Wilde, Jennifer Read Free

responsibility,
you know, but when I get back—"
    He
left the sentence dangling, but his eyes were filled with seductive promise. He
touched my arm lightly, and then he sauntered across the room to join his wife.
She was tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, her eyes flashing, as they
moved down the hall her voice was angry and strident. I couldn't help
overhearing.
    "At
it again, I see! The governess this time. Wasn't that pathetic little maid
enough? Must you humiliate me under my own roof? The actresses and courtesans
are bad enough, but when you—"
    "I
told you I'd get rid of Jenny," he said wearily, "and I promised you
I'd spend a week in the country with you. Isn't that enough? Just because I
exchange a few words with the governess, you assume—"
    "I
won't stand for it, Robert! I simply won't tolerate—"
    "I'm
giving up important business engagements so that I can spend time with you and
the children away from London, and still you..."
    They
moved on downstairs, and I could no longer distinguish what they were saying. A
minute later I heard the butler opening the front door, and outside the horse
hooves pounded on the cobblestones as the coachman brought the carriage around
from the mews in back of the house. There was a clatter or reins, the muted
sound of wheels spinning as the carriage moved away down the street. I stood
there in the nursery for a long time, numb, it seemed, drained of emotion.
    I
knew how fortunate I was to have this post. I had decent wages, a comfortable
room, solid, nourishing food. If I lost it, if he dismissed me... What am I
going to do? I asked myself. What am I going to do?

CHAPTER 2
    The
family had been gone for three days, and for three days I had been in a state
of suspension, safe, secure, but knowing that would end all too soon. Lord
Mallory would soon return and the inevitable would happen, and I had no idea
how I would handle things. It was late afternoon now. I was sitting out in the
gardens under the shade of a leafy elm. Only residents of the square were
allowed inside these lovely, elaborate gardens, each family possessing a key
that unlocked the side gate. I had shamelessly appropriated the Mallory key,
and as the afternoon sunlight slanted down in thin, fading rays, I thought of
all the curious twists of fate that had brought me to this point in my life.
    I
had been a happy child. I had attended the village school, a bright student,
eager to learn, and if the other children shunned me and frequently taunted me,
that didn't matter at all. My mother and I lived in a small room upstairs at
the Red Lion, and there was always laughter and the sound of hearty voices, the
smell of fresh sawdust and ale, a rowdy, festive atmosphere prevailing. My
beautiful, vivacious, good-natured mother loved me, and she loved the taproom,
loved the men who constantly vied for her attention. She was earthy and
generous and utterly natural, and though many called her wicked, I knew that
wasn't so. As I grew older I frequently helped her behind the taps. I liked the
men, too, with their teasing ways and their compliments, but adroitly managed
to fend off any who tried to become too familiar.
    I
remember my mother coming in that awful night, her auburn hair soaked, her
clothing clinging wetly to her voluptuous body. She kissed her handsome young
shepherd goodbye and wearily climbed the stairs to our room. She fell ill
almost immediately, and soon developed pneumonia. When she knew she was going
to die, she sent a message to my father, begging him to come for me and provide
for me in the future. He left Stanton Hall and came to the inn as soon as he
received her message. She held my hand and looked at him standing there at the
foot of the bed, and she smiled, knowing I was going to be cared for. She died
only minutes later, and I was desolate. It seemed my whole world had crumbled,
but my father took over then and provided another world to replace the one I
had lost.
    The
Duke of Stanton had been