Читать книгу Regency Reputation: A Reputation for Notoriety / A Marriage of Notoriety - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 15

‘May I speak to you, Rhys?’

Rhys turned in surprise at the sound of her voice. ‘Celia! Come in. Close the door.’

She looked wounded, as well she might. He’d been about to pour himself some brandy. Now he needed it even more.

He lifted the decanter. ‘Would you like a glass?’

She nodded.

‘How much of that did you hear?’ he asked as he poured.

She took the glass from his hand. ‘Enough to know that Mr Campion does not like that you hired me.’

He’d been afraid of that.

‘It is none of his affair,’ he assured her. ‘He thinks he is acting out of friendship.’

‘If my employment causes you a problem—’ she began.

‘You cause me no problem.’ He reached over and gently removed her mask. ‘That is better.’ He brushed a lock of hair off her face and gestured to the sofa. ‘Please sit, Celia.’

By God, she looked lovely this night. The white of her gown was embroidered with a cascade of flowers created from shimmering silver thread. In the game room amongst the sea of black-coated men, she’d glowed like moonlight.

She lowered herself onto the sofa where she’d sat before. Where he’d held her before.

‘I did not mean to overhear,’ she said. ‘I only came upstairs to thank you again. And to let you know that I managed being in Westleigh’s company without too much distress.’

‘I was watching.’ He sat in the nearby chair. ‘I also noticed that you won.’

‘I did.’ She shook her head. ‘He is a terrible player.’

Their conversation was stilted and devoid of the intimacy they had so recently shared in this room. That she’d overheard Xavier did not help.

‘Terrible?’ That knowledge pleased him. Rhys was a master of cards. He took a sip of brandy. ‘A competent card player would have no need to cheat against him, then.’

Her face shone with pleasure. ‘You have guessed my thoughts.’

She looked even more lovely.

He took another sip. ‘How much did you win?’

‘From Westleigh and his partner? About twenty-five pounds.’

His brows rose. ‘So much?’

She waved a hand. ‘They were reckless in their betting, as well. I decided to play him as much as I can. Take as much of his money as I can.’ Her voice cracked. ‘For my father.’

He understood her need for revenge, but it puzzled him. How did Westleigh have that much to lose? He was supposed to be on a tight leash regarding his spending.

She lowered her gaze. ‘I must confess that I won much more than the twenty-five pounds from Westleigh. I won even more from hazard.’

He’d noticed. ‘You had a winning streak. How much did you win finally?’

She looked apologetic. ‘Fifty pounds.’ She quickly added. ‘I know it was not well done of me. It is a great deal of money out of your pocket.’ She opened her reticule. ‘I wanted to see you so I could pay it back. I only regret I cannot repay all that the patrons betting with me must have won.’

He pushed the reticule away. ‘I’ll not take your winnings. And do not concern yourself about the gentlemen betting with you. Those who stayed at the hazard table will have lost it all again. Or will another night.’ He gazed at her. ‘Not everyone is so wise as to stop when ahead.’

‘I was not wise….’ She made a nervous gesture with her hand. ‘To own the truth, I was terrified. The excitement made me lose all sense.’

‘Not all sense, or you would have played until your reticule was empty.’ He finished his brandy. ‘That excitement is all part of the game. I have been a gambler too long not to have felt that same exhilaration.’

‘It makes a person foolish,’ she rasped. ‘I cannot afford to be foolish. It will hurt me, but tonight my foolishness hurt you.’

‘Gambling is always a risk, but remember that this was a risk I agreed to take. This night you won and I lost. Tomorrow it may be different. We will keep an eye on it.’ He reached over again and touched her cheek. ‘Do not fear. I will not let you be harmed by it.’

Her eyes grew wider and her fair skin glowed like an angel’s.

Xavier was right when accusing him of wanting to make her a conquest. He wanted her as intensely as a man could desire a woman. But Rhys also genuinely liked her. He felt a kinship with her.

It was rare for him to feel kinship with anyone. He’d long ago accepted that he was alone in the world. He even expected to lose Xavier’s friendship eventually, when the man finally found a woman he wished to marry. Xavier’s allegiance would shift, as it should, to a wife and family of his own making.

Or perhaps his friendship with Xavier was ending over Celia.

Rhys dared not hope for anything more than temporary with Celia. No doubt her secrets would eventually separate them.

As his secrets might from her.

But for the moment he relished her company. When had a woman ever made him feel such sympathy as he felt towards her? He wished he could make Westleigh pay for killing her father, for bringing her such pain.

He wanted to enfold her in his arms and take all her pain away.

He looked into her eyes. ‘I like you, Celia Allen.’

Her eyes darted around the room. He’d frightened her.

She smiled nervously at him. ‘You have been … like a friend. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for paying me to gamble. For enduring my fit of tears over Westleigh.’

He held up a hand.

She twisted the laces of her reticule. ‘I should go. My coachman will be here soon.’

He stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet, but did not stop there. He pulled her into an embrace.

He could not tell if she was alarmed or pleased.

‘I suspect we are two of a kind, Celia,’ he said. ‘I am glad you are in my employ. I am glad I will see you night after night.’

Her eyes grew huge and her voice trembled. ‘You are holding me. Are—are you going to kiss me?’

‘Is it what you wish?’ He could feel the rise and fall of her breast against his chest.

It fired his senses, but he waited. She must want this, too.

She rose, no more than an inch, but it was all the invitation he needed.

He lowered his mouth to hers.

Her lips were warm, soft and tasting of brandy and he wanted more, much more. She melted into him and her lips pressed upon his, as if she, too, could not get enough. He lost himself in the pleasure of her, his hands eager to explore her, undress her, pleasure her—

She broke away. ‘This is not wise, Rhys,’ she cried.

His body was still humming with need, but he forced himself to give her the space she needed.

‘You are sounding like Xavier.’ He smiled. ‘It probably was not wise to hire you in the afternoon and kiss you in the night, but I do not feel like being wise with you, Celia. I want more from you.’

Her eyes grew big. ‘More from me?’

Did she not understand?

He would be clear. ‘I want you in my bed.’

She stepped away. ‘I—I do not know.’

He honoured her distance. ‘It is your choice, Celia. No matter what you decide, our employment agreement still stands.’

Her expression turned puzzled. ‘My choice,’ she said to herself.

The clock on his mantel chimed four bells, causing them both to jump.

She rubbed her forehead. ‘I must go. I am already late. My driver will be concerned.’

He reached out and took her hand. ‘Tomorrow, give your driver a later time.’

She looked like a frightened deer.

He did not wish her to bolt. ‘Do not distress yourself,’ he spoke in a soothing voice. ‘You know what I want, but do not let that keep you from coming back and gambling. You need not answer me now. I am a patient man.’

She stared at him, but finally said, ‘I will think about it.’

It was not the answer he had hoped for, but he contented himself that it was not a definite no.

‘Do not think.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Feel.’

She made a sound deep in her throat, before turning away from him and hurrying towards the door.

‘Celia,’ he called to her.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.

‘You forgot your mask.’ He picked up the piece of white silk and crossed the room to her. ‘Stay still. I will put it on you,’ he said.

Her breath accelerated as he affixed the mask to her face and tied the ribbons that held it in place.

‘There you go,’ he murmured.

She stepped away, but turned and gave him a long glance.

He opened the door. ‘I will walk you to your coach.’

As they left the room he kept his distance, but walked at her side down the stairs to the hall where Cummings quickly retrieved her shawl. She put it on herself carelessly, but as soon as they were out the door, he wrapped her in it to protect her from the misty night’s chill. Almost immediately the sound of her coach reached their ears even before it became visible.

She stepped forwards so her coachman could see her. He stopped the horses and Rhys lowered the steps. He squeezed her hand as he helped her into the coach.

He watched her face in the window as the coach started off, disappearing into the mist as if only a dream.

The next day Rhys sounded the knocker at the Westleigh town house. It was time to confront Westleigh. He’d had enough of the man, especially after what he’d learned from Celia.

He was ready to drop the whole bargain with the Westleighs, but Celia wished her revenge and Rhys would not deny her it. He would, however, push along his own dealings with the Westleighs and be done with them.

A footman opened the door.

‘Mr Rhysdale to see Lord Westleigh.’ Rhys handed the footman his card.

The footman stepped aside and gestured for him to enter the hall. ‘Wait here a moment.’

The last time Rhys called at this house, he’d been escorted into the drawing room. Why not now?

Likely Westleigh had left instructions to treat him like a tradesman.

The footman disappeared towards the back of the house.

Rhys gazed at the marble-tiled floors and swirling staircase. Such grandeur in contrast to the set of rooms in which he and his mother had lived. Or how he had lived after her death.

Gazing at it all, Rhys realised this was not what he wanted in life. Yes, he wanted comfort, but comfort would be enough. More than anything, he wanted to build something. A business. A factory. Something useful. He wanted not to be like his father, who had wasted his life and squandered his fortune.

He did not give a fig about being acknowledged as Westleigh’s bastard son. In fact, he’d just as soon not be known to have the connection. He’d go through with it, though, only because it was his revenge against Westleigh. He would make the man do what he would detest the most, what he ought to have done when Rhys was born—to declare openly that Rhys was his son.

This bargain with the Westleighs had become like a game of cards. Westleigh behaved as if he held all the trumps, but he was bluffing. It was time to up the ante and win the hand.

It was a gamble. Everything in life was a gamble. Westleigh could choose poverty over admitting Rhys was his son, but how likely was that? Rhys knew a good bet when he saw one.

A servant who could only have been the butler entered the hall. He lifted his nose at Rhys. ‘Do you have an appointment with his lordship?’

Rhys glared at the man and used the voice he’d once used to command men in his regiment. ‘I do not need an appointment. Announce me to Lord Westleigh.’

The butler shrank back and quickly ascended the stairs. Rhys’s eyes followed him. Westleigh would show himself promptly or Rhys would go in search of him.

A huge allegorical painting hung in the hall. Rhys turned to examine it. The painting depicted Minerva, representing wisdom, pushing Mars, the god of war, away from the goddess of peace. He chuckled to himself. Would Minerva prevail with Westleigh? Or would he and Westleigh engage in battle?

A woman’s voice said, ‘Ned! I thought you had gone.’

He turned to see a finely dressed woman descending the stairs.

She looked startled. ‘I beg your pardon. I thought you were my son.’

He recognised her from the times he’d glimpsed her in his old village, an older but still beautiful Lady Westleigh.

He bowed. ‘Allow me to present myself, my lady. I am Mr Rhysdale, here to speak with your husband.’

Her eyes flickered at the mention of his name. Did she know of him? Did she remember that poor woman who’d once been in her service so many years ago?

‘Mr Rhysdale.’ Her voice tightened. ‘Perhaps you can tell me why you call upon my husband.’

‘I have no objection to doing so, ma’am, although perhaps Lord Westleigh ought to be present.’ He inclined his head. ‘As a courtesy.’

She swept across the hall. ‘Come into the drawing room. I will ring for tea.’

It was the same room where he had spoken to Ned and Hugh. She pulled a bell cord and the butler appeared.

‘Some tea, Mason,’ Lady Westleigh ordered. ‘Do sit, Mr Rhysdale.’

He waited for her to lower herself into a chair and chose one a distance from her that she might consider comfortable.

She could not look at him.

Rhys took pity on her. She was merely one more person who had been ill-used by Lord Westleigh. ‘I surmise you know who I am, my lady.’

She glanced at him and gathered some pluck. ‘Why would you show your face here, after all this time?’

He spoke gently. ‘Your sons involved me …’ he paused, trying to think how to say it ‘… in a business matter.’

Her mouth opened in surprise. ‘Ned and Hugh?’

‘Yes.’

Lord Westleigh thundered in. ‘See here, Rhysdale. You were told to wait in the hall.’ He came to a sudden halt. ‘Honoria!’

‘Charles.’ Her lips thinned.

Rhys rose. ‘Lady Westleigh happened upon me and was gracious enough to invite me into the drawing room.’

‘Yes, well.’ Westleigh wiped his brow. ‘Thank you, Honoria. You may leave. This does not concern you.’

She remained in her seat. ‘Mr Rhysdale has no objection to my presence.’

Westleigh tossed him a scathing look. ‘It is a matter of business, Honoria. You would find it tedious.’

She smiled at him. ‘Oh, since it also involves Ned and Hugh, as I understand, I doubt I should find it tedious. You know that nothing about my sons is trivial to me.’

‘Did you think you could conceal the whole from Lady Westleigh?’ Rhys asked him. ‘I do not see how, unless you decided to go back on your word. Which is why I am here. To determine once and for all if you intend to keep to the bargain your sons made on your behalf.’

The butler brought in the tea tray, halting the conversation at that point. He placed the tray on the table in front of Lady Westleigh. ‘Thank you, Mason,’ she said.

The butler bowed and turned to leave, but she called him back. ‘Mason? If Hugh is about, tell him to join us, please.’

The man bowed again. ‘As you wish, my lady.’

When he left the room and closed the door behind him, Lord Westleigh spoke again. ‘We do not need Hugh here.’

‘I would not talk behind his back,’ his wife countered. ‘I would invite Ned, as well, but he went out a little while ago.’

Rhys realised his revenge upon his father was certainly going to hurt his wife, which suddenly gave Rhys no pleasure. Still, it was better than the complete financial ruin of the family.

‘Shall we wait for Hugh?’ Rhys asked the lady.

‘I would prefer it,’ she said. ‘Do sit, Mr Rhysdale. How do you take your tea?’

‘No cream. No sugar.’

Ned was surprised at the modest accommodations Miss Gale had on Half Moon Street. He’d expected something grander—not that it mattered to him. She just looked as if she belonged in luxury, protected from any discomfort or stress.

Not that he could provide her such a setting at the moment. He really had no business courting her, except that he could not bear it if her heart went to another.

He sounded the knocker and was admitted by the butler who announced him.

He entered the drawing room where Miss Gale sat with her stepmother and grandmother.

Also present was Luther Parminter, the new Baron Gale.

He bowed to the ladies.

The grandmother frowned in an unwelcoming manner, but Lady Gale extended her hand. ‘How nice of you to call, Neddington.’

He glanced to where Miss Gale was seated with the baron. ‘Am I interrupting a family visit? Do forgive me.’

‘Nonsense,’ the young Lady Gale said. ‘You are welcome here. Join us.’ She gestured to a chair near Miss Gale. ‘Shall I pour you some tea?’

‘I’ll not trouble you.’ He bowed to Miss Gale.

She sat in a pool of sunlight from the window, her hair shining like spun gold. Her skin was flawless and her eyes sparkling and clear as a cloudless sky.

She robbed him of speech.

He glanced from her to Luther, whom he’d known in school. ‘Gale.’

‘Neddington,’ Luther said without expression.

Ned was distressed to see him here. Was he courting Miss Gale? Most people liked to keep their wealth and property in the family. Lady Cowdlin said Miss Gale’s dowry was a generous one. Was that why Luther was here?

Still, if she had a large dowry, why did she live in such economy?

‘I hope you are well today, sir,’ she murmured to him.

‘Very well, miss,’ he responded.

‘Hmmph,’ the Dowager Lady Gale broke in. ‘Our cousin Luther was telling us about Gale House and its people. And the news from the village. We have always made it a point to concern ourselves with the needs of the people, you know.’

Ned turned to Gale. ‘I hope you found the people at Gale House in a good situation.’

‘Of course,’ Luther snapped.

The man was as happy to see Ned here as Ned was to see him. It depressed Ned that he might have a rival. Ned had so little to offer, how could he compete?

His family’s partnership with Rhysdale must reap its hoped-for benefits. It all depended upon his father.

Ned could hardly abide the presence of his father these days; he was so angry with the man. His father was being stubborn about Rhysdale and could ruin everything. They’d be worse off than before.

Then there would be no use in pursuing Miss Gale at all.

They chatted about the ball the night before. At one point Luther pulled out his timepiece and examined it.

A few minutes later, Luther stood. ‘I must take my leave.’ He bowed to Miss Gale, her stepmother and grandmother. ‘Ladies, it has been a pleasure.’ He tossed an unhappy glare at Ned.

After he left, Miss Gale asked Ned about the weather.

It gave him courage. ‘I wonder if you would like to take a turn in the park this afternoon, Miss Gale. I would consider it an honour to drive you in my curricle.’ He turned to her stepmother. ‘With your permission, ma’am.’

Lady Gale smiled. ‘If Adele wishes.’

‘Oh, I do!’ she cried. ‘I mean, I would like that very much, my lord.’

Miss Gale’s grandmother frowned.

He rose. ‘Then I shall return at four.’ A good three hours. How would he be able to pass that much time knowing he would have her company all to himself?

And with everyone else crowding Hyde Park during the fashionable hour.

Ned took his leave, his heart soaring.

‘What is this?’ Hugh entered the Westleigh town house drawing room. ‘Rhysdale, what are you doing here?’

Rhys was accustomed to Hugh’s brashness. He had always been so.

Rhys straightened and glanced at each of them. ‘I will not prevaricate. I came to get what is due me. I fulfilled my part of our bargain and—’ he turned to Lord Westleigh ‘—you, sir, have not fulfilled yours. I am done being trifled with.’

‘See here, Rhysdale—’ Lord Westleigh snapped.

‘What bargain?’ Lady Westleigh asked.

Rhys gestured to Westleigh and Hugh to explain.

Hugh glared at his father. ‘You explain it to her, Father.’

Lord Westleigh, still standing, wrung his hands.

‘Well.’ He looked at his wife. ‘Your sons made the plan. Just because finances have become a little strained these days—’

‘A little strained!’ Hugh broke in. ‘It is more serious than that.’ He turned to his mother. ‘We are a hair’s breadth from complete ruin. We owe everybody and Father has not kept up with payments to the bank, for money he borrowed to cover his gambling debts.’

Her gaze flew to her husband, who did not deny this. ‘What has this to do with Mr Rhysdale?’

Hugh answered her. ‘Ned and I went to him with a proposition.’ He explained the scheme to run a gaming house. ‘But Father will not do what he gave his word he would do.’

‘What is that?’ Lady Westleigh asked.

Her husband made a sound of disgust.

Rhys spoke up. ‘My lady, I fear what I’ve asked may cause you some distress. For that, I am sorry.’ He riveted his gaze on his father and spoke only to him. ‘I once came to you with one request—to support me after my mother died until I had a means of supporting myself. You refused. Now I have no need of your money, so I ask more.’ He turned back to Lady Westleigh. ‘Your husband must acknowledge me publicly as his natural son. It must seem to society that I am welcomed into the family. I do not ask for a true welcome,’ he assured her. ‘This is more a matter of recompense. But I insist upon a plan for this to be done and done soon. If it is not accomplished in a reasonable length of time, I will not release any of the money from the gaming hell to your sons.’

Hugh swung around to his mother. ‘We need the money, Mother. We need it now. Matters are desperate.’ His eyes shot daggers at his father. ‘If you had behaved with any decency, with any thought to our mother and sister, you would have done the right thing in the first place and you certainly would not have gambled and caroused until money for their food and clothing would be in jeopardy!’

Lady Westleigh’s eyes grew huge. ‘Is it as bad as that?’

‘It is desperate, Mother. Desperate.’ Hugh dropped into a chair.

The lady closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples as she took in all this information. Finally she spoke. ‘We shall give a ball and introduce you, Mr Rhysdale. I’ll arrange the date with you, but it might take a few weeks. The social calendar is full. You will, I presume, wish to have good attendance.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I will give you my word that it will happen. Will that be enough to release some of the money?’

Rhys stood. ‘Your word will be enough, my lady. I will release the money to Ned today. Have him call upon me this afternoon.’ He turned to Lord Westleigh. ‘If you prevent this ball in any way, no further profits will be forthcoming.’

‘I have no other choice, do I?’ Westleigh said.

‘As my mother had no choice when you forced her into your bed. As I had no choice but to survive on my own when I was fourteen.’ He bowed to Lady Westleigh. ‘I will act in a manner that will not embarrass you, my lady. It will suffice that the truth become known.’

She nodded.

‘Hugh.’ He nodded to his half-brother. ‘I’ll bid you all good day.’

As he left the house and walked out to the street, he lacked the feeling of triumph that he’d expected. Instead he thought of Lady Westleigh. Her pained expression. Her evident distress.

He’d succeeded in putting his father in a helpless position, but in so doing he’d hurt someone even more helpless. Lady Westleigh.

Another casualty of his father’s selfish behaviour.

But it was done.

Rhys would make arrangements with his bank and get the money to Ned this day.

Sun peeked through the buildings and Rhys was reminded of his youth in the village. It had not all been unhappy. He remembered running over hills, fishing in the river, climbing the highest tree he could find to look down on a world where he ordinarily felt quite small. The seeds of his ambition were sowed in that childhood—to succeed. To build something lasting.

The world was changing. The gaming hell belonged to a past where a few had so much money they could throw it away on dice and cards. The future belonged to men with brains and courage, no matter who parented them. Rhys had brains and courage and, with the help of the gaming hell, he’d soon have enough capital to build anything he liked.

His thoughts turned to Celia Allen as the sun warmed the air and lit the buildings in a golden light. Which world did she belong to? He no longer knew. He only knew that in the gaming hell, they were one of a kind.

Would she share his bed this night?

Would she approve of his actions this day?

Not that he would ever tell her, but, somehow his visit to the Westleighs, the family to which he would never truly belong, had left him feeling abandoned.

He wanted the comfort of her arms, her kiss.

He looked up to cross the street and saw Ned approaching from the other side. He stopped and waited. He might as well inform Ned about the afternoon’s events.

Ned walked right past him, not pointedly cutting him, as was typical of him, but apparently utterly oblivious.

Rhys called after him, ‘Ned!’

Ned stopped then and shook his head as if in a daze. He finally turned around. ‘Oh, Rhys. I did not see you there.’

He must be dazed. He called him Rhys, not Rhysdale.

He peered at Ned. ‘Are you unwell?’

Ned laughed. ‘Not at all. Merely thinking.’

The man looked like a sapskull. ‘What is so engrossing?’

Ned grinned. ‘Nothing.’

Oh. A woman.

A man only acted in such a manner when he was a besotted fool. ‘May I pull your head from the clouds?’

Ned sobered. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve come from your father.’ Their father, he meant. ‘I have forced the issue with him and I am satisfied that my introduction to society will happen soon. I am prepared to transfer the money back to you. Your original investment and some modest profits.’

Ned brightened. ‘My father came through? I feared he would not.’ He grasped Rhys’s arm. ‘This means … This means … We may retrench. We may actually pull out of this!’

Rhys recoiled from this unexpected camaraderie. ‘Do not be so hasty. It is not all song and celebration. I am afraid this matter has caused your mother some distress. For that, I am regretful.’

‘My mother?’ Ned’s demeanour blackened. ‘Did Father tell her?’

‘I did,’ Rhys said. ‘Although not by design. She encountered me in the hall.’

Ned lowered his head, his euphoria gone.

Rhys felt badly for him. ‘Think, Ned. She would have to know of this.’

‘I realise that,’ Ned responded. ‘I just hate what this does to her.’

Rhys actually felt sympathetic to Ned. ‘If it is any consolation, she knew who I was as soon as I told her my name.’

Ned nodded. ‘That does not surprise me. I am certain, though, that she did not know the state of our finances.’

‘Yes, I do think that shocked her,’ Rhys admitted. ‘I admired her. She handled the whole situation with exceptional grace.’

Ned glanced up at him. ‘She is an exceptional woman.’

Rhys clapped Ned on the soldier, surprising himself that their conversation was devoid of hostility. ‘Come with me to Coutts Bank. I’ll transfer the money to you right now.’

‘Excellent!’ Ned’s mood improved. ‘But I must be done by four o’clock.’

‘We’ll be done,’ Rhys assured him.

Celia excused herself after two of her mother-in-law’s friends came to call. Adele had already begged to be excused so that she might ready herself for her ride in Hyde Park.

It was endearing to see Adele so excited and happy. This past year of mourning had been so difficult. First the shock of their financial situation, then what amounted to an eviction from the only home Adele had ever known.

And now Luther thought he could court Adele?

Not if Celia could help it.

Although Celia was unsure about Neddington, as well.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Adele was engaged only for a ride in Hyde Park, not marriage.

Celia retreated to her bedchamber.

Her lady’s maid emerged from her dressing room. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am.’ She lifted a gown she carried in her arms. ‘I came in for this. Needs some mending.’

‘Thank you, Younie.’ Celia smiled. ‘I am surprised to see you here, though. I thought Adele would be running you in circles to get ready for Hyde Park.’

‘Oh, I am to go to her in one half hour,’ Younie said. ‘After she has rested so the dark circles under her eyes disappear.’

‘What dark circles?’ Adele looked as fresh-faced as ever.

Younie chuckled. ‘The ones in her imagination, I expect. It is best to go along with these notions, though. You cannot convince a girl that age of anything.’