a cynical sneer.
    ‘Yes. Indeed, it came as a complete surprise to me too.’
    ‘And you expect me to believe that?’
    She said curtly, ‘Let us have this out at the first, Piers. If you have accusations to make, do so openly! Having been subjected to Sir Giles Maxton’s allegations, I have no wish to suffer yours.’
    ‘Who in