Twilight of a Queen Read Online Free PDF

was a sorrow in her eyes that haunted Meg.
    Meg tensed as she watched Jane vanish down the garden path. Suddenly the night shadows no longer seemed quite so peaceful or the rustling of the trees so friendly. Jane shouldn’t be out there, wandering alone. But then Jane did not know what Meg had seen in her last vision, because Meg had never warned her.
    With a wary glance at Aggie, Meg tiptoed about the bedchamber, scrambling into her boots and fumbling for her cloak.

     
    JANE DANVERS DRIFTED DOWN THE GARDEN PATH, TWIGS AND dead leaves crunching beneath her feet. She could almost hear the echoes of her old nurse’s voice scolding her.
    “Mind your shoes, Mistress Jane. Don’t stray from the path.”
    Despite how exhausted she was, Jane’s lips tipped in asad smile. Sarah’s advice had always been sound, full of a simple wisdom. Don’t stray from the path … perhaps if she had heeded Sarah’s warning, she would not be in her present predicament.
    Exiled. Penniless. Alone.
    The chill of the autumn morning penetrated beneath her cloak, causing Jane to shiver. The bed she had recently quitted had been warm, but it still held no inducement for her to return to the house. She was unable to sleep, her head far too full of unwanted thoughts, as crowded as an overstuffed wardrobe chest. What a pity that troubling reflections and memories could not be as easily discarded as worn-out garments.
    If she had experienced such an uneasy night in her house in London, she would have lit a fire in her antechamber and tried to lose herself in a book. Or retreated down to the great kitchen and allowed the old cook to fuss over her, prepare her a soothing cup of mulled wine.
    But Belle Haven was not Jane’s home no matter how often Ariane Deauville begged her to consider it so. Not wishing to be any more of a burden to Ariane’s household than she already was, Jane preferred to keep her restlessness to herself.
    She roved farther down the path until she found the bench tucked behind the massive oak tree, well out of view of the house. Brushing aside a scattering of damp leaves, Jane settled upon the bench, wincing at the feel of cold, hard stone beneath her.
    She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, consoling herself that it could only be another hour before dawn, thebeginning of a new day in which to arrive at some sensible plan for her future.
    Her future … Not that she expected much from that. By the age of thirty-two, most women were settled in life, with a hearth, husband, and family. She was childless, twice-widowed, and what family she had remaining were most reluctant to claim her.
    As Jane shifted on the bench, seeking a more comfortable position, she heard the crackle of the letter she had thrust into her cloak pocket. She wondered why she had not just tossed the missive into the fire. It had been humiliating enough to write to her cousin Abigail begging to be allowed to join the Benton household in Paris without the sting of Abigail’s repeated refusals.
    At least this time, Abigail had been honest enough to offer an explanation.
    My dearest Jane, as much as I feel for you in your present difficulties, there is little I can do to aid you. It is not convenient to receive you at this time. Our house here in Paris is overflowing with other English Catholic émigrés and frankly, cousin, you have acquired a most unfortunate reputation
.
    No one minds that you were imprisoned in the Tower and accused of conspiring to assassinate Elizabeth. Indeed, you would have been acclaimed a heroine if you had succeeded in ridding England of its heretic queen
.
    It is the fact that you were accused of sorcery that many, my own dear husband in particular, find
so disturbing. You were fortunate not to have been burned at the stake, but George feels you cannot be all that repentant. Else you would not have spent this past year dwelling on Faire Isle, which everyone knows is an island inhabited mostly by witches
.
     
    Jane experienced a rare