Suzanne Robinson Read Free Page B

pavilion, called the Egyptian Wing, went down the corridor, and entered the library. Then she crossed the huge saloon with its domed glass roof. Beyond lay the vast entry hall built to resemble a Roman atrium with its twenty fluted alabaster columns, alcoves filled with Greek and Roman statues, and white plaster friezes of centaurs, trophies, and arabesques.
    She stepped carefully on the slippery Italian-marble floor and at last came out onto the Corinthian portico. Broad flights of white stone steps marched up to the portico on either side. Ludwig said the facade was made to resemble the buildings on the Acropolis at Athens. Statues of Venus, Ceres, and Bacchus topped the pediments overhead, and Georgiana looked out on a wide gravel drive and expanse oflawn. Down the avenue bordered with ancient oaks clattered a wagon pulled by four draft horses. Across the drive someone rode out of the trees along one of the riding paths. Georgiana waved at her aunt Lavinia, who waved back.
    She waited for the freight wagon, her hands clasped in front of her, on the portico. Her journey through the vast house would have been much more laborious and slow if she’d worn a crinoline. She would have had to maneuver it through doorways and control it on staircases, but today was a workday, and she wore a work dress. She had, in fact, two types of dresses: those made long enough to wear with a crinoline, and those fashioned to wear without one. When she worked in the Egyptian Wing, formality was cast aside, a luxury Georgiana had seldom experienced at home.
    For the first time since learning of Jocelin’s tragedy, she was happy. She was close to achieving independence from a father for whom she felt little but contempt. Ever since she’d pried Jocelin’s secret from her mother, her rage had been growing. Jocelin had been a youth when their uncle had approached him sexually. He’d begged his parents for protection, only to be blamed for lying. Brave, sad Jocelin had been sacrificed for the sake of the family reputation, cast out as an object of disgust by those who should have safeguarded him.
    When she’d learned the truth years later, she’d almost taken one of Aunt Lavinia’s shotguns to Uncle Yale. Aunt Livy had stopped her, saying that soon Yale would pay for his crimes in a grotesque manner—the progressive ravages of a disease visited on the promiscuous. Aunt Livy had refused to be more specific, butYale was disgustingly sick now, and the plague was eating his brain.
    Imagining Jocelin’s suffering shot a stab of pain through her chest, and tears stung her eyes. She had never been able to distance herself from the sympathetic pain. She had nightmares in which she imagined horrible things happening to Jocelin while she stood by, unable to prevent them.
    Georgiana swallowed hard and forced herself to think of more pleasant thoughts. She was most pleased at the understanding she’d reached with her father. Over the last year the duke had bungled his finances a bit, thus endangering the princely mode of living to which he was accustomed and to which he knew he was entitled. In return for the duke’s consent to the marriage, the earl would settle the bulk of Glairemont’s debts. She was mightily fond of Threshfield.
    He was her fellow conspirator, willing to help her escape from her bear trap of a family, and asking nothing in return. However, Threshfield felt that having to live for a few years with his odd, grasping family was the sacrifice of a saint. The memory of his caustic comments upon the various Hydes in residence brought a smile to her lips as the freight wagon drew slowly alongside the double staircase.
    The driver set the brake and jumped down, pulling off his cap and bowing. She listened to his description of the enormous effort he and his laborers had put forth in shifting the red-granite sarcophagus from the railcar to the wagon without damage. Walking around the wagon, she tugged on ropes and inspected the wads of