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

ind of friends and acquaintances who can become useful later in life. I can d
o that in England, but they'll all be left behind when I return home."
"You've become cynical already, little brother?" She was hardly a year olde
r than me, but had always taken enjoyment from her position as the eldest.
"Realistic. I've spent a lot of time in this room listening to Father and his
cronies while they're sharing a bottle. I can practice law well enough, but I'
ll be better at it for having a few friends 'round me as he does. Which remind
s me..." 1 quit the fireplace to open a nearby cupboard and poured out a
bit of wine to keep my strength up. My stomach snarled with ingratitude at t
he thoughtful gesture.
Elizabeth giggled at the noise. She looked remarkably like the portrait above
her. Prettier, I thought. Livelier. Certainly saner.
"What is it?" she asked, taking note of my distraction.
"I was just thinking that you could have almost posed for that." I indicated t
he painting.
She stood away for a better look. "Perhaps, but my face is longer. If it's all
the same to you, I would prefer not to be compared to her at all."
"She may have been different back then," I pointed out. "If not, then why d
id Father ever marry her and have us?"
"That's hardly our business, Jonathan."
"It certainly is since we're the living results of their. .. affection? ... for one
another."
"Now you're being crude."
"No I'm not. When I get crude, you'll know it, dear sister. Who do I look lik
e?"
She tilted her head, unknowingly copying Mother's affected mannerism, but
in an unaffected way. "Father, of course, but younger and not as heavy."
"Father's not fat," I protested.
"You know what I mean. When men get older they either go to fat or put on
another layer of muscle."
"Or both."
"Ugh. But not you. In a few years you'll get the muscle and look just like hi
m."
"That's reassuring." We had always regarded Father as being a very handso
me man.
"Peacock," said Elizabeth, reading my face and thus my thoughts. I grinned
and saluted her with my glass. It was empty, but I soon corrected that. The
wine tasted wonderful but with no food in my stomach it was shooting strai
ght to my head.
"Mother will burst a blood vessel if you turn up drunk in the kitchen," she
observed without rancor.
"If I really get drunk, then I shan't care. Would you like some?"
"Yes," she said decisively, and got a glass. "She'll make drunkards of us all be
fore she's finished. I'm surprised Father isn't...."
"Father has other occupations," I said, pouring generously and thinking fon
dly of Mrs. Montagu.
"I wish I did," she muttered, and drained off half her portion. "Father goes
out, you have your riding and studies, but I'm expected to sit here all day
and find contentment with needlework, household duties, and numbering out m
y prospects."