Virginia Henley Read Online Free PDF Page A

myself a kipper. Who needs riffraffy servants anyway?”
    Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Eccentric as a bandicoot.”
    “I prefer a bandicoot to a mad bull. I’m sorry about last night, Alexandra.”
    “Why was he so angry with you?”
    “I never did find out,” Nicholas lied with a reassuring smile, “and Father doesn’t remember a thing about it this morning. A faulty memory is the sole advantage of drinking too much. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset by the incident.”
    “I’ve seldom seen Lord Hatton when he wasn’t angry with you. How do you tolerate him, Nick?”
    “He’s always worse around our birthdays—it’s the pain of losing our mother,” Nick explained, to excuse his father’s behavior.
    “He’ll be sorry when he recognizes himself in my roman a‘ clef !”
    Nick laughed. “Come early on Saturday, and pack some old riding clothes. You’ll find me in the stables.”
    “Where else?” she asked, her fond gaze lingering on the open collar of the linen shirt that displayed so temptingly his strong neck. “I’ll bring my sketchbook too,” she declared, knowing exactly what she wanted to draw.
    When Nicholas departed, Dottie came out of the kitchen carrying a frying pan that held a burned kipper. “I adore that boy—ah, if only I were ten years younger, I’d give the gels a run for their money with that Adonis.”
    Alexandra almost choked. If Dottie were ten years younger, she’d still be past fifty! Still, she had to admit, Nicholas Hatton certainly made a female long for a lover, no matter her age. She was becoming excited about the upcoming weekend. “I must think of a costume for the masquerade ball.” She had almost decided to disguise herself as a young man, since the guests would be less guarded with what they said in front of a male. “What about you?”
    “Oh, I shall go as a nun, of course. It will fool people into thinking I’m celibate.”
    This time Alexandra did choke, then had to pretend it was the smell of the burned kipper that made her gasp for air.
    “The young people today have no imagination. They are a wishy-washy, namby-pamby lot! Don’t ye know that fancy-dress balls were devised as a delicious excuse to wear inadequate, indecent garments? When I was younger, I wore the most scandalous costumes; one so daring it earned me the nickname Godiva.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “I wonder where that long, silvery-blond wig got to? Probably in a trunk in the attic. You could rummage about up there for a costume, Alexandra.”
    “I think I just might . . . after I’ve cooked you another kipper.”
    “Thank you, darling. You are an angel.”
    Later that morning, Alexandra carried an array of costumes to her bedchamber, while Dottie clutched an old ear-trumpet as if it were a priceless, lost treasure. “Pox take it, I shall have one of the most entertaining weekends of my life with this contraption!”
    Alexandra eyed Dottie warily. “As a poking device?”
    “No darling, as a provoking device! I shall pretend that I’ve suddenly been struck deaf. The party won’t be boring, after all!”
     
     
    On Friday, July 21, the day before his birthday, Christopher Hatton was pleased when a large wooden box was delivered, marked JOSEPH HEYLIN, CORNHILL, LONDON. Heylin was the maker of the finest holster pistols in England and Christopher guessed his birthday gift had arrived. Kit had a fine gun collection and was eager to add to it. He had dropped numerous hints to his father about the pair of sterling silver-mounted officer’s holster pistols he’d seen in Heylin’s workshop in Cornhill, and apparently the seeds he’d planted had borne fruit.
    It wasn’t until after dinner that Lord Hatton stood up from the table and announced, “Well, Christopher, if you’d like your birthday present, you’d better come out to the stables.”
    For a moment Kit wondered why the stables, then it dawned on him that he was most likely getting a new pair of