By Lucia Grahame
Wanting to pay the fellow who's blackmailing her, Fleur Deslingnere reluctantly marries Anthony Camwell, the good-looking yet formal aristocrat whose repressed hope for Fleur has ate up him for years.
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Additional info for The Painted Lady
I used to be now not happy, for this reason, whilst Marie brought to me, under a part hour prior to dinner was once to be served, one other observe in my husband's hand. This one commanded me to offer myself on the desk. I made an attempt to hide my impatience with Marie's painstaking thoroughness as she helped me to decorate. I feared if i used to be tardy it will convey my husband to my room sooner than i used to be able to confront him. despite the fact that, i used to be unwilling to hitch him till i used to be in complete panoply. I chewed my lip with vexation as Marie conscientiously prepared my hair; the clock had already struck the hour. i needed to grab the brush from her arms and end the task myself, yet she had way more ability, and that i may possibly not more have enough money imperfection than may possibly a knight being girded for bloody conflict. It used to be my target to appear austerely attractive, concealing each haggard trace of hysteria. merely whilst i used to be happy that, in a sleeveless gold damask dress with a heart-shaped neckline, I seemed as just right and impregnable because the flagship of an armada did I sail down the stairway. I entered the eating room with a planned, leisurely gait. It used to be twenty mins prior the hour. I anticipated my husband's expression to betray a few surprise—perhaps even approval— on the sight I offered to him, yet all his face printed used to be inflammation. "You're very late," was once his welcome. "I used to be approximately to return and fetch you. " "Good night, Anthony," stated I very graciously, making neither excuse nor apology. We ate in silence. I watched him guardedly, yet with new admire. He had dressed for dinner together with his prevalent understated black-and-white splendor and seemed as distant and unprepossessing as continuously. Why, then, because the meal improved, did my composure ebb, to get replaced by means of that tremulous anticipation which had come more and more to plague me in fresh days? i couldn't withstand an occasional, circumspect look on the opponent whom I knew i have to by no means back underestimate. He stuck me as soon as. I dropped my gaze—but the wear and tear have been performed. His gaze fell over me like January sleet; I felt my face tackle the telltale colour that my accursed faded epidermis couldn't disguise. We have been on my own. My husband disliked to have servants soaring at his shoulder after our plates were stuffed. Now he laid down his knife and fork and leaned ahead along with his elbows at the desk and his hands pressed jointly. "I particularly haven't any objection, while you're on my own, on your taking supper on a tray on your room, like a governess," he acknowledged. "But at the infrequent events after we are lower than a similar roof, i'll count on you to affix me on the dinner desk. and that i will anticipate you to be punctual. i will not think about any excuse for placing the kitchen employees to the difficulty of holding the dishes hot until eventually you might have controlled to tug your self to the desk. definitely you—who have so little else to do—can at the least exert your self adequate to teach a modicum of recognize for the paintings of others. " I burned on the rebuke. My husband's well-ordered loved ones ran with a smoothness which hid the large volume of work thereby fed on.