'Well, you can just tell Mrs. Peale I'll brush my own hair.' Noelle was indignant; she had been as cooperative as she could manage since Constance had agreed to teach her, but this was too much. She wasn't about to be combed and brushed like a trained lapdog.
For the first time since she'd entered the bedroom, Letty's bovine eyes rose to meet Noelle's. 'I couldn't do that, miss,' she said impassively.
'Why on earth not?'
Letty seemed to be confused by the question as if the very thought of going against Constance Peale's will were so foreign to her as to be incomprehensible. Finally she clumped to the dressing table, where she picked up Noelle's hairbrush and stood waiting patiently.
Noelle sighed with exasperation. 'Please tell Mrs. Peale that I do not require your services.'
But Letty was not to be deterred. She anchored her bulky form into the French carpet, a marble Nike armed with a hairbrush. 'Mrs. Peale said I'm to brush your hair every night,' she repeated phlegmatically.
Winning an argument with a block of wood would be easier than swaying Letty from her purpose. Noelle cursed softly under her breath as she seated herself in front of the gilded mirror.
Letty set to work. She began slowly, pulling the brush carefully from Noelle's scalp to the cropped ends of her hair. Gradually she became more forceful, brushing until Noelle's scalp tingled. Finally she stopped and pulled a small pair of silver scissors from her pocket. With practiced efficiency, she snipped away at the damaged hair.
Noelle sighed as she studied her reflection. True, her hair no longer looked like such an unruly thatch; there was even a faint suggestion of curl to the now even ends. But the cutting, so far, could not change the ugly carrot color she was coming to detest more each day in this house, which held far too many mirrors.
These days would have been ones of peace and contentment for Noelle had it not been for her nightmares and the ever-increasing likelihood that she was pregnant. Her relationship with Constance settled into one of polite formality. They were together at lessons and at meals; otherwise they avoided each other.
Noelle came to love the beautiful house more and more as each day passed. She would wander through the rooms, admiring the graceful proportions of the furnishings or running her hands over a smooth curve of polished wood. Picking up a piece of crystal, she would feel its weight, then hold it up to a window and watch the sunlight fractured into rainbows.
Her old life began to take on a sense of unreality, and she had to remind herself more and more frequently that her presence in the white stone house was the dream.
Chapter Nine
It was six weeks to the day since she had arrived in Sussex. Noelle had awakened to find that her body had not accepted the bitter seed that had been forced upon it. Jubilantly she had danced a circle about the blue bedroom, finally catching one of the bedposts in her hand and swinging herself out in a gay arc.
Now, as she fastened her petticoats around her waist, she tried to absorb the realization that she was finally free; her nightmare was over. She could return to an existence she understood, a place where she was respected.
Plopping herself down on the floor, she brought her knees up under her chin and contemplated going back to her old life. Her bare toes dug into the carpet; absentmindedly she reached out her hand to stroke the soft pile. Such a pretty room; the blue and white, so calm and clean. She was going to miss this bedroom.
Snatching her hand from the carpeting, Noelle uttered a particularly foul expletive and pushed herself from the floor. She tried to recapture her earlier happiness as she finished dressing, but she could not. The relief at not being pregnant was still there, but with it was a sadness at the thought of leaving this beautiful house. She realized too late how much better off she would be if she had never lived here. How squalid and desperate her old life seemed in comparison.
She draped a dun-colored shawl around her shoulders, picked up her copy of
A hint of chill still hung in the morning air as she let herself out of the house. She gazed around her at the brick wall covered with fragrant honeysuckle, the fountain with its stone cupid, and finally, inevitably, admitted to herself that she did not want to leave. She had become ensnared by this house and the existence it represented. It was as if she had permitted a net to be thrown about her the night she arrived. It had seemed inconsequential, a delicate thing, fragile, easy to throw off. Now, when it was too late, she had discovered that she couldn't rid herself of it so simply; its gossamer strands were intricately woven and strong beyond their appearance.
She sat on the edge of the fountain, dipping her hand into the frigid water as she tried to understand the changes that had come over her in the past weeks. She remembered the carriage ride that had brought her here and the solemn vow she had made to revenge herself against Quinn Copeland. What of that vow now? Had she become so softened by her new life that she had forgotten it? Was this what luxury had done to her-blunted the edges of her will, made her soft and vulnerable, incapable of grappling with the unlovely?
No! Every fiber of her shrieked denial. Perhaps she was more vulnerable now, but her hatred for Quinn Copeland still burned as strongly today as it had the night she was violated. Even though she was no closer to avenging herself than she had been that night, she knew, with a chilling certainty, that the day would come when she would make good her promise.
Feeling somewhat better, she rose from the side of the fountain and began wandering about the garden, enjoying it for what might be the last time. The earth smelled rich and fecund as it began to warm to the day, and she turned her face up to the sun.
'Oh, there you are.' Constance swept into the garden. 'Since it is so pleasant this morning, let's treat ourselves and have our lesson here. Goodness knows, we should enjoy it now, for it will almost certainly be raining before the day is over.'
Sitting down upon the stone bench, she held out several sheets of paper to Noelle. 'Why don't you begin with the list on top? You've learned so quickly, I see no reason to keep reviewing the simpler words.'
Noelle looked at the papers in Constance's outstretched hand, but instead of taking them, she walked to the fountain and bent over to pick up her copy of
'If you don't mind, Mrs. Peale, I would like to read this instead.'
Constance quirked her head slightly. 'So,' she said quietly, 'it has happened.'
Noelle smiled, and with her back proudly straight, settled herself beside Constance. She opened the worn volume and began to read hesitantly.
I was bom in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull…
As she went on she gained confidence, and the words came more easily. Sometimes she stumbled; occasionally she held onto a vowel longer than she should or dropped a consonant; but by the end of the first chapter it was obvious that Noelle could read.
When she was done, she raised her eyes to meet those of her teacher. Constance was looking at her with unveiled pride, a wide smile on her face. 'Noelle, you are an amazing young woman. You should be very proud.'
'And you as well, Constance.'
Noelle jumped at the intruding voice and spun around to see Simon Copeland stepping out of the deep shadows next to the house. He walked toward them with an easy stride, a commanding figure in a well-fitting dark brown coat with buff trousers and a mustard waistcoat.
'Simon!' Constance exclaimed as she sprung up from her seat. 'You didn't tell me you were coming.' Two faint pink spots caught on her cheekbones.
'I was nearby,' he said, his American accent sounding out of place in the English garden. 'Spent the night with Lloyd Graham over at Hightowers and thought I'd drop by to see how you both were faring before I returned to London. I see you've been faring very well.'
Slowly his eyes took in the changes that rest and good food had brought to Noelle's appearance. Her body still
