Whispering Hearts (House of Secrets #3) - V.C. Andrews Page 0,76

remembering how Leo characterized all this as my being in a play. Actually, you’re the one who will be in the play. You’re the one who will be acting the part. I’ll be living it.”

It was only after I said that last part that I realized what I’d done. Suddenly, she looked a little upset, even a little insulted.

“I’ll live it, too. It won’t be just sympathy pains or something. It will be important for me to be mentally tied to my child.”

“Yes, I guess it will. Of course,” I said. “That’s very wise.”

She smiled. “I thought so. Nevertheless, I don’t want to think of you as simply someone in a mirror, someone to model myself after and imitate. I want to know as much about you as an individual as quickly as I can.” She sat on one of the two settees that faced each other. “And you’re always free to ask me anything about myself. We’ve got to become best friends quickly, almost lifelong best friends, so we can carry our story credibly. Do you mind?”

“Absolutely not. I haven’t had a best friend for some time,” I said.

Her smile warmed.

She nodded for me to sit. She looked at the closed door when we could hear people in the entryway and on the stairs, not subduing their voices as much. Her face took on a look of abject fear. I thought she was having this conversation simply to do all she could to avoid confronting what was happening in the mansion, but when she turned back to me, I could see that she was sincerely curious about my upbringing and life in England.

Surprisingly, as I described it, answering one question after another, I felt a little more homesick than I had when I was in the city. Perhaps that was because I was so busy then, my every hour seemingly taken up with work and solving problems as well as chasing my dream. Here, it would be the filling of time, almost like an inmate in a prison counting days and hours, despite all that the mansion and its grounds had to offer. I was still confined, and what I had surmised as to how it would be looked to be accurate. The implication was clear that when I began to show, I was going to be practically incarcerated so her secret could be kept intact. No contact with anyone but some of the trusted staff and Samantha, my every movement supervised, and every morsel I ate carefully prepared and served were what loomed before me. The isolation and the pregnancy would justify every penny they gave me.

I asked her questions about her college life, and from her answers, I had the distinct impression she was never serious about finding a career. For her, it seemed more like a giant sorority. She had met Dr. Davenport during her spring break when she was a senior, and by the time she had graduated, they were engaged.

“We were… how would you say… smitten with each other.”

“Yes,” I said. For a moment, thinking about my frustrations in New York, I was envious, but I fought that back, shaking the hope for such a destiny out of my mind.

“Let’s go look at the rest of the house,” she said when the house became silent. We had been talking nearly an hour.

We went to every remaining room, even visiting the kitchen. Mrs. Marlene was gone, but Samantha wanted me to see how modern it was and how big their pantry was. According to her, Elizabeth Davenport would have a fit if something she wanted had not been properly stored.

“She once had a tantrum because there were no Ritz crackers for her wine-and-cheese late-afternoon time. Parker had to rush into Hillsborough, the village, to get a box, and Mrs. Marlene was nearly brought to tears.

“Harrison is constantly warning her about her high blood pressure. He says she’s a perfect example of someone being her own worst enemy, but she’s stubborn. What good is it to have a specialist for a son if you don’t listen to him?”

She gave me a clear look of warning. I had better listen to him and my maternity doctor.

“Like my father, she’s probably cemented into her ways,” I offered. “My mother likes to say, ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’ Of course, she won’t say it in front of him.”

“Oh, if I ever called Elizabeth Davenport an old dog… I’d have to leave the country, not just Wyndemere,”

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