Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

And she'd succeeded against daunting odds for the same reasons. Like her father and her brothers, Daisy's allegiance was steadfastly with her clan.

Empress realized with a deeply grateful recognition, that she was fortunate in not having had to face such a cruel dilemma. While her family estates were in France, competent managers and her oldest brother, Guy, were supervising their operation. And her spiritual world wasn't as dynamically interdependent.

"Could Etienne consider living in Montana for a portion of the year?" she gently inquired.

Daisy straightened from her assistance in tower building, her expression unreadable. "He oversees a dozen estates, major interests in three European railways, a chair on the Bourse, his consuming passion for polo during the season commands hours a day—not to mention the maintenance of the thousand-year de Vec family grandeur. That combination would be hard to manage from Montana."

For the next month, Daisy and Etienne's letters crossed the great distance separating them, renewing and sustaining their impassioned hopes. Until one hot July day in a Paris bereft of every soul fortunate enough to have escaped to the cool countryside, Bourges telephoned the Duc with some more disheartening news. Their appeal for the change of venue had been heard by a substitute magistrate because Beauchamp had fallen ill—he wasn't expected to live—and they'd lost again.

"Bloody hell." Etienne sighed, leaning back against his chair and shutting his eyes.

"I've never been so systematically struck down by wretched coincidence. It's like a damnable act of God," Bourges complained. "Beauchamp had agreed to be reasonable."

"I suppose we can consider ourselves fortunate the reversal is only a loss in court for us," the Duc philosophically said, opening his eyes to the cool dimness of his study. "Beauchamp may not be so lucky."

"Apparently it was his heart. You're right of course, although I'm hard-pressed at the moment to dredge up benign reflections."

"So who denied us?"

"Plaige. Damn his jumped-up petite noblesse heart. His wife's connections put him where he is today and it's gone to his head."

"No doubt he was easily persuaded then by Charles's pur sang," Etienne ironically remarked. "Where do we go from here?"

"I've a meeting with Letheve tomorrow."

"A waste of time, Felicien."

"Maybe not."

Felicien had a doggedness one had to admire, but Etienne knew talking to Letheve was useless. The man followed Charles and Isabelle's dictates to the letter. "I'm going out to my river estate for a few days, so I won't be in touch," the Duc said, needing some solace after another bleak report from Bourges. "I'll call you when I return. And thank you," he finished, "for all your work."

"We'll get them eventually."

Etienne had to smile at his persistence. "I sure as hell hope so," he said.

He hadn't been back to Colsec since Daisy left, the past month intensely busy with business commitments. He'd traveled to each of his estates to oversee the condition of the crops and vineyards, made two swift journeys to the south of France where new rail lines were being proposed by one of the companies he financed, and saw to the construction of additional stables at his racing stud.

Daisy's presence immediately struck him as he walked through the rooms at Colsec, all so reminiscent of sweet memories: she'd eaten with him in the small flagstoned parlor and sat there on the Turkish sofa under the window; she'd laughed over her shoulder at him, coming down these stairs, her eyes sparkling with mischief; in that bed they'd made love and on that chaise one warm afternoon—for the first time, and there on the balcony, in the cool of the morning, in the balmy hours of the afternoon, at night under the light of the moon. And then he caught sight of the new bathroom added since his last visit, complete with modern plumbing so Daisy would have more comfort than his small tub afforded when she bathed. He'd forgotten. Walking through the large portal cut into the bedroom wall, he stood arrested by the spectacular view overlooking the garden. Floor to ceiling windows faced east to catch the morning light, and hand-painted tiles in rich rose and moss green trailed floral garlands over the sleek surface of the walls. A green marble bathtub, splendid and ornate with sculpted faucets of gold, dominated one wall. A dressing table built in under the eaves, lace-skirted and fitted out with perfumes and mirrors, awaited Daisy's pleasure.

Like he.

He had to walk outside along the river for a time to gain some control over his despair, to leave behind the haunting echoes and lost hopes, to come to terms at last with a sense of unutterable hopelessness. When he returned, he entered his small study and sat down to write to Daisy. Inundated with his melancholy memories of happier times, depressed with the most recent news from Bourges, the Duc was thoroughly discouraged as he began his letter. This cottage at Colsec, once his snug refuge, seemed empty and forlorn without the woman he loved and his words reflected his desolation.

I'm sorry, he wrote, but I don't know if this divorce will succeed. The appeal for change of venue was denied. While Bourges is hopeful, in my present mood I find it difficult to agree with him. I'm at Colsec, missing you dreadfully, seeing you everywhere, unable to hold you or talk to you. At times like this your dour warnings reverberate like bells of doom, numbing hope, paralyzing action. While my feelings for you haven't changed, they're unfortunately incidental to the bleak future of my divorce.

He added a few lines more about the prairie garden outside his window, how it reminded him or her, but he found it impossible to be cheerful and he closed without his usual promise to see her soon.

Etienne's letter came at the worst possible time, for Daisy, too, was disconsolate over the numerous problems impeding their future. His joyless news seemed only to echo her own despair.

Riding up into the hills to be alone, she lay under the shimmering aspen,