The Penwyth Bride (The Witch's Daughter Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the back of those almond eyes--apprehension? Fear? before she made an irritated sound and backed her horse.
    Satisfied, Roger then leaped down from his seat and came around to me. He reached up and I nerved myself not to shrink from him.
    He cocked a brow as if he read me all too clearly. I put my hands on his arms and allowed him to set me firmly on the cobbles. My legs shuddered, stiff and aching from the journey, and my foot was numbed. As Roger abruptly released his support, I stumbled.
    He caught me from falling again.
    “I am fine, well able to manage, thank you,” I said breathlessly, conscious of Susannah’s appraising eyes upon me. I took a brave step forward, found my balance, and then I made two determined strides away from Roger into the shade of the portico.
    From the back of her mount, Susannah’s lips curved into a thin smile full of contempt.
    Roger said, “Are you going to sit on your horse and watch, Susannah, or are you going to honor us with the merest of courtesies by fetching your mother to greet Miss Eames?”
    A purple flush suffused her, and I braced myself for an angry shriek. Instead she swallowed, slid gracefully from her mount, and approached me.
    “I have been unforgivably rude,” she said. There was a total lack of sincerity in her voice. “Come inside and rest. Mother is waiting for you, Miss Eames.”
    “Persia,” I whispered through dry lips.
    “Persia, then. Follow me.”
    She disappeared inside. I turned to pick up my birdcage and to thank Roger, but he had already climbed back into the waggon, and without another word to me, flicked his whip. The horses jolted forward, the black-and-white horse stepped out, and he was gone without a backward glance. My trunk and oddments of baggage were left in a neat row on the cobbles.
    Slowly I picked up Pretty Peter and followed Susannah into the welcome dark of the Hermitage.
    ###
    I was led through a busy kitchen into a long hallway, cool and dim and soothing, with modern wall sconces hung every three feet so that at night the way would be comfortably lit. Susannah paused in front of a closed door, and scratched at it.
    “Entrez,” came a female voice, and for one heartstopping moment I thought Sarah Eames sat on the other side before I remembered that the voice likely belonged to her sister. Susannah held the door open, stifling a snigger as I awkwardly limped past.
    I found myself in a bright room, unexpected after the dark hallway, where a soft eggshell blue stained the walls, complimenting the deeper blue of the satin upholstered furniture picked out in gold thread and gilt. A filigreed Chinese vase had pride of place on the gleaming round walnut table dominating the room, while the scent of lemon and fading roses filled the air. The room was tasteful and beautiful, as was the woman who rose from her seat at an escritoire, laying aside her quill.
    “Miss Eames, my dear, welcome.” Lady Jocasta Penwyth held her arms wide as she came to me, moving gracefully over the Turkish carpets, her passage muffled by the thick nap. She drew her cheek next to mine. “You look quite done in from such an appalling journey. Susannah, ask Jenny to bring in some refreshment. Sit here, Miss Eames, it is cool by the window.”
    “You are very kind,” I said, and I meant it. Lady Penwyth possessed none of her sister’s brusque efficiency or her daughter’s coarse rudeness. The faint image of Sarah Eames’ features could be discerned in the face of her sister, but where my stepmother’s lines were sharp and shrewd, Lady Penwyth’s had been softened by comfortable living. Her fashionable gown draped her plump figure elegantly, and her brown hair, dressed simply but in good style, retained much of the gloss of youth. I saw little of the daughter in the mother, except perhaps in the expression of the eyes, slanting brown crystal orbs of rare beauty. Both pairs were sizing me up as the maid brought in a tray.
    “I will only keep you for a moment, for