Patricia Wynn Read Free Page B

returning soon.” The old man seemed too tired to answer, but as he lifted a hand in farewell, his smile was peaceful. The two young people went out and closed the door.
    Shuttering his eyes to welcome sleep, the captain recalled Lord Harleston’s expression as he had gazed at Susan’s face. He chuckled softly to himself. No, he had not been wrong when he had written to Harleston. The young devil would have her back in England in a trice and settled comfortably as before.
    A twinge of guilt disturbed him momentarily but was banished. He had done what he could to deliver her into good hands.
     

Chapter Two
     
    Three weeks later, Susan was sitting in the parlour putting the final stitches in her mourning. She was already dressed in black. Her father had lived slightly longer than expected, and she reflected gladly that he had seemed calmer the last few weeks. Ever since Lord Harleston’s visit, she recalled. She wondered what the purpose of that visit had been, but all her father had said on the subject was that he had a yearning to see his old favourite before he died. Somehow Susan did not quite believe it. She still did not understand why Monsieur Rénard had written the letter, and she remembered her surprise upon answering the baron’s knock and finding such a handsome gentleman at the door.
    Her needle paused for a moment. Surely Lord Harleston’s hair was the fairest she had ever seen except on a small child. But where one might have expected to find blue eyes, his were a golden brown, and she suspected the sun would turn his smooth skin to a becoming bronze. Susan shook herself and took up her needle once again. Whatever could have turned her thoughts so strangely? she wondered.
    She tried to interest herself in her work, but put it down in another few minutes with a sigh. She really must confront Monsieur Rénard today. The captain’s funeral had been four days ago and it was time for her to be leaving. She could not impose on her father’s old friend any longer. Monsieur Rénard spoke often of an old debt, but that debt was to her father and had been amply repaid.
    Susan had had many talks with the bookseller about her future plans and he had promised to help her find a situation as a governess or an English mistress in a school, but so far he had not done so. When she had last spoken of it to him he had told her that he was almost certain of a position not far from Calais if she would only wait a few more days. But his delay caused her to worry that something had happened to cancel that prospect. She would have to talk to him about going to an agency tomorrow.
    A knock at the door took her by surprise, but she hoped that Monsieur Rénard had come at last with news of employment. Opening it, however, she was amazed to see her father’s friend Lord Harleston again.
    His large frame loomed in the narrow hallway as it had on the night of his first visit. The thought struck her that he was not so much big as tall and powerful with broad shoulders over narrow hips. He had swept off his beaver and the light of day gleamed on his fair hair.
    “Miss Johnstone?” he began. He smiled at her in such a way that she knew he had received word of her father’s death.
    “Lord Harleston —please come in,” she said, backing into the room. But as she moved she recalled his entry on the previous visit and quickly put up a warning hand. Smiling his thanks, but with a sheepish look, Lord Harleston ducked and missed hitting his head a third time.
    “I’m afraid you are come too late to call on my father,” she said without emotion.
    He noted it with approval. The black of her dress did nothing to diminish the dark gleam in her hair and eyes and, despite its sad purpose, became her well.
    “I know,” he answered, “I had heard. May I offer my condolences?” She nodded and he continued. “My business, however, is with you, Miss Johnstone. If I might have a word...” Susan gave a curious smile and indicated a chair,