Page 85 of One Night with a Prince
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlThe woman’s low murmur sent Christabel into a panic, but before she could even hide, the woman left the room and headed down the stairs away from where Christabel lurked in the shadows. She didn’t even see her.
Uttering a silent sigh, Christabel edged back toward the door. Byrne was speaking again. “I brought someone with me on this visit, someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Another doctor? Please, Gavin, no more doctors. I’m doing better these days, no matter what Ada says, and Dr. Mays takes good care of me—”
“It’s not a doctor,” he broke in. “It’s a friend. A woman.”
“I see.” A long silence ensued. “So you’ve told her about me then.”
“Of course not. You vowed me to silence, and I’ve kept my vow until now.” When his mother said nothing, Byrne went on in a tight voice, “I’ve always abided by your wish to live in the country when I could make you more comfortable in town, and I know how you feel about meeting new people. But I’m asking you to make an exception for her. Please.”
A lump lodged in Christabel’s throat. She’d never heard Byrne use the wordplease to anyone.
“All right,” the woman rasped. “Before you leave in the morning, bring her to me, and I’ll speak to her.”
“I’ll do that, thank you.” His voice turned gruffer. “Now let’s see about making you more comfortable. This room is too damned cold. And your water jug is half-empty, too. I’ll call a servant to come fill it—”
That was all the warning Christabel had before Byrne came out the door and saw her. Caught in the act of being kind, he blinked at her like a fox startled by the hounds.
“Gavin?” his mother called out when he just stood there without summoning a servant. “What’s wrong?”
He let out a breath. Then a slow smile curved up his lips. “It appears you’ll be meeting my guest sooner rather than later, Mother.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Christabel stammered. “I didn’t mean to pry…I woke up, and you weren’t—”
“It’s all right.” He offered her his arm. “Come. Let me introduce you.”
Painfully aware of her rumpled gown and her lack of shoes, she touched a hand to her fallen hair, and said, “Oh, Byrne, I don’t know—”
“She won’t care about that, I promise you,” he said with a trace of irony. “Come on.”
Taking his arm, Christabel let him lead her into the room. A massive half-tester bed presided over the darkest corner of what must have once been the master bedchamber. Now it was a sickroom, the pungent odor of medicinal concoctions mingling with the sweet scent of freshly cut roses. She couldn’t see much in the dimly lit room, but the furnishings appeared feminine—delicate Windsor chairs, an elegant dressing table, and drapes in pretty prints that were probably cheery in the morning with the sun pouring in through the two massive windows. The bed itself wasn’t cheery in the least,Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlhowever, for its hangings draped its inhabitant in impenetrable shadows. Byrne led her near it. “May I present my friend Christabel, the Marchioness of Haversham. Christabel, this is my mother, Sally Byrne.”
“Good evening, my lady,” his mother said in a taut whisper. “And where is your husband this fine night?”
“She’s a widow,” Byrne bit out.
Not sure what else to do, Christabel gave a little curtsy. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Byrne.”
Apparently that amused his mother, for a reedy laugh sounded from the depths of the bed. “Are you indeed? Never thought to have a marchioness in my bedchamber claiming the pleasure of my acquaintance.” A gnarled hand emerged from the shadows, beckoning to her. “Come closer, dear. Let me look at you.”
Swallowing, Christabel approached the bed. She could now make out a small form practically swallowed up by the night. But though the face was hidden, the eyes reflected the candlelight to play over her with an insulting scrutiny.
“She’s a pretty one, I’ll grant you that,” Mrs. Byrne finally said. “But short.”
“Mother,” he warned, “be nice.”
“It’s all right,” Christabel put in wryly, “there are plenty of times when I find shortness to be a defect myself.”
The woman chuckled, then coughed. “I’m almost as short as you, so if it’s a defect, it’s one we share. Don’t know how I managed to produce anything as tall as that rascal standing next to you.”
Silence fell as they all thought the same thing: The prince was tall.
“Gavin,” his mother added, “would you go fill that water jug for me while I chat with your friend?”
“Why?” he demanded. “So you can pummel her with questions about her character and her family?”
“Don’t be impertinent, boy,” the woman declared, though her affection came through in every syllable.
