The spinster and the wastrel Read Free Page A

spinster. Did you get a look at her? I knew my uncle to be eccentric, but not that he was a fool, too."
    "She does not look like the typical adventuress," Linton agreed. 'Too tall and skinny. And the way she dressed! Her clothes looked like rags hanging on a pole." He shuddered at the picture.
    "We plainly underestimate her charms or her abilities, since she was able to worm her way into my uncle's affections. I was never able to do it, even though I was his heir." He took another swallow of his drink, but this time the taste seemed as bitter as his memories. "She is obviously a dangerous woman, but she will discover I can be an equally dangerous opponent. This is one contest I do not intend to lose."

    Gkaptei &wo
    "\7bu inherited all the money!'* Lucille Downes's squeal JL of surprise sounded just like that of the pigs her fanner husband used to raise. In her late forties, her face was as round as her body, which she draped with ruffles and furbelows. The circle of her mouth copied her wide brown eyes as the woman stared at Annette. The shock registered on her face echoed the reverberations the new heiress still felt within herself.
    "I could not believe it either."* Annette told her companion.
    The two women were seated in the genteelly furnished drawing room of the cottage they shared. Despite the small fire flickering in the grate, the room remained chilled, and they sought both warmth and sustenance from their tea.
    After the vicar had passed away. Annette and her invalid mother moved from the church manse, but the new cottage s rent was a heavy expense. When Lucille was widowed, she. too, was required to move. Without a son to inherit the farms tenancy and no living daughter obliged to care for her surviving parent. Lucille was in desperate straits. She faced the dreaded parish poorhouse. When An-

    nette suggested they share the cottage's expenses and care of Mrs. Courtney, Lucille welcomed the opportunity.
    Annette had overheard her neighbors' puzzled speculation about the success of two such disparate women living in the same house. She knew she was renowned in Upper Brampton village for her managing ways. She met every one of life's hurdles with squared shoulders and a no-nonsense approach, while Lucille bowed before life's difficulties with a quiet resignation. Even though Annette could not understand her companion's approach, she had always been grateful for the extra care her invalid mother had received from the other lady. No one denied Lucille's generous heart.
    Now hope warred with disbelief in the widow's brown, puppylike eyes. "This isn't a joke, is it?"
    "I could not believe it myself, at first, but it is true," Annette assured her. "The solicitor wants to meet with me tomorrow to sign the papers."
    "How much money is there? There must be pots of it. Old Sir Nigel was such a miser."
    "That will be one of my questions to Mr. Keller."
    Lucille's sigh of satisfaction drew from deep within. 'To think you will never have to worry about the tradesmen again!"
    "You're right!" At the realization, the great burden of anxiety she had carried for so long slipped from Annette's shoulders with almost a physical lightening. A buoyant feeling of freedom now filled her.
    She looked around the small drawing room, where they worked to keep up the appearance of gentility. The dark wood furniture remained dust free because their labor was free. Expense forced them to do the light housekeeping, while relying on an intermittent maid to do the heavy

    work. Beautiful embroidery from the needle of her late mother adorned the seat covers. Although an invalid for many years before her death, Mrs. Courtney had left behind a colorful legacy of fabric that still surrounded her daughter.
    The small fire seemed more for show and to provide light in the winter afternoon gloom than for warmth. Setting down her teacup, Annette rubbed her hands, still chilled from the walk home. She stood, took some wood from the box, and built up the flame