Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

the Captain's table listening to a rich industrialist's wife from Chicago remark on the necessity for clearing the slums. "They're altogether too offensive to look at," she petulantly maintained. "It quite ruins my drive up the lake to our summer home, having to pass through those… well… filthy blighted areas of town. They should simply move all those squalid people—" she waved her pudgy, bejeweled hand in airy disdain, "away."

Her diamonds would have fed all those squalid people for a month, Daisy thought, familiar with the slums of Chicago since she'd attended law school in that city. She'd spent a good deal of time in those slums during her stay in Chicago, working with Jane Addams—trying to help where she could.

"All those foreigners shouldn't be allowed into the country in the first place," another matron said. "My husband suggested to our Senator an eminently useful quota system for all those dark-skinned foreigners." Her husband, a Judge from Philadelphia, City of Brotherly Love, Daisy recalled, apparently drew the line at dispensing love democratically. "No offense, Miss Black," the Judge's wife added, her smile gracious since she'd judged Daisy's diamond parure in the neighborhood of a queen's ransom.

"Actually, I'm less of a foreigner than you, Mrs. Lowell," Daisy replied with a gracious smile of her own. "My family's lived in America for over a thousand years."

And life goes on, Daisy ruefully reflected while the lady from Philadelphia sputtered in consternation. Outside the ambiance of Etienne's rarefied society, prejudice and bigotry continued unabated. So far removed from the censure of the world, he didn't begin to understand the existence of intolerance or predatory politics or stark privation. She could have chosen to stay in Paris, protected by his name and power, ensconced within the comfortable exclusivity of his privileged circle, allowing him to shield her not only from Isabelle's wrath but from the reality of life. She could have, had she been less committed to her own people… or perhaps, she reminded herself with a practicality independent of noble causes—had he insisted she stay.

But he hadn't, had he? He'd only said, "perhaps it's for the best___"

Damning bland words compared to her own fervent love.

A polite and courteous conclusion, perhaps, to a love affair that was over.

She found herself uninterested in the ensuing conversation centered on items of luxury, favored spas, and social amusements preferred by the wealthy matrons from Chicago or Philadelphia or Boston. Or the later discussion which digressed into mutual commiserations over the dearth of good hired help—of a non-foreign nature, of course. Withdrawing into the consuming sorrow inundating her mind whenever Etienne intruded into her thoughts, she left the table before dessert, not in the right frame of mind to watch overweight ladies who deplored the sight of poverty eat their fill of whipped-cream concoctions. Her dinner companions, reminiscent of the idle luxury of Etienne's fashionable milieu, reminded her too emphatically of the great gulf between her life and his.

While the basic disparity in Etienne's and her life always remained constant, she'd simply ignored the staggering differences—in the tumultuous passion of their relationship. Conveniently overlooking the fact that he accepted the self-indulgence of his life without question, she'd allowed his personal charm to dazzle her and obscure her judgment and beliefs.

Away from the hot-blooded immediacy of his passion, she could see more clearly how she'd been overcome and bewitched like the endless legion of females before her; the Duc de Vec was too perfect, she realized, too skilled, too darkly handsome with a personal warmth unparalleled in its intimacy. Like an addiction, she craved him without reason or conscience, but like an addiction, too, the drugging effect would diminish ultimately. And while she missed him like breath itself, she recognized the dilemma inherent in their loving each other.

She cried that night, though, alone in her bed, no practical assessment sufficient defense against her longing. Tearful and miserable, she lay awake unable to sleep, wishing she could feel the comfort of Etienne's presence, wishing the only man she'd ever loved didn't live half a world away. Wishing perhaps he loved her more or she loved him less. Weeping with heartbreaking desolation, because even if he did love her enough to overcome the wretched distance separating them, he was unfortunately already married to a woman who meant to keep him.

In less than a week, the Duc was back in Le Havre, seeing Jolie and her family off to America. The stateroom overflowed with colorful flowers from their friends and from Etienne, while toys for Hector spilled over from his adjoining room.

"Do you think you bought enough playthings for Hector?" Jolie facetiously inquired, her gaze on her father and son seated on the floor, absorbed in their play.

"You never have enough toys," the Duc impenitently replied, looking up from the mechanical circus wagon he was winding for Hector. His smile was benign. "I think we need some more clowns," he pointed out to his grandson with jest in his tone, "to fill this wagon."

"More clowns. Want," Hector cheerfully agreed, seated in the midst of a menagerie of circus animals.

Etienne grinned up at his daughter. "You see?"

"You're incorrigible," his daughter laughingly chastised.

"Probably."

Then her expression abruptly altered as she observed her son and father seated side by side in tender loving companionship and her lip began to tremble. "Oh, Papa, I'm going to miss you."

Etienne rose swiftly to his feet and gathered her into his arms. "It's not for so long, darling. I'll be over to see that green-grass country soon."

"Promise?" Jolie lifted her face to his and he thought again as he had a thousand times before how lucky he was to have his children. Although older now and a mother herself, she was still his little girl with her dark curls framing her face, her cheeks rosy like a child's, her large eyes fresh with a green-eyed innocence he hoped she'd never lose.

"Promise," he murmured, no more able to refuse her now than any time before.

"On your word, Papa,"