Wine of Passion by Clarissa Ross

Author:Clarissa Ross [Ross, Clarissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-7426-9
Publisher: F+W Media, Inc.
Published: 2013-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

She gasped, “George dead!”

“James felt I should wait until later to tell you,” Hilda said. “But I didn’t want to keep it from you any longer than I could help.”

She nodded. “You were right. Better to know it now.” And then as the shock wore off, she asked, “What happened?”

“He died in that brothel. A scandalous business. He had some sort of spell. They sent for a doctor. He pronounced it a stroke. Sir George died within a few hours.”

She looked into space. “So it is over!”

“I know how relieved you must feel.”

She turned to her friend with a wry look. “Think what it might have meant if he had died a year or two earlier. John and I could have been truly married!”

“You had a better marriage than most.”

Joy said bitterly, “I doubt if mother would agree.”

“Your mother will never win medals for her kindness or understanding,” Hilda said.

She sighed. “One of the reasons I was putting off my return to London was my fear of what he might do. At least that threat is over.”

“The entire scandalous business will soon be forgotten,” her sister-in-law said. “In a year or two everyone will have forgotten. Indeed many know nothing about it even now.”

“Did you attend the funeral?”

“No. I hear the mourners were largely creditors worrying about their payments.”

Joy said, “I trust they can make no claim on me.”

“James says not.”

At this point her brother arrived with the porter and luggage. After the carriage was loaded, they drove to James’s fine home only a few blocks away from Berkeley Square.

As they drove through the busy streets, she told James, “I have heard the news from Hilda.”

“He’s better done with,” James said with a frown.

“I’m sorry it couldn’t have ended better for him,” she said. “But he seemed to have a gift for self destruction.”

“You’ll do yourself a service to think no more about him,” her brother said. “John’s death was an entirely different matter. So tragic.”

They finally reached the fine Georgian home in which James had installed his family. Joy knew that James had done well, but the elegance of his great mansion was impressive. A governness presented their three children and Joy, the middle child, also had golden hair and blue eyes. The oldest, a boy named after her father, was a replica of James. The youngest was a boisterous little elf, entirely her own self.

The death of Sir George had left her with no feeling of widowhood, those sentiments were reserved for John Hasting’s drowning. But legally she was free of the marital ties which had bound her to her late husband. She knew she must plan a new life. She could not live in idleness in the house at Berkeley Square. Nor did she wish to return to Invermere with all its memories of her good life with John. She must find something quite different.

After a pleasant week with James and Hilda and their family, she moved to Berkeley Square. Life there proved as difficult as everyone had warned her.

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