To Have and to Hold Read Online Free PDF

Mrs. Wade. She gave a little nervous laugh, then blushed beet-red when she realized he wasn't joking.
    As for the woman, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She might be embarrassed, and there might be a flicker of sympathy in her eyes for Susan's discomfort; but otherwise her reserve was too opaque to penetrate.
    "You'll have Mrs. Fruit's old rooms on this floor," Sebastian said shortly, suddenly out of patience with her unvarying reticence. "You'll dine with me tonight, and we'll discuss your duties. I keep country hours here—dinner's at six. Please be punctual. Susan, show Mrs. Wade to her quarters." Not waiting for an answer, he left the two women standing in the hall and went off to get a drink.
    *   *   *   *   *
    By six o'clock, he'd consumed enough rye whiskey to restore his good humor. He was hungry, and his French cook, whom he had brought down from the London house, had made spiced prawns, quails stuffed with cranberries and .truffles, and a fillet of beef. Sebastian took his seat at the dining-room table, waved away the footman and poured his own glass of wine, and sipped it thoughtfully while he waited for his housekeeper.
    By six-ten, she hadn't come. A bad beginning. He rang for a servant. Susan appeared, and he told her to go and fetch Mrs. Wade. She returned in five minutes with a message that Mrs. Wade was just coming. Sebastian grunted and drank more wine. Ten more minutes passed. He threw his napkin on his empty plate and stood up.
    Her rooms were in the far corner of the east wing, near the library and the musty, unused chapel. It was a long way, but there were only two turns; she couldn't have gotten lost. Was she primping? Vanity was the last vice he'd have accused Mrs. Wade of possessing. No one had lit candles in the long, windowless corridor. He was mentally cursing the incompetence of his staff and his own unexplainable impetuousness in hiring an incompetent housekeeper—when a soft sound halted him in his tracks.
    In her colorless dress, she was only a blur against the dark gray of the wall to which she seemed to be clinging. He went toward her until he was close enough to touch her. Close enough to smell the fresh scent of soap and water on her skin. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"
    "No, my lord, no, truly, I'll not ill." She spoke quickly, fearfully; if she were ill, she would lose her new "place."
    "What, then?"
    "Nothing, only a—a weakness, and it was just for a moment. Now I'm all right.''
    "Oh, I can see that." He could see very little, but there was enough light to make out the faint line of perspiration over her top lip. "How long were you in the lockup before your hearing today, Mrs. Wade?"
    "A day. And a night."
    "Did they feed you?"
    A pause. "Yes."
    "Mm. Something more than pilfered apples, I hope." She was incapable of smiling, or of acknowledging his jest in any way. "Permit me," he murmured, sliding his arm around her waist. If she'd been stronger, he was sure she'd have stiffened; but as it was she could only bear the intimate contact with a wan, speechless dignity. They began to move slowly down the hall, back the way he'd come. She kept her hand at her side, and sometimes he felt it brush against his thigh. She was tall, but so slim he could have gotten his arm around two of her. She felt a little boneless by the time they reached the main corridor; he stopped under the lighted sconce and looked down at her, keeping her in the crook of his arm. "Not going to faint on me, are you, Mrs. Wade?"
    "Oh, no." But her face looked pearly white in the candlelight, and she'd gone so far as to let her temple rest lightly on the shoulder of his coat. They stood still for a period of two full minutes. "I'm all right now," she said positively at its conclusion, pulling away from him to prove it.
    She looked a bit better, not quite so ghostly. He offered his arm; she took it, and they made a slow, stately procession to the dining room without further delays.
    He sat her at his