Sylvia Andrew

Francesca


Скачать книгу

She attempted to see her aunt, but was denied access, her civil enquiries about Miss Shelwood’s health being met with a brusquely indifferent reply from Agnes Cotter. Resolving to see Doctor Woodruff for herself when he called that evening, she left the papers and escaped from the house.

      At the end of an hour, she found she had walked off her frustration and anger and was enjoying the woods and open ground above Shelwood. The air was still heavy, however, and swallows and martins were swooping low over the swollen expanse of water left by the storm, catching the insects in the humid air. Francesca watched them for a while, marvelling at the speed and skill with which they skimmed the surface.

      But even as she watched, one bird’s judgement failed disastrously. It dipped too low and, as it wheeled round, its wing was caught below the water line. Francesca drew in her breath as it dropped, then rose, then dropped again. By now both wings were heavy with water, and the bird’s struggles to fly were only exhausting it further. It would soon drown.

      Without a second thought, Francesca hitched up her skirts, took off her shoes and waded in. The water was very shallow—it shouldn’t be difficult to scoop the bird out.

      ‘I never knew such a girl for water! You must have been a naiad in your previous existence.’

      She recognised the voice, of course. But she said nothing until she had captured the bird and released it on dry ground. Then she said calmly, ‘And you seem to be my nemesis. I lead a very dull, dry life in the normal course of events. Excuse me.’ She bent down and put on her shoes. ‘Let me wish you a pleasant walk.’ She wanted to take polite leave of him, but realised that she had no idea what to call him other than ‘Marcus’. That she would never do again. She started off down the hill without saying any more.

      ‘Wait!’

      She pretended not to have heard, but he came striding after her.

      ‘I was hoping to learn how you fared.’

      ‘Thank you—very comfortably. But my aunt is not well—I must get back to her. I know you will understand and forgive my haste. Goodbye.’

      ‘Not so fast! I want to talk to you.’

      The pain in her heart was getting worse. He was still as handsome—more so! The years had added one or two lines to his face, one or two silver strands to the dark hair, but this only increased his dignity and authority, and the blue eyes were as alert, as warm and understanding as ever. The villain! The scheming, double-dealing villain! Where was the lady from the carriage?—if ‘lady’ was the right word! He should be using his charm on her, she might reward his efforts—probably had done so long before now. But she, at least, was old enough to see through him. She was well past the age of innocence!

      But none of these uncharitable thoughts showed in her expression as she said coolly, ‘That is a pity. I have no wish to talk to you. I doubt that we now have very much in common. You must find someone else to amuse you.’

      ‘Is your aunt as ill as everyone says?’

      He blurted this out with none of the polish she expected of him. What was he thinking of? Had he heard the rumours and was daring to be sorry for her? Francesca fought down a sudden rise in temper, then said in measured tones, ‘I am surprised that Lord Witham’s guests indulge in village gossip. I would have thought they had other, more interesting, pursuits.’

      ‘Don’t be such a awkward cat, Francesca—tell me how your aunt is.’

      He had no right to sound so anxious. It weakened her, made her vulnerable once again to his charm.

      ‘I don’t know why such a thing should concern you,’ she said, maintaining her usual air of colourless reserve as she lied to him once again. ‘But if you insist on knowing, my aunt is suffering from the heat. I am sure she will be quite well again in a few days.’

      ‘That isn’t what I have heard.’

      They must have been discussing the situation at Witham Court. Once again she had been made the subject of gossip there. It was intolerable! ‘You must think what you choose, sir. However, I am sure my aunt would not welcome speculation by strangers. And nor do I.’

      ‘Strangers, Francesca?’

      Francesca had been avoiding his eye, but now she looked directly at him. She did not pretend to misunderstand. ‘Whatever happened nine years ago, sir, we were, and are, strangers. Of that I am certain. Now please let me go!’ In spite of herself, her voice trembled on these last words.

      He took a step forward, hesitated, then bowed gracefully. ‘Very well. Good day to you, my dear.’

      She felt his eyes on her as she set off again down the hill. She hoped he could not see how her hands were trembling, or hear how her heart was pounding.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4RTsRXhpZgAATU0AKgAAAAgADAEAAAMAAAABAfQAAAEBAAMAAAABArwAAAECAAMAAAADAAAA ngEGAAMAAAABAAIAAAESAAMAAAABAAEAAAEVAAMAAAABAAMAAAEaAAUAAAABAAAApAEbAAUAAAAB AAAArAEoAAMAAAABAAIAAAExAAIAAAAgAAAAtAEyAAIAAAAUAAAA1IdpAAQAAAABAAAA6AAAASAA CAAIAAgADqYAAAAnEAAOpgAAACcQQWRvYmUgUGhvdG9zaG9wIENTNiAoTWFjaW50b3NoKQAyMDE1 OjA4OjEyIDE3OjEyOjUxAAAEkAAABwAAAAQwMjIxoAEAAwAAAAEAAQAAoAIABAAAAAEAAAXcoAMA BAAAAAEAAAg0AAAAAAAAAAYBAwADAAAAAQAGAAABGgAFAAAAAQAAAW4BGwAFAAAAAQAAAXYBKAAD AAAAAQACAAACAQAEAAAAAQAAAX4CAgAEAAAAAQAAE2YAAAAAAAAASAAAAAEAAABIAAAAAf/Y/+0A DEFkb2JlX0NNAAH/7gAOQWRvYmUAZIAAAAAB/9sAhAAMCAgICQgMCQkMEQsKCxEVDwwMDxUYExMV ExMYEQwMDAwMDBEMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMAQ0LCw0ODRAODhAUDg4OFBQO Dg4OFBEMDAwMDBERDAwMDAwMEQwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAz/wAARCACgAHID ASIAAhEBAxEB/90ABAAI/8QBPwAAAQUBAQEBAQEAAAAAAAAAAwABAgQFBgcICQoLAQABBQEBAQEB AQAAAAAAAAABAAIDBAUGBwgJCgsQAAEEAQMCBAIFBwYIBQMMMwEAAhEDBCESMQVBUWETInGBMgYU kaGxQiMkFVLBYjM0coLRQwclklPw4fFjczUWorKDJkSTVGRFwqN0NhfSVeJl8rOEw9N14/NGJ5Sk hbSVxNTk9KW1xdXl9VZmdoaWprbG1ub2N0dXZ3eHl6e3x9fn9xEAAgIBAgQEAwQFBgcHBgU1AQAC EQMhMRIEQVFhcSITBTKBkRShsUIjwVLR8DMkYuFygpJDUxVjczTxJQYWorKDByY1wtJEk1SjF2RF VTZ0ZeLys4TD03Xj80aUpIW0lcTU5PSltcXV5fVWZnaGlqa2xtbm9ic3R1dnd4eXp7fH/9oADAMB AAIRAxEAPwDlEkklaZlJLo+i9Oyb/q2/L6f0rF6pnftF1LzlVMt20Ciu32+rbj/4c/v/AJ6ov6Tl ZNvUMrM+y9Hb0+ymvOqbWWVUixp2Oox8Z2T6j3em39BS9/rX3/4NN4hr4Ityklf6d0zH6i9uPT1G pmba/ZTjOoyHAku9Kk5GTXU6rE+0fzlf89sZ/PbE2N0r1cC3PysqnAoxsr7FkNuD32Ns27oqpx22 OyX7v0fo1f8ACXfzDEeIKsNFJaDuiZR6hjYWNZVlNzqhk4uW1xrpdRDjZkXG4b8X7P6T/tNdn6Sv /hLPYoN6dRk342L0vPr6jk5L9nptpuoawBrrX3/aMpja7MatjHepY39J/wAClxDuqw0klauwsf7D dn4OdV1CnE9P7WGV2UOrFx9Km6sZYZ9pxn3fovVZsfX+fT6an1Xprel3HCtymXdTrc1t+BVVaHMN g3V+nkWNbTk/Sr/m/wDSfovUS4h3TYaSSvZvTcfBF1WR1Ck9Rx9LMCqu62HwHHGdnsZ9j+0s3bbG fzVdn6P1lKrpVeTh35GDnV5duJU7IyMdtV1YFdcG/wBHLvYyi+6hp99Ps/4JLiCLDnpJAgiRwUkU qSSSSU//0OUSSSVpmbduZRZ9X2dIdU51reoHNLyGmv0zR9l9P6W/1vU9/wDN7Nn56jRlUUdGzumi t2/LuxbanNDQxox3Pfb6nuDtz9/6PYxVkkKH7VU7uB9YcbEb0qLOoYzenFpycHCLGUZTxZ6r8vIv ddW97rW/z+Pfj27/AOYosoZ+mVDI6jTb03Lw2V2B+T1Z3UmPcGhoqLba212Q9zm5H6X6LN9X/Cqi khwi7Rwjd1KOt10P6b+rvuoxcG7p+dS4hnqsvc91v2expft9ln0rPT/Sez/hFDA6hgdH6jjZ3TDl 5Roe4OqymV0foHsfQ+tuRi33v+1bX+y5ldVSzkkeEfaqg6HUeo/aMd9DOqdXzanuEY2dt9P0w7dt yHty725NrYbs20Mr9RGv61XX0+vDxbcrOtxsmnI6ff1Cutv2QUkP9Gh9V+Rdf6/p1VW17q8VlX81 WslJDhCqDe6rf0jNtys3HbmY+Vlufc7Ecyt9IusPqXfrzbqr/sr3ud/2k9daeR9Z8Wy3Osrf1EUZ uHZiU9M/RsxMX1Kfs49Ouu/0sitlrf0ezGxnsqf6lnq3LnkkuEfYqgswEMaDyAAU6SSclSSSSSn/ 0eUSSSVpmUkkkkpSSSSSlJJJJKUkkkkpSSSSSlJJJJKUkkkkp//S5RJKdY7+CI3HyHatqef7JVpm RpIjqL2CX1PaPEtKHzwkpSSSSSlJJJJKUkkkkpSSSSSlJJJJKUkkkkp//9PJ6fYx9PsY2t7DtftE T+67+0rUlVen0mqjc4Q607o8BHsVlXhsGdeSOFVz