Twelfth Night Secrets Read Free

at this point aiming his gun at a skein of geese flying low in the dusk over the lake on the Devere estate. One bird, gallantly bringing up the rear at the long-drawn-out tail of its fellows, was falling behind, a perfectly isolated target for his lordship’s weapon. The Earl sighted, his finger resting on the trigger, but when he was certain the shot would have been a good one, bringing his quarry down onto the smooth waters of the lake, he lowered his gun. The pleasure was in the skill of a successful shot, not in the death of a creature that would probably not be good eating, anyway . . . too scrawny with the effort of keeping up with its peers. The young retriever panting at his heels looked up at him with an air of surprise and a certain resentment at having been deprived of her swim to retrieve a fallen bird.
    Julius patted the dog’s head. “Never mind, Tess, another day. One bird wouldn’t feed the Christmas table here, anyway.” He broke open his gun and unloaded it, before tucking it into the crook of his elbowand heading back through the lightly wooded copse around the lake towards the brilliantly lit gray stone pile of Charlbury Hall. The grass scrunched under his boots as the evening frost formed, and a cold wind knifed through his jacket, carrying the smell of snow.
    Charlbury Hall, which dominated the surrounding landscape from a small rise, was a glowing oasis floating in the gathering darkness. Lamplight shone in every window on the first three floors; only the servants’ attics were in darkness. The golden light flooded the neat green lawns, sweeping from the house to the lake, and illuminated the circular driveway in front of the great double doors.
    Those doors stood open now, and a carriage was drawn up before them. Footmen, shouldering portmanteaux and trunks, hurried up the shallow flight of stairs into the bright hall. Julius paused on the edge of the lawn, Tess at his heels, watching. He recognized the Devere arms on the panels of the carriage.
    So, Nicholas’s sister had arrived. He felt a quickening of interest. Nick had talked much of his sister, Lady Harriet, or Harry, as she was called by her siblings. He had painted a picture of a paragon of wit and beauty, and Julius was curious to see how much of that praise was a result of brotherly bias.
    A pair of small figures sprang from the coach, darted between the servants unloading the vehicle, and scampered towards the side of the house. A clear voice called, “Tom, Gracie, where are you going?”
    “To see Judd,” childish voices chorused, carrying easily through the crisp, frosty December air.
    “Back soon . . .” one of them added, as if in reassurance, and the figures disappeared around the building.
    The first voice belonged to a woman standing on the bottom step of the house. She wore a dark traveling cloak, the fur-edged hood pulled up so Julius could get no impression of her appearance. She shook her head as if in mild exasperation and continued up the stairs into the house. Julius turned to a side path that would take him into the house through the gun room. He would make the acquaintance of Lady Harriet Devere soon enough.

    Harriet entered the family home with a sense of comfort that its familiarity always engendered. For one who had not been brought up amidst its splendors, it could well prove intimidating, but she had been born in one of the grand bedrooms and spent her childhoodin the nurseries on the third floor. She had had her own bedroom on the adult floor since her fourteenth birthday, and from the day she had put up her hair and had had her debutante Season, she had played hostess for her grandfather. There was nothing on this ducal estate that was unfamiliar.
    “Harriet, my dear. You made good time.” The Duke of Charlbury came across the expanse of marble floor to greet her with hands outstretched. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, with the upright posture and weather-beaten complexion of a sportsman. But