Love Bade Me Welcome Read Free Page A

remarkably little about it. I would make a friend of his half-brother, Homer, who resembled Norman enough to be entirely pleasing to me without in any way exciting those stronger feelings I had formerly enjoyed. He would be like a brother. While I stared unseeing at the reflection in the mirror, a discreet tap was heard at my door.
    “Come in,” I called.
    It was a female servant asking me if I could spare a moment to go to see Lady Blythe. I did not, at that time, think of myself as Lady Blythe. I knew she referred to Homer’s mother, and went with curiosity to meet her.
     

Chapter 2
     
    Lady Blythe the elder endeared herself to me at once by exclaiming, “Oh my,aren’t you pretty!” as soon as I stepped to her bedside. I have a little weakness for vanity, engendered and increased by my late husband’s high praise. Before Norman, I never considered myself beautiful.
    The dame had some fading traces of beauty herself. Her hair was gray, but the black hairs mixed with white showed it had once been ebony. The bones were superb—high brow, sculptured nose, high cheekbones, and a strong chin. The flesh was somewhat wilted, but the dark eyes were still lively, and the rouge pot had bestowed some temporary color to her face. She had performed a careful toilette: her hair was nicely groomed, and she had an elegant mauve mohair shawl around her shoulders. I was happy she was not a whining sort of invalid, as I had been imagining.
    “Do come in and sit beside me, my dear,” she urged, pointing to a chair. “These old eyes don’t see so far as they used to. I have a pair of spectacles, but am much too vain to wear them in front of a new acquaintance. Later on, you will see me in them.” They rested on her bedside table.
    “I am happy to meet you,” I said. She lifted her cheek to me for a little kiss. I was strangely moved by the gesture, I had never kissed a woman’s cheek before—had never had a good enough friend to do this. The cheek was smooth and soft, and a pleasant floral smell emanated from her.
    “And I am delighted to meet you, Davinia. May I call you Davinia? I have got our relationship all figured out. I am your stepmother-in-law. Isn’t that dreadful? Either title by itself is enough to sink me, but we shall forget all about relationships and be plain friends, if you please. Female company is sadly lacking in this house. My name is Thalassa. My mama ought to be horsewhipped for it, but I had an aunt by the name with piles of money, you see, who had to be catered to. She married a broken-down horse trader when she was forty years old, and left every penny of it to him, so I have had a life of suffering for naught. I call myself Thal, and hope you will do likewise. I was called Lassie when I was a girl, but never could abide the name. What do folks call you?”
    “Norman called me Davie.”
    “I shan’t trespass on that name,” she said, with great understanding. “We were all shattered to hear of Norman’s death. So sudden, and unexpected. What caused it, or is it too painful to talk about?”
    “Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away. Of course you are curious, and I don’t mind talking about it; Norman died in his sleep. The doctor thought it was heart failure.”
    “That’s all?” she asked, her mobile brows rising high.
    “What do you mean?”
    “He was young to die of heart failure! Had he had attacks before? Had he been exercising violently, under any great strain?”
    “No. He rode pretty hard that afternoon, but seemed only pleasantly tired at dinner. In the evening he worked on his book—on Roman antiquities in Britain, you know. He was quite an expert.”
    “He used to go on a dig once in a while with Jarvis. I remember once he brought me some bit of flint or an old coin to admire. He was not—now, pray do not take a pet, my dear, but he was not drinking heavily, by any chance?”
    “Oh no! A few glasses of sherry, drunk slowly during the course of the evening. Two, I think.