Read Angel of Ruin for Free Online

sunny field. Grandmamma caught her with a laugh. “You’ve been with Adworth?”
    “Look what he gave me!” Mary exclaimed breathlessly, holding out her wrist.
    Grandmamma inspected the bracelet eagerly. “Oh, good girl, Mary. But you should hurry. The coach is waiting.”
    Grandmamma enclosed her in a claustrophobic hug. She smelled of old wool and boiled ham. She whispered close to Mary’s hair. “You’re the only one I shall miss.”
    “I shall miss you, too.”
    “I shan’t miss the puritan and the moron.”
    Mary giggled. “Gran, that’s not very nice.”
    “Go,” she said. “Find a wealthy man in London and make him marry you. And make sure you write me letters.”
    “Every day, if you do the same.” Grandmamma had never been taught properly to read and write, so her letters would be full of entertaining spelling mistakes.
    Mary took off once again towards the house, rounded the corner to see the coach, laden with their trunks, waiting out the front. Mary was keenly looking forward to London; even looking forward to meeting her new stepmother. Her last stepmother had been a beautiful, mild-tempered woman whom they had all adored. And London was so exciting, so full of people and promise.
    Anne, Deborah and Liza were already in the coach.
    “Come on, snail’s pace,” Deborah called out the window.
    Mary poked her tongue out as the coachman opened the door for her, and she climbed in. Liza held a disconsolate Max on her lap. Mary had barely sat down when the coach surged forward, and they were on their way.
    “Here, he doesn’t like me,” Liza said, thrusting Max into her arms.
    “Dear little man, handsome little fellow,” Mary cooed as Max licked her and settled into her lap.
    Deborah leaned across and plucked a strand of hay out of her hair. “Have you been saying goodbye to Sir Adworth?”
    “He gave me a bracelet.” She thrust her arm out, but Deborah sniffed dismissively.
    “Jewellery does not interest me.”
    “’Tis mighty p-pretty, Mary,” Anne said.
    “Your father wouldn’t be happy knowing where you got it,” Liza said.
    “Shut up,” said Mary. “’Tis none of your business, you’re just a servant. And if you tell Father, I will beat you.” She considered the bracelet vainly. “I’d wager it cost a pretty penny.”
    “You’re such a fool for these old men, Mary,” Deborah said.
    “And you are jealous.”
    “Jealous? Hardly.”
    “’Tis n-n—” Anne’s eyelids began to flutter, and her top lip jerked up and down. Her stammer always put Mary at the end of her patience, but she forced herself to wait — Anne was her sister, and despite what Grandmamma said, despite what Father said, despite what everybody said, Anne was not really a fool. For all that she sounded like one.
    “’Tis not wrong to accept g-gifts from someone you love,” Anne said finally.
    “But she doesn’t love him, Anne,” Deborah said.Anne looked uncomprehending, and Mary reached out to touch her hair fondly. Her older sister’s most endearing folly was that she always assumed Mary loved the men she dallied with; credited her with a fickle heart and nothing more dissolute. Anne didn’t suspect that she lay with them, though Deborah had probably deduced it. Her little sister was far too watchful and clever for Mary’s liking sometimes.
    Mary fingered the amber stones and thought about Adworth. Neither of her sisters would ever understand the feel of victory she derived from her conquests: when they were inside her, all their power and dignity disappeared. The mighty became the vulnerable, the wealthy became supplicants, the most scholarly were as mindless babes; all they had care for was her.
    “Sir Adworth is older than Father,” Deborah was saying. “’Tis revolting.”
    “He’s richer than Father, too,” Mary countered.
    “You are a fool, Mary. If he adores you so, why does he only ever meet with you in the stables? Why does he only buy you amber and silver, instead of rubies