A Most Novel Revenge Read Free Page A

hostess. After all, she and Reggie Lyons had been lovers at one time. It had been my understanding that things had ended badly between them after the incident, but it would not be the first time a shattered romance had been rekindled. I didn’t have much time to process this thought, however, before she moved to stand before my husband.
    Her gaze moved over Milo in an appraising way. “Hello, Milo,” she said with a slow smile. “I would say you haven’t changed a bit, but that would be untrue. You’re even more handsome than I remembered. Your age suits you. I find very few men more handsome at thirty than they were at twenty.”
    She held out her hand and Milo took it, her fingers, tipped with blood-red nails, curling around his.
    â€œHello, Isobel. It’s been a long time.”
    Milo showed no sign of uneasiness, but he never did. I had been unaware that they had known one another. My husband was full of delightful surprises.
    She smiled. “Yes. Nine or ten years, at least. Funny how life brings people back around to you again, isn’t it? I shall look forward to getting reacquainted.”
    I wondered what exactly their past relationship had been. Both of them being exceptionally good-looking people, I had a fair idea. Milo would have been in his early twenties when they knew each other and Miss Van Allen perhaps thirty-five, but the rumor was that she had always preferred younger men. Reggie Lyons was, himself, at least ten years younger than she.
    â€œAnd I’m delighted to get to know your charming wife.” She turned her attention to me then, her dark eyes sweeping over me in an assessing, yet not unfriendly manner.
    â€œI’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ames,” she said.
    â€œAnd I you,” I replied, not really meaning a word of it.
    â€œYou’ve married a beauty,” she said to Milo, her eyes still on me. “Of course, it was only natural that you would.”
    â€œPerhaps Mr. and Mrs. Ames would like to see their rooms,” Reginald Lyons said stiffly.
    There was something odd about his interactions with Miss Van Allen, some strange sort of tension between them. It wasn’t just that he seemed uncomfortable with her rather forward remarks. Nor was it jealousy. In fact, it seemed clear to me in that moment that there had not been any rekindling of their romance. It was fairly obvious that he disliked her intensely but was doing his best to hide it. Why, then, had he invited to her to Lyonsgate? It was very curious indeed.
    *   *   *
    MILO AND I were shown to our adjoining rooms by a maid, and we did not have a private moment to speak about the encounter with Isobel Van Allen.
    I walked into my bedroom, and my maid, Winnelda, who had gone ahead early that morning with the luggage, turned from where she was hanging my dresses in the wardrobe. She smiled brightly when she saw me and came to help me off with my coat.
    â€œOh, hello, madam. I’m ever so glad you’ve arrived. This house is a bit frightening, isn’t it? I feel as though I might be trapped in some sort of fairy castle, with ogres and things lurking about. I didn’t much like to be alone here, without anyone I know.”
    It would have been a fitting setting for Winnelda, as she reminded me of a fairy, pale and petite, with wide eyes and platinum hair. In truth, her actions reminded me a bit of a woodland sprite, the way she flittered from one thing to another. She had become my de facto lady’s maid, and I had grown quite fond of her, in spite of her flightiness.
    â€œIt’s a charming house, though, isn’t it?” I said.
    â€œIt’s old,” she replied disparagingly, wrinkling her nose. That was one way of describing the grand Tudor architecture, I supposed. Winnelda had become accustomed to the modern conveniences of our London flat, and I very much feared she was becoming a snob.
    I took off my hat and gloves and