Read With This Curse: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense for Free Online Page A

rough stonework, and I nestled close within the circle of his arms, my head against his chest. “Are you happy?”
    “Yes,” I said, beaming up at him. “Happier than I’ve ever been. Thank you, Richard. You’ve given me the most perfect day of my life.”
    At that, he had to kiss me again, and consequently I was rather tardy returning to the house. I was scolded for truancy and sent to help the scullery maid wash dishes—an assignment intended to punish me, but I did not feel the sting of it because my thoughts were so full of Richard.
    The next day the blow fell.
    I was changing the linens in one of the family bedrooms when one of the parlormaids appeared at my side, her eyes wide with alarm or excitement. “You’re wanted in the morning room,” she whispered.
    “By my mother?”
    “By her ladyship.”
    I froze for a moment, then set aside the heap of bedclothes. “Thank you,” I said with an effort, and set off for the morning room with what I hoped looked like jaunty unconcern. Perhaps her ladyship merely wanted me for some domestic chore, or to fetch her something. But why would she have sent for me specifically? This felt ominous to me.
    When I reached the closed door, I took a moment to smooth down my apron and assure myself that my cap was straight. I took a deep breath in an effort to quiet my heartbeat, and rapped briskly.
    “Enter,” came the clear voice of Lady Telford. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking care to shut it behind me in case any of the other servants were about and of a mind to eavesdrop.
    Lady Telford was seated behind the polished cherry wood desk where I knew she conferred with Cook and my mother on matters of the household. Her morning gown was sky blue festooned with ecru lace, and her lace cap with the pink rosebuds should have made her look sweet and harmless, but I knew that she was far from that. Her pale blue eyes, as pale as her sons’, observed me coolly, and her small hands were folded on the desk blotter. She was not spoken of in the servants’ hall as a kind or indulgent mistress but as a just if exacting one, and I knew my mother approved of these qualities; indeed, she did her best to emulate them.
    A movement to the side caught my eye, and to my astonishment I beheld my mother herself, standing stock-still except for her hands, which fidgeted with the chain of her chatelaine. The ring containing the household keys—her charge as housekeeper—swung slightly, like a pendulum, and it seemed to me a kind of portent. My mother’s face betrayed no sign of the business at hand, but I knew from her restless hands that she was worried. Evidently the matter that had brought me here was a mystery to her as well.
    “Clara.” The sharpness of Lady Telford’s voice made me start and bring my gaze back to her. Her eyes had narrowed. “Do you know why I have summoned you?”
    “No, ma’am,” I said, casting my eyes down in what I hoped would appear to be a suitable meekness.
    “Truly? You cannot imagine that you could comport yourself with such inappropriate familiarity with my son without its coming to my attention?”
    My stomach seemed to plummet to my feet. I swallowed a sudden nausea and kept my eyes trained on the carpet.
    “Clara, is this true?” my mother demanded. “Answer Lady Telford.”
    The anger in her voice was clear, but I heard an undercurrent that might be fear as well, and abruptly I recalled what had been all too convenient to forget before: that my behavior at Gravesend reflected on her as well as on me. My missteps would tarnish her standing in this most important post a woman could hold in a great manor house.
    The nausea threatened to choke me, but I endeavored to speak steadily. “If my friendship with Mr. Richard was misconstrued—”
    “Friendship!” Lady Telford exclaimed. “As if any such thing could exist between my son and you.”
    I risked a glance at her. She sat ramrod straight, and in each cheek an angry red patch