"P. N. Elrod - Jonathan Barrett 01 - Red Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

Long Island, April 1773
"You are a prideful, willful, ungrateful wretch!"
This was my mother speakingтАФor rather screechingтАФto me, her only son.
To be fair, it was not one of her better days, but then she had so few of th
ose that none of us were accustomed to noting any difference in her temper.
Good or bad, it was best to treat her with the caution and deference that sh
e demanded, if not openly, then by implication. Today, or at least at this m
oment, I had failed to observe that unspoken rule of behavior, and for the n
ext five minutes was treated to a sneering, acid-filled lecture detailing th
e negative aspects of my character. Considering that until recently she'd sp
ent fifteen of my seventeen years removed from my company, she had a surpris
ingly large store of knowledge to draw upon for her invective.
By the time she'd paused for air I'd flushed red from head to foot and swea
t tickled and stung under my arms and along my flanks. 1 was breathing hard
as well from the effort required to hold in my own hot emotions.
"And don't you dare glower at your mother like that, Jonathan Fonteyn," she
ordered.
What, then, am I to do? I snarled back to her in my mind. And she'd used m
y middle name, which I hated, which was why she'd used it. It was her maid
en name and yet one more tie to her. With a massive effort, I swallowed an
d tried to compose my face to more neutral lines. It helped to look down.
"I am sorry, Mother. Please forgive me." The words were patently forced and
wooden, fooling no one. A show of submission was required at this point, i
f only to prevent her from launching into another tirade.
Unhampered by the obligation of filial respect, the woman was free to glare
at me for as long as she pleased. She had it down to a fine art. She also
made no acknowledgment of what I'd just said, meaning that she had not acce
pted my apology. Such gracious gestures of forgiveness were reserved only f
or those times when a third party was present as a witness to her loving pa
tience with a wayward son. We were alone in Father's library now; not even
a servant was within earshot of her honey-on-broken-glass voice.
I continued to study the floor until she moved herself to speak again.
"I will hear no more of your nonsense, Jonathan. There's many another you
ng man who would gladly trade places with you."
Find one, I thought, and I would just as cheerfully cut a bargain with him on
this very spot.
"The arrangements have been made and cannot be unmade. You've no reason
to find complaint with any of it."
True, I had to admit to myself. The opportunity was fabulous, something I
would have eagerly jumped for had it been presented to me in any other m
anner, preferably as one adult to another. What was so objectionable was
having everything arranged without my knowledge and sprung on me without
warning and with no room for discussion.
I took a deep breath in the hope that it would steady me and tried to push the
anger away. The breath had to be let out slowly and silently, lest she interp
ret it as some sort of impertinence.
Finally raising my eyes, I said, "I am quite overwhelmed, Mother. But this i
s rather unexpected."
"I hardly think so," she replied. "Your father and I had long ago determined
that you would go into law."