Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand Read Free Page B

was heir; and Clarice did not care one way or the other.
    Nothing has changed, he thought. Nations rise and fall, and the Rands remain as predictable as ever. We continue as we did before, getting each others' backs up, thinking ill thoughts, nursing private wounds that we will throw at each other every time we are together. Next Lettice will give me an arch look and ask if I have heard the latest scandal about my former wife. We dig and hurt and pry and wounds never heal.
    Lettice looked at him and motioned to her sister to help her up again from her semi-recumbent position. "Poor man," she began, "you have only just returned, and there is more scandal. Did you know—"
    "Stop, Lettice," he commanded. "I do not want to hew any sordid anecdotes about Cynthia. She is no longer my concern."
    "I think she is your concern!" Lettice burst out. "She goes about the fringes of our circle, telling whoever will listen that you beat her regularly and"—she gulped and blushed—"and forced her into unnatural acts."
    Even Clarice's eyes widened at this news. Amabel sniffed at her own vinaigrette and looked everywhere but at her brother.
    Lord Winn rose and went to the window, wishing with all his heart to exchange rainy English skies for the heat and dust of Spain, just one more time. "Sisters, let us not split hairs. I should have beaten Cynthia regularly, but I never laid a hand on her in anger. Never. I do not prey upon women, no matter how they deserve it."
    "I didn't really think so, Winn," Amabel assured him.
    "And as for unnatural acts—"
    "Really, brother," Clarice protested quietly.
    "The only unnatural act I ever required Cynthia to perform was to keep within her quarterly allowance," he said, and then grinned into the window, in spite of himself. "I suppose that was an obscenity to her." He turned around to face his sisters, struck again, as he looked at them, how lovely they were, and how discontent. "And so, my dears, I trust I am exonerated?"
    Lettice nodded. "It is more than that."
    "It always is," he murmured.
    "My dear brother," she began, in a tone almost loving, "Cynthia does you such disservice. There is not a mother in London who would allow you to come within a furlong of her daughter. I do not see how you can possibly find another wife."
    He went to the door then and rattled the knob, giving any servants listening time to scatter from the hall. "As I have no urge to ever marry again, this concerns me not at all. Good day, ladies."
    The hall was a welcome relief, but it was only a brief sanctuary. The door opened and Clarice stood beside him. "Fletcher, surely you wish to leave all this to a child of your own someday," she said, gesturing grandly to the ceiling, the floors, and the wider world beyond.
    No matter his own disgruntlement, he could not overlook her obvious concern. Lord Winn touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "Why would I want to leave a child quarrels, pouts, and wounded feelings? No, Clarice, that argument does not move me. I shall remain childless."
    Clarice was not a Rand for nothing. She followed him to the front door. "Fletcher, you can surely find a woman to love you."
    He opened the door. "Ah, but can I find one I can trust? That, it appears, is the difficulty. Excuse me now. I think I will hide in the shrubbery until your sisters find some other target."
    Lord Winn strolled down the front steps, his hands deep in his pockets. He frowned up at the gray skies and let the misty rain fall on his face, then turned around and walked backward across the lawn, staring at his home and remembering his arrival, only weeks ago. He had taken up a traveling companion in London, a fellow officer heading home to Nottingham. It was an easy matter to travel that way; although he was not much of a conversationalist himself, Lord Winn did not relish long silences. Major Peck was pleased to chatter on about this and that as the miles rolled by. By mutual if unvoiced consent, both avoided the war.
    As they