Elizabeth Thornton Read Free

you when we broke our journey in London, but you weren’t there. You were at Giles’s place in Oxford.”
    “As you knew very well we would be,” exclaimed Lady Clivendon wrathfully. “That’s why you chose to go to Paris when you did.”
    This was true, but Abbie saw no reason to argue a point she could not win. She was more interested in Daniel’s remark that there was more to this family conference than her unauthorized jaunt to Paris, and shewas reviewing in her mind what else she might have done to incur her family’s displeasure. Only one thing occurred to her. They’d somehow got wind that she was setting up her own little business, buying and selling rare books.
    “I’d hardly call George a proper escort,” interjected Harriet at that point. “For one thing he’s too young, and for another, our baby brother is a bit of a loose screw. No need to look at me like that, Mama. We all know that George and Abbie take after our father. How else can we explain this harebrained trip to Paris? And where is George now? That’s what I’d like to know.”
    The trip to Paris, in Abbie’s opinion, was hardly in the same league as her father’s adventures. The great passion in his life had been to find the lost city of Troy. No one could convince him that it did not exist. He’d spent more time in Greece than he had in England. It was only after he died that they discovered he’d practically bankrupted them to finance his expeditions.
    Abbie said soothingly, “He met friends in Paris and decided to stay on. I told you that in my letter as well.”
    “That was weeks ago,” said Lady Clivendon. “He should have sent word to us by now, telling us what his plans are. Good grief! It’s less than a year since the French were at our throats. I can’t sleep well knowing that he’s in enemy territory.”
    “Mama,” said Abbie. “Paris is overrun by British visitors, and the French welcome them with open arms. It’s quite safe, I promise you.”
    “Safe!” scoffed her ladyship. “What would you know about it? I’ve lived in the world a good deal longer than you, my girl, so I think I know what I’m talking about.”
    This was her mother’s invariable reply whenever she found herself losing an argument, as everyone there knew. Abbie turned to Daniel expecting him to share in this privatejoke with a wink or a smile. He was reclining in his chair, studying her as though she were a strange species of insect he could not classify.
    “It was all very proper,” she told him. “We attended receptions at the British embassy. We met everyone who was anyone, the cream of society, in fact. And … and we went shopping, of course.” She did not mention that she’d shopped mainly for rare books to sell to her growing clientele in and around Bath and as far afield as Shropshire.
    “Oh, I believe you.” He smiled.
    The smile pleased her. Daniel was seven years older than she, and she’d always looked up to him. He was the Viscount Clivendon, the head of their family and he took his responsibilities very seriously. She was one of those responsibilities, or so Daniel thought.
    Daniel said, “At least one good thing came from your jaunt to Paris. Am I right, Abbie?”
    He was looking curiously pleased with himself and that puzzled her. “What?” she asked.
    “You were taken up by Hugh Templar.”
    “I was …?” Her voice trailed away as she pondered where Daniel’s thoughts had led him. “Hugh! Taken up by Hugh!” She laughed.
    No one laughed with her. They were looking at her solemnly, expectantly, and her own smile gradually faded away. “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “Hugh and I are friends, nothing more, so you can take that hopeful look off your faces.”
    “Friends?” Her mother’s brows went up another notch. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Men and women can never be friends, Abbie.”
    “That was in your day,” replied Abbie emphatically. “Things are different now,