Daughters of the Summer Storm Frances Statham (bill gates book recommendations .TXT) 📖

made up for her. She merely draped and pinned and cut the materials to Marigold's full figure and then handed them to the two girls she had brought with her.

"Do not worry, ma petite," the French woman finally said to Marigold. "I have a way of disguising the fullness in front. You will look very fashionable, and your husband will be proud of you, chérie."

"Then, that would be a miracle indeed, Madame," Marigold replied.

The woman chuckled and went about her work, humming under her breath. She matched a gold and green brocade ribbon to the cape of lime green velvet. As she pinned it, she said, "Monsieur specifically wished you to have the cape in this color. It will go well with the green crepe dress, as well as the gold one to match your eyes. But it seems, Monsieur is partial to shades of green."

Marigold smiled, remembering the first dress he had purchased for her—and how he had insisted she wear it the day he had taken her to the little stone church.

"The memories are pleasant, Madame?" the woman asked, with a knowing smile.

Startled, Marigold looked at the little gray-haired woman. "I was remembering another dress of the same color," she confessed.

Two days later, the hooded cape and finished dresses hung in the armoire of Marigold's room. She decided upon impulse to dress in the new clothes that morning. And her heart was suddenly happy.

Although she would not be seen by anyone but her family, she took great care with her hair, plaiting it with brocade ribbon to match that of her cape. In the dress, gathered high under her breasts, she resembled the girl in the Botticelli paintings. Marigold looked in the mirror and decided she could easily have stepped from some ancient Renaissance castle. What a pity that Shaun would not see her in the dress, for she was rather pleased with the miracle that Madame Reynaud had accomplished.

By early afternoon, Marigold was restless, having stayed inside the entire morning. Taking the cape, Marigold put it on and walked outside. The day was sunny and mild, and soon, she found herself on the path to the river house.

Down past the fallow fields she walked, past the fence and toward the river where the great cottonwoods towered. She came to the maze of yew hedge and honeysuckle that surrounded the small house. It was not quite so green as in summer. Standing on the tiny porch, she looked in the window at the deserted parlor. The door was unlocked, and on an impulse, Marigold pushed it open. This was the house where she and Maranta had taken their dolls to play under Feena's watchful eye for hours at a time. The house had a certain warmth, a hospitality that the larger house did not possess. She did not know why, but everytime she walked inside, she felt a wealth of love. And it was the same today. Had anyone ever lived in it? she wondered.

Marigold remembered the time she had wanted to move into it herself, but her parents had not allowed it. If she had been a boy, it would have been all right—

The sunlight dazzled through the windows, and Marigold became lost in her dreams. The sound of footsteps on the porch alerted her to another's presence. Who had followed her? Robbie?

As the door opened, Marigold turned. "Souci," a voice called out. And she saw her husband before her.

She smiled and started toward him. "No," he said. "Stand where you are for a moment—in the sunlight."

She stopped and waited while his eyes traveled over her. "Now, remove the cape," he said. Mesmerised by his look, his emerald eyes staring into hers, she obeyed, dropping the cape over a chair.

The swell of her breasts was emphasized by Madame Reynaud's couture hand, while her rounded stomach was hidden under the voluminous folds.

"Souci," he said, with longing in his voice. His boots made a noise across the bare floor as he came to her.

In an instant, she was in his arms. His lips moved over her eyelids, kissing her cheeks on their way to her mouth. Her breath came in short gasps while he parted her lips and explored with his tongue.

Before she knew it, they were in the bedroom, on the bed, and she was encircled by his strong arms. Her dress was unhooked and his hands caressed her flesh. Her nipples became taut with longing.

Only in her dreams had they been together this way. Marigold strained against him, until the roundness of her stomach came between them. Shaun sat up slowly. Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Oh, God, Souci. How I wish you were not with child." He ran his fingers through his auburn hair, and in a stern voice he said, "Fasten your dress."

With trembling hands, she attempted to right the dress, while Shaun walked away from her, not offering to help her.

"Your mother is looking for you," the man said from a distance, not turning his head. "I think you had better go back to the house."

Marigold's face was pale. Shaun walked rapidly out of the dense thicket surrounding the river house, seeming not to care that Marigold could not keep up with him.

What Crane had said was true. She was a wanton. And even Shaun was disgusted with her, with her lack of control. She had invited his caresses, even in her condition. But worst of all, she had heard what she feared most. Her child was not welcome in their marriage.

With pain-filled eyes, Marigold followed the path back to the house. Shaun had not even waited for her.

The sound of laughter in the drawing room greeted her. The high-pitched voice of Docia Henley penetrated the room, and Marigold, recognizing it, turned to go up to her room. But her mother, walking toward the drawing room, looked up and saw her. "Oh there you are, Souci," she called out. "I was hoping you would come back soon. Shaun and Docia are here."

"If you will excuse