Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

Martel was infinitely more fascinating to watch than the stolid fat heir to the throne. The situation seemed singularly peculiar, some thought; first, having the young child at the ceremony and second, kissing him and laughing so informally in public. Such thoughts reflected those who knew the Duc de Vec only by repute. Those who knew Etienne more intimately knew he did very much as he pleased and he adored his grandson more than anything in the world.

Then the guests who knew him most intimately, those exclusively female in gender, understood that Etienne laughed easily and kissed even more easily. And many a small repining sigh reflected a wistful desire to be once more the recipient of his warm affection.

Daisy was wiping spilled champagne from her dress bodice when Adelaide noticed. "Champagne won't stain, darling. Here, have another. The heat is rising."

"Thank you, I will," Daisy replied, taking the offered glass and drinking it down immediately as though she needed it.

"Isn't Hector precious?" Adelaide went on, not aware of Daisy's discomfort.

"I didn't notice," Daisy lied. "The Duc d'Orléans is less majestic than I expected."

"Poor dear is less everything than one expects," Adelaide philosophically noted, "but he is the Bourbon heir." She shrugged the young Pretender's inadequacies away as had the feuding factions in the National Assembly. While the majority of those in Parliament agreed on very little, they did agree on the fact that France didn't need Louis Philippe on the throne. "Valentin," she added, turning to her husband, "are we going to de Vec's later?"

"If you care to."

Adelaide turned back to Daisy. "Do you?"

"No, thank you," Daisy quickly retorted, for lack of a better excuse, relying on the weather for support. "This heat is beginning to make me uncomfortable."

"The Hôtel de Vec will be cool. It was built in medieval times; the walls are six feet thick. The heat won't be a problem."

Daisy's mind was an absolute blank; not one gracious social excuse came to her aid. "I'd rather not," she heard herself bluntly say and cringed inwardly at her discourtesy.

When Adelaide pursed her lips faintly, Daisy fearfully waited for an inquisitive question. But Adelaide only nodded her head once and said, "I've never liked Isabelle. Why don't we all go to the river instead? Valentin will sail us down to Colsec." She smiled at Daisy. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

Daisy was feeling genuinely ill at this point, the champagne, warm sun, and longing for Etienne combining to adversely affect her nerves. But if she pleaded illness, her statement would either be regarded as an incredibly feeble lie, drawing attention she didn't want, or she would be overwhelmed with solicitous concern which she also wished to avoid. "Tomorrow morning I've that early appointment with the Minister of Justice," she said, finding honesty a benevolent adjunct to her real reason for refusing. "I'm going to beg off."

"Are you sure?" Adelaide was a perfect hostess, conscious her guest's wishes were paramount. "Do you want company at home?"

"No!" Then Daisy altered the intensity of her voice to something more politic. Her tone was mild when she continued. "Please go without me, Adelaide. I understand the river is lovely this time of year." And she knew from personal experience, it was absolute heaven.

Daisy spent a restless night, tossing and turning, her mind absorbed with repetitive, useless speculation and wishful thinking, both of which she logically dismissed numerous times, in the course of the sleepless hours, as ludicrous. Not only shouldn't she be dwelling on senseless thoughts of the Duc de Vec, she should be sleeping because she'd need all her diplomacy and wits in dealing with the Minister who had to date refused all her requests to hasten legal procedures.

But then her mind would reloop against her will, her feelings more potent than logic. What was Etienne thinking? Was he thinking of her? Was it possible he was dreaming of her tonight? Those considerations composed the wishful thinking. Her speculation, more pragmatic, was wondering where he was right now and with whom. Which thought always brought a twinge of jealousy she'd try to suppress. Only to be followed moments later by new combinations of the previous images, variations on a theme: Had he enjoyed the days at Colsec as much as she? He seemed to. He'd never taken a woman there before. Surely that had to count for something. Would he call again, did he miss her, would he never call again, how many women had passed through his life in the last twenty years? He said he'd be forty this year.

In the next pulsebeat she'd decry her obsession as an aberration she must put aside, a momentary unsoundness of mind she must control. She'd never been affected in this fashion by a man and it wasn't as though she hadn't had her share of suitors. Her family wealth alone, she realistically understood, had drawn as many men to court her as she cared to receive. She was also aware of her beauty, not immodestly, but with an objectivity directly related to the looks in men's eyes.

So tired and irritable after a sleepless night, she hotly decided as the dawning sun colored the sky, her obsession was counter-productive to her emotions, to her professional duties, and to her future. More sensible in the bright light of the morning, many hours removed from the resplendent magic of the Duc, she decided to consider her rendezvous with the Duc at Colsec as simply a pleasant and enlightening experience. Nothing more.

In any event, repining over love was unwise.

It was equally unwise even to use the word love in the romantic sense when speaking of the Duc de Vec.

Every practical consideration in Daisy's life reminded her one didn't lose all reason because a man was gentle and passionate and compellingly beautiful. Such unreason was the height of absurdity, she decided, reaching out to ring for her morning chocolate, her thoughts once again on track.

flow best to approach the Minister, Comte de Montigny, now