The Peacock Throne Read Online Free PDF

not speak until she was once more composed. “As you pointed out, I can’t return to the Green Peacock.” She paused pointedly. “Fenn will be even angrier now. You must promise to write a letter of reference for me, and assist me in finding a suitable position elsewhere.”
    Anthony couldn’t blame her. A woman alone needed a mercenary edge to survive. What would he have done if their positions were reversed? The silence stretched between them. He narrowed his eyes and studied her, but she met his gaze, refusing to flinch or fidget.
    â€œI’m willing to agree to your terms.” He saw the girl exhale and realized she had been holding her breath awaiting his response.
    The horses rattled to a halt and Anthony stole a glance out of the window. “Ah, we’re here.”

    Lydia welcomed the cessation of movement. She had managed not to disgrace herself by fainting again, but the continuous jostling put her tenacity to the test.
    A footman hurried to open the door of the carriage and the young gentleman led the way. Lydia followed more slowly, her legs threatening to fail her. She clutched her ribs and tried to breathe shallowly. She must keep her wits about her.
    The grand houses on the fashionable cul-de-sac stood solid and graceful, guarding their quiet street from incursion by the unwashed masses. Even the air here behaved more genteelly than it did on Brant Street. The wind fluttered past like a fine lady in trailing lace, rather than darting and snagging at one like a ragamuffin.
    The gazes of several servants pierced her, and she imagined she could hear their disapproving thoughts. Using the handkerchief the gentleman had given her, she dabbed again at her face, trying to wipe away any signs of squalor.
    She kept her movements deliberate for fear she might break one of the treasures that graced the front hall. None of the fine houses she had visited as a child could compare to the elegance of this London mansion.
    The gentleman led the way to a spacious study. He motioned for her to sit, and seated himself behind the desk. Obeying gingerly, she tucked her skirts close. She didn’t want to sully the fine leather or beautiful carpets. She peeked at the soles of her shoes, hoping she hadn’t tracked anything disgraceful in with her.
    â€œCan you read, Lydia?” At her nod, he handed her a letter.
    She read the short missive and then, brow creased in confusion, looked up. “I don’t understand. Who is Jahan Pasha?”
    â€œI haven’t been able to determine that, but his letter arrived for my father on the day of his death.”
    Lydia glanced again at the letter, fingering the distinctive seal as if she could discern the answer to a puzzle from the ridges of wax.“I’m beginning to see. That morning—after they took his body away—I found a patch of wax on the hearthstone while cleaning away the mess. I thought it odd because we don’t generally have dealings with the type of people who can afford sealing wax this fine, nor is Mrs Wolfe one to pay for fancy wax candles when tallow will do. I didn’t assign any particular significance to it at the time.” She glanced back up at him.
    He half stood, palms flat on his desk. “Did you say Wolfe?”
    â€œYes.” Involuntarily she reared away from his intensity, wincing as she did so. “My guardian.” Deliberately she sat forward again. She would not be intimidated by this man. Or, at least, she would not show that he intimidated her.
    He sat back down. “Mr Wolfe served as boatswain on the Centaur .”
    â€œYes. How did you know that?”
    He tried to hide a quick smile behind his hand. Lydia almost smiled herself. He had brought her to his home in order to interrogate her, not the other way around. He made no comment, however, but rifled through a sheaf of papers on the desk.
    â€œThe first I heard of Mr Wolfe was in a letter my father wrote to me on the