Lyn Cote's Blog, page 100

Chapter Sixteen Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Sixteen Scene 1

As usual the windows, even this late in the afternoon, were still delicately frosted. Christiane looked through the lacy patterns to the scene below. Tomorrow would be Christmas and her own nineteenth birthday. The mood of the passersby below was more than cheerful; it was ebullient. She watched soldiers carrying Yule logs and wreaths; bakers making special deliveries; poulterers bearing large geese and turkeys to the kitchen door; and officers greeting one another. Not even a war in a strange city could dampen their holiday spirit. Christiane felt set apart from them by her inner morass of emotions. She had hoped that some graceful way of leaving would present itself, but none had. And she had failed to convince the major that he did not need her.

Before Smith's ball, the major had been distant and sardonic. Now he was eager to share his attention, approval, and wealth. She was astute enough to recognize that he was showing more than gratitude, more than infatuation. If only she had not left the Richardsons unprotected. If only her plan to leave that morning after the ball could have succeeded. If only she had possessed the strength of will to go despite his pleadings. "If-onlys" she had in abundance. She could have strung them like beads and made a chain of them.

A sigh rushed out. She could not believe that any other woman on the North American Continent had a life more confused than her own. She was an American patriot, living with an English officer. She was engaged to marry, yet she had slept in another man's bed. How could she ever look Henry in the eye again? Every time she tried to take control of her life, it slipped just a little farther from her reach.

The door opened. Alfred entered and smiled at her. He was so pleased at the way things were going. His lordship's long trial seemed to be over–though Alfred still wondered at the lady's continued use of the blankets by the fire each night. "Merry Christmas, ma'am," he said brightly.

"Merry Christmas, Alfred." Her complete lack of enthusiasm came through clearly.

"Is there anything that you need, ma'am?"

"No, Alfred." She sighed again. He stood for a moment, wondering at her mood. After all, it was Christmas Eve. Quietly he went about the room, straightening and smoothing.

"Alfred," she asked, "where is the major?"

A wary look came to the servant's face. He must be careful or spoil the surprise. "He is in the stable, ma'am, seeing to his horse." A devious smile creased his face.

Unaware, she continued, "Do you think he will be there long?"

"No, ma'am."

She sighed wearily. "Mrs. Loring has invited me to visit her this afternoon. If the major asks for me, that is where I will be." She smoothed her hair with her hands and left the room. She did not look forward to another idle afternoon with the Sultana, but perhaps it would take her mind off her problem.

When she entered the general's suite, Mrs. Loring was waiting for her. "I was just about to send you a reminder," the blond said quickly, "The shops will close in a little over an hour. I am so careless. I have not even bought a gift for the general."

Christiane wondered if the woman had bothered to buy Mister Loring anything. At first she had assumed that the general's mistress was a widow as she was, but she had later learned that Mr. Loring had actually accompanied his wife and Howe to Philadelphia. Howe had appointed Mr. Loring his commissary officer. It was a very lucrative position, considering the abundant opportunities for graft. Suppliers to the British Army were quite willing to grease the wheels of commerce. After all, they could always make up the cost by lowering quality or shorting quantity.

Of course, she knew that this type of arrangement was common at the French Court, but for once she agreed with her ancestress Marie Renee who had decided that the women of her family would always remain single. Having a husband who wished to profit from his wife's affairs was sickening. No wonder there was a Revolution going on.

"I'll loan you a wrap and hat and we will be off," Mrs. Loring said heedlessly. Christiane tried to decline, but the imperious Sultana and she were soon sitting opposite each other in a narrow sedan chair. It was only a short walk to the shops, but, of course, Mrs. Loring never took an unnecessary step. They first stopped at a jewelry shop. The paramour selected a snuff box for her lover. Christiane watched the proceeding disinterestedly. As they left, Mrs. Loring asked, "What did you get Major Eastham for Christmas?"

Christiane was at a loss. She almost blurted out "Nothing. Mind your own business," but stopped herself. Finally she managed to say, "I haven't been able to decide."

"You should have asked me! I'll be glad to help!" With no further ado, she turned Christiane around and piloted her back into the shop.

The owner beamed at their quick return. "May I be of further help?"

"Yes, Madame Belmond is looking for a Christmas gift for her friend, Major Eastham." She emphasized the word "friend" in such a way that it was clear that they were definitely more than friends.

"Of course," the jeweler seized the opportunity. "May I suggest cuff links? I have several handsome pairs."

"No, I don't think so," Christiane murmured. The owner made several more expensive suggestions to no avail.

Mrs. Loring finally gave up and led Christiane out. "Perhaps we can find something at the haberdashers?"

Christiane stopped. Another ploy was needed. "Mrs. Loring, I did not bring my purse with me."

"Oh, that's no problem. If I identify you as Madame Belmond, your credit will be good. Just sign for it as I did."

Bested again. Maybe honesty would work. "The major seems to have everything he needs. And if he wants something, he is able to decide for himself," Christiane said desperately.

"I know that!" the blond exclaimed, perturbed. "You don't think William needs this snuff box, do you? But I know he will be giving me something and it would be rude not to have something to give him in return."

"I never thought of that," Christiane said honestly.

"Sometimes I don't know what you would do without me," the other woman observed with satisfaction.

The men who were carrying the sedan chair followed them as they walked down to the haberdashers. Christiane took more interest this time, but neither woman could find anything appropriate. Just as they were about to leave, Christiane spotted some handkerchiefs. She stood over them and the stroked the fine white linen. "Not handkerchiefs for a major," Mrs. Loring complained.

"No," Christiane replied thoughtfully, "I was thinking of Alfred, the major's man. He would like these."

"Well, why not?" Mrs. Loring answered. Her expression showed that she believed Christiane was without a doubt the strangest creature she had ever met. Buying presents for a servant. Really.

The transaction caused Christiane some anxiety. She had never used credit before, but she found it almost painless. Still she felt wrong in not asking the major's permission first. But he was an honest man and she was confident he would make good on her purchase. Soon the two women were again standing outside in the crisp air. "Should we go back to the jeweler's since you are now in the mood to shop?"

Christiane looked up and down the street at the various shops. "No, let's try the bookseller. The major enjoys reading."

"Very well. Let's get out of this cold. Why does Christmas always have to be so cold?" The blond looked as though she were about to signal the men that they would board the chair again, but Christiane, smiling to herself, marched briskly toward the book shop at the end of the block. Mrs. Loring was going to get her outdoor exercise today.

As soon as they stepped inside, Christiane liked the book shop. The smell of the leather delighted her senses as did the rows upon rows of shiny multi-colored volumes. This was the major's kind of store. Mrs. Loring sniffed and went to warm her hands by the stove.

Christiane strolled along the first aisle of books, reading the titles, touching a book here and there. The owner cleared his throat, "May I be of some help?"

Mrs. Loring rustled over to him. "She is looking for a present for her friend, Major Eastham."

So this was the beautiful Madame Belmond. The bookseller had heard about her. Along with all the other shopkeepers, he had wondered when she would begin to give them some trade. He had better look sharp. His wife would want a detailed description of the French beauty. "What are the major's interests?"

Christiane turned to him. "Almost anything. He is widely read. That is the problem, you see. He may already have whatever I choose."

The owner crossed his arms and cupped his chin in one hand. "Ah," he said at last, "how about a new very well done edition of a classic? Even if he had the plays in a another form, he will value the book itself."

"Plays?" Christiane asked tentatively.

"Yes, a new edition of MacBeth, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet. It is called: Three Tragedies of Shakespeare."

Christiane stroked the dark red leather binding and fingered the gold lettering. "Yes, this is lovely. Will you wrap it please?"

"Of course. Of course," the man agreed happily. He was delighted by her quick decision and by its large price. He hummed a little of "Deck the Halls" to himself. Mrs. Loring stood by the warm stove, still idly waiting.

Christiane browsed among the few book stalls. Oddly her mood had lightened and she hummed along with the bookseller almost unconsciously. Her eyes spotted a book, Scottish Verse by Robert Blair. Lord Hazelton had amused Christiane often as a child by reciting Blair's poetry to her.

"I'll take this one, too," Christiane said, carrying it to the owner.

He beamed at her. "Another excellent choice. Excellent." The second book was wrapped posthaste. Christiane signed for them and the two women departed. Christiane still hummed "Deck the Halls" as she entered the sedan chair in Mrs. Loring's wake.

"Well, that's done," the blond said smugly. "I can hardly wait to see what the general gives me."

From the way she said it, Christiane knew that the woman expected more than a snuff box. The thought of what the major might give her almost dampened Christiane's budding good spirits. But she threw off the depression. She was tired of feeling downhearted. It was Christmas Eve and this was the first time in her adult life that she had been able to give anyone a present. It was a great feeling. Couldn't she afford to be carefree for a day or two?

Dangerous words, don't you think?

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A Chance to Do Some Good in This World

Perhaps you recognize the title as a line from The Two Towers, the second film in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. Sam urges his friend Frodo to continue the quest to destroy the ring of evil, to go on because we have A Chance to Do Some Good in This World.

I'm letting you know about one such chance today. Every year Author Brenda Novak sponsors an online auction to benefit Diabetes Research. Since I have a son with this disease this cause is very close to my heart. If you click the photo below of Brenda, a new window will open with the auction.

Every year I donate a gift basket with something I've knitted and some of my books. Last year a person paid ove $80 for an afghan and 4 of my books. That really made me smile.  Here is the link to my gift basket in case you'd like to bid on it. See what I knit this year!

Also here's a link to 14 inspirational autographed books to go to the highest bidder.

Don't miss this Chance to Do Some Good in This World !

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Chapter Fifteen Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fifteen Scene 3

"Very well." The major sighed deeply. He looked up and into her eyes. "I never intended to reveal this to anyone, so I will depend upon your discretion." She nodded and then he continued, "I am the only son of the Earl of Gresham. Two years after I was born, my mother died with a miscarriage. My father and I never got along well. I won't go into in the reasons. All you need to know is that my father's driving passion is family pride. You see, he and I are the last of the Easthams.

Christiane tried to read between the lines.

"As I came of age, he made it quite clear to me that I had only two purposes in life: not to disgrace the family and to provide one or more male offspring to carry on the line. That was all he needed me for, nothing else."

He paused, recalling a past scene. He shook his head as though to clear it. "Anyway I married young. I was only twenty-one, but I found someone I cared for. Father approved of her, or I should say, of her family. And I thought I would fulfill the old man's demand and get it over with." He stopped again.      "What was her name?" she prompted softly.

"Mary Ann. She was very sweet."

"Did you love her?"

"Apparently not enough. If I had I would not have treated her as I did."

"How did you treat her?"

He looked directly into her eyes. "I killed her," he said coldly.

His words hit her like a musket ball. "You don't mean that."

"Oh, I didn't plan to. I didn't put a knife to her throat, but the way matters ended, I might as well have." He looked down and froze into a statue, one bent in pain.

She stared at him intently. "Go on."

"My father's plan did not go as I had expected. We were married six years and still no child was born to us. The old man became more and more put out. Finally he called me into his study. We had a terrible row."

He stopped again to remember, raking his hands through his hair. "I shouldn't have let him bother me. I should have broken with him then and there. But I didn't. And having children was important to Mary Ann and me. We were both only children and wanted a large family. I had always been pushed aside as a child. I wanted children to love and be with," he paused again.

"I went off to London alone. I felt a complete failure and the tension had wounded my marriage deeply. To tell the truth, I had started to doubt my ability to father a child. Uncharacteristically, I began to move in society lavishly. The parties, the gaming. I could forget my shortcomings. I was alone and for the first time I strayed. I had an affair, then another, and another. Perhaps I hoped to prove to myself that I was not at fault, but in the end, my most awful fear was realized. I couldn't even sire a bastard." He put his head in his hands.

For some reason Christiane's mind cast back to Jakob. The memory of that day in Manhattan he had been forced to accept the loss of his only son. "Poor Mary Ann," she whispered.

"You haven't heard the worst," he started again, his voice hard. "Mary Ann followed me to London then. I had been gone the better part of a year. She, of course, realized that after six years of faithfulness, I had strayed. She begged me to tell her what she had done wrong. I finally told her what had happened. It crushed her. She already felt at fault for our childlessness. Even in the face of my adultery, she tried to insist that the problem lay with her, not me. But I knew differently. I treated her terribly even though I was the transgressor. My father was as persistent as ever. I took all my frustrations out on her.

"I drove her…to someone else. In a way I think it was out of her unhappiness and in a way somehow to prove to me that our barrenness wasn't my fault." He stopped unable to go on.

She waited silently, not knowing what to say to this intimate revelation.

Then he began again, talking quickly as though to finish it and get it over. "I did nothing to stop her. In one way I felt she was entitled and in another I wanted to know if it were her after all. That she was barren."

Christiane spoke without planning to, "And she became pregnant?"

"Yes, of course, later that year. God forgive me, I couldn't look at her. We lived in the same house, but we lived parallel lives. No one, not even my father guessed. We stayed to ourselves in our misery. My father was delighted." His face twisted itself into a distorted imitation of a smile. "Mary Ann's part of it ended fairly quickly. She died in childbirth." He fell silent, exhausted, staring past her deep into the past.

She had wondered about his contradictions, his reticence. Now she understood. "Why are you telling me this?"

He focused on her face once more. "Because my pain continued. After the funeral I went back to London to forget. I never wanted to see Easthaven, my home, or my father again. How I hated him for his coldness, his single-minded desire for Mary Ann and I to produce like breeding stock. I hate him still. But most of all, I hated myself. I did things I had never done before with people I despised. I disgraced my father at every opportunity.

"But I avoided women. I wanted nothing to remind my of my unfaithfulness or Mary Ann's. One night though I got unusually drunk and for a lark my so-called friends took me to a well-known brothel. They thought a woman was what I needed. That was when the final blow came to me. Not only was I sterile, I was impotent as well. I couldn't accept it. I went back to one of the women I had had an affair with. I could do nothing. I was a eunuch."

At first she could not take in what he had said. "I don't understand."

He spoke haltingly, stressing each word, "For the last six years I have been unable to perform as a man. Last night with you was the first time since well before my wife's death that I have been able to make love to a woman."

She was stunned. Now she comprehended his sobbing at the end of their love-making and his pursuit of her this morning. Though she was only nearly nineteen, after two husbands, she knew how important it was for a man to be able to satisfy his desire and please his wife. She was deeply moved. For a long time neither of them spoke. Why did her life always become more complicated? In earnest she regretted leaving the shelter of the Richardson's. This morning again she had broke her resolve not to behave impetuously again. Her failure had caused this emotional scene.

"Will you stay with me?" His simple request startled her.

She looked into his sad eyes. What could she say to him? I can't stay because I am your enemy. I can't stay because I am engaged to marry another man. Either would damn her. She took a deep breath. "I told you I cannot live my mother's life. My life has been difficult, but that much I know about myself. I can't explain it. Last night was the first time I…," she stopped, unable to put her sin into words. "I understand your pain, but why do you assume that I am the only woman that will do?"

"I want no woman, but you," he said, taking both her hands. "What a woman you are, Christiane. Graceful, sensible, intelligent. Other women bore me. Not since Mary Ann have I known a woman whose company I enjoy more. You are a unique creation. I am more than a wealthy man. Be mine, Christiane, and I will make this world a wondrous place for you. I will shower you with anything your heart should desire. You will never want for anything again."

When he flattered her sense and intelligence, he had almost won her. She was tired of men always overlooking everything but her outward appearance. Jacob had appreciated her mind. However, when the major added an appeal to her selfishness, he lost her. It made too close a comparison to Mrs. Loring. She pulled her hands away. "Don't you understand? I am not the kind of woman who only associates with a man because of what he can give her."

The words had barely left her mouth when they came back and stabbed her very heart. Wasn't that what she was doing with Henry Lee? Was making an advantageous marriage any more holy than achieving a lucrative liaison? Her discomfort was almost physical as she wrestled with her conscience. Did a woman have to be in love to marry a man honestly? And what about this man who sat across from her?

In the world at large, Lord John Eastham was more wealthy and more prestigious than her fiancé. She had to admit that she favored the man before her, but why? Was it because she had shared an important event of her life with him? After all he had arranged her first marriage. Now they had lived together for over two weeks. He knew her better than Henry that was certain. Her face grew warm when she remembered last night. But she could not stay. The night before she had slipped from her goal, to be the cherished wife of one man. It would be her only slip.

The Major had wisely given her time to cool down. Finally he interposed, "I did not mean to offend you."

She turned her head to face him. "I know."

"Stay with me, Christiane," he pleaded.

She looked at his face. Suddenly she felt very tired. She knew what she should do. Leave. But somehow she could not. Twice in her life he had come to her aid and he had just revealed his innermost soul and darkest secret. She couldn't just get up and walk away.

"Stay," he whispered, "stay."

"There are things about me that you don't know."

"Stay. Please."

For a moment she bowed her head, as if praying. Then she looked him directly in the eyes. "I have no intention of being your mistress," she said precisely. "In honesty I cannot blame you for last night."

She paused and went on bravely. "I wanted you, too. When we had just begun, I could have stopped you, but I didn't. You did not take me against my will and I refuse to pretend that you did. And I do not regret our making love, if it was so important to you. But I am the woman I am. If I stay, it will be as a friend only. Can you accept that?"

"I will try," he whispered, downcast.

"I will make you only one promise. I will stay as long as I can. No longer." She would take a few days to convince him that she was not the only woman that could arouse him and then she would leave. Or if he remained unconvinced, at least, she would not have left him in a rude or unkind way.

He studied her, trying to comprehend her inner struggle. Then he nodded. He would take her on any terms.

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Don't forget that I've posted a gift basket again this year on this fundraiser. And there are many more wonderful items to bid on! All proceeds go to research.

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Chapter Fifteen Scene 2 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fifteen Scene 2

The major leaped out of bed, his gaze doing a quick circuit of the room, hoping for some clue to her whereabouts. Then he raced to the thickly frosted windows. Scratching and rubbing with his nails and palm, he cleared a peek hole. There she was just rounding the gate and heading south. She's going to get her mare and leave! In stark panic, he sped around the room, pulling on a shirt, breeches, boots, and coat. He thundered down the front steps.

Racing out the gate, he saw her two corners ahead. He put his effort into running swiftly and silently over the snow-packed street. The distance between them shrank. He ignored the startled looks the other early risers as they watched him, a disheveled English officer chasing a girl down a main street in broad daylight. He closed the gap and from behind took hold of her arm . He startled her into a gasping scream.

"What do you mean by leaving me like that?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

She struggled against his grip. "Let me go."

"Not until you tell me why you chose now to leave." His hold did not loosen.

She stopped twisting. "Please people are staring."

He thought rapidly. He could not hold onto her indefinitely, but he had the irrational feeling that if he let go of her she would disappear and the night before would have only been a dream. He had to have time to persuade her to stay. "Please take the time to explain why you are leaving now. I think you owe me that much."

"Major," she said in a warning tone.

"Please." He couldn't stop the desperation that tinged his voice.

She frowned. "Very well," she said grudgingly.

He released her, alarm still rippling through him.

"I'm not going back to your room," she insisted.

Scanning the street, the Major spotted a corner inn. "How would you like some breakfast?" He had to have time to plan what to say to her. He must, above all, avoid telling the truth.

Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food.  "Yes, I would," she admitted, still sounding put out.

In spite of her lack of enthusiasm, he stood taller, squaring his shoulders. Now he had time. Though very aware of his unshaven and rumpled appearance, he politely offered her his arm and escorted her into the inn. The common room was filled with working men quietly eating breakfast. The men looked up and, seeing the disheveled couple, grinned and muttered comments to each other. Christiane blushed and looked away. The Major cast the room a reproving glance and addressed the innkeeper, "Your private dining room please?"

The man scratched his head, but nodded, and directed them to a door down the hall closer to the kitchen. He opened the door, ushering them into the frigid room. "Girl will be right in to make the fire," he said shortly and left. The two of them stood like uncomfortable strangers. A girl appeared almost immediately and kindled a fire on the cold hearth.

Next a large woman bustled in with a tea tray. "Since the room be so cold, I brought ye tea right out."

"Thank you," the Major said formally and motioned Christiane to sit at the lone table near the fire. She obeyed and accepted her tea with a smile.

"What can I get ye now?" the woman asked.

"Ma'am?" he asked politely.

Christiane ordered: eggs, rashers, porridge, and muffins. Though he had no appetite, he requested the same. The woman left and he sat down across from Christiane, took his tea, and considered his plan. What to tell her? As little as necessary. His urbane mask slipped back into place.

"Now, madam, will you answer my question? Why did you leave me without so much as a word?"

"I apologize. It does seem ungrateful, but I thought it would be best, less trouble for you."

"I am surprised at your decision. There is no reason for you to leave now at all."

Her eyebrows lifted. At this juncture the young serving maid entered, carrying a heavy tray. Quickly the meal was placed before them. As the girl turned to leave, the major told her, "We do not wish to be disturbed again please."

"Yes, sir," the girl said softly and exited, closing the door firmly behind her. Not to betray himself, he began to eat in spite of the tension between them. In between untasted bites, he repeated, "There is no reason for you to leave now."

"Nothing has changed, Major," she responded mildly. "I am going."

"Why? To be a companion to some old lady? I can offer you so much more."

"Major, I told you. I have no desire to live the life of my mother. I am leaving."

A little of the desperation that had propelled him out of his bed returned. His tone became more serious. "Madame, I am not suggesting a casual liaison. I am not that kind of man either. You would be with me as long as you wished and you would be well-provided for when we parted."

She studied his face. One night of passion? How could it mean so much to him? True he was not like most of the other officers here, but still. Silently she considered him. "I'm sorry, Major. My mind is made up."

His appetite died and his palms began to sweat. What more could he offer her? Then unexpectedly something totally out of character happened. Tears sprang into his eyes. Angrily he brushed them away and stood up.

Turning his back to her, he went to the mantel and leaned his hands against it, fighting for control. Six years of agony, six years of trying to forget completely, trying not to feel the pain, the guilt, or anything at all, welled up inside him. Last night had been his salvation, his blessed release from the prison he had been forced into. And she had been the key. Though he struggled, his tears would not be denied.

Christiane set down her fork. He was weeping in earnest now in that clumsy, unpracticed way men had. She had to do something. His pride would be dreadfully wounded. There was something he had not told her. That was the only explanation.

"Major," she spoke as calmly as possible, "please come back to the table. Evidently you are keeping something from me. Come and sit." Her unemotional tone had struck the correct note. She watched as he began to gain control again. Soon he sat across from her though he would not meet her eyes. "I will freshen your tea," she continued matter-of-factly. She handed him his cup. Soberly he sipped it. Finally she rested her hand on his arm. "Please tell me," she entreated softly.

He did not want to. Only he knew the truth, but he was caught. Perhaps she would stay if she understood how important, how incredibly she'd become  to him. "I don't know where to start," he said in a resigned voice.

"Tell it all."

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Author Angela Hunt & The Fine Art of Insincerity

My guest today Author Angela Hunt writes thought-provoking and stories of the unusual. Her photo above is of her floating down the Amazon River while researching her book, The Canopy. Her last series centered on a heroine who ran a funeral parlor. That's The Fairlawn series So I look for the unusual and insightful when I read an Angela Hunt novel. Here's the scoop on her latest.

The Fine Art of Insincerity

Three Southern sisters with nine marriages between them — and more looming on the horizon – travel to St. Simons Island to empty their late grandmother's house. Ginger, the eldest, wonders if she's the only one who hasn't inherited what their family calls "the Grandma Gene"— the tendency to enjoy the casualness of courtship more than the intimacy of marriage. Could it be that her sisters are fated to serially marry, just like their seven-times wed grandmother, Lillian Irene Harper Winslow Goldstein Carey James Bobrinski Gordon George? It takes a "girls only" weekend, closing up Grandma's memory-filled beach cottage for the last time, for the sisters to unpack their family baggage, examine their relationship DNA, and discover the true legacy their much-marrying grandmother left behind.

The Fine Art of Insincerity is a stunning masterpiece. I was pulled into the lives of Ginger, Pennyroyal and Rosemary–sisters touched by tragedy, coping in their own ways. So real, so powerful. Pull out the tissues! This one will make you cry, laugh, and smile. I recommend it highly.  –Traci DePree, author of The Lake Emily series

"Only Angela Hunt could write a relationship novel that's a page-turner! As one of three sisters, I can promise you this: Ginger, Penny, and Rose Lawrence ring very true indeed. Their flaws and strengths make them different, yet their shared experiences and tender feelings make them family. From one crisis to the next, the Lawrence sisters are pulled apart, then knit back together, taking me right along with them. I worried about Ginger one moment, then Penny, and always Rose—a sure sign of a good novel, engaging both mind and heart. Come spend the weekend in coastal Georgia with three women who clean house in more ways than one!"

Liz Curtis Higgs, best-selling author of Here Burns My Candle

THE FINE ART OF INSINCERITY

ANGELA HUNT

Prologue

Ginger

"You can't tell your sisters," my grandmother once told me, "what I'm about to tell you."

I listened, eyes big, heart open wide.

"Of all my grandchildren—" her hands spread as if to encompass a crowd infinitely larger than myself and my two siblings—"you're my favorite."

Then her arms enfolded me and I breathed in the scents of Shalimar and talcum powder as my face pressed the crepey softness of her cheek.

My grandmother married seven times, but not until I hit age ten or eleven did I realize that her accomplishment wasn't necessarily praiseworthy. When Grandmother's last husband died on her eighty-third birthday, she mentioned the possibility of marrying again, but I put my foot down and told her no more weddings. I suspect my edict suited her fine, because Grandmom always liked flirting better than marrying.

Later, one of the nurses at the home mentioned that my grandmother exhibited a charming personality quirk—"Perpetual Childhood Disorder,"  she called it. PCD, all too common among elderly patients with dementia.

But Grandmother didn't have dementia, and she had exhibited symptoms of PCD all her life. Though I didn't know how to describe it in my younger years, I used to consider it a really fine quality.

During the summers when Daddy shipped me and my sisters off to Grandmom's house, she used to wait until Rose and Penny were absorbed in their games, then she would call me into the blue bedroom upstairs. Sometimes she'd let me sort through the glass beaded "earbobs" in her jewelry box. Sometimes she'd sing to me. Sometimes she'd pull her lace-trimmed hanky from her pocketbook, fold it in half twice, and tell me the story of the well-dressed woman who sat on a bench and fell over backward. Then she'd flip her folded hankie and gleefully lift the woman's skirt and petticoat, exposing two beribboned legs.

No matter how large her audience, the woman knew how to entertain.

I perched on the edge of the big iron bed and listened to her songs and stories, her earbobs clipped to the tender lobes of my ears, enduring the painful pinch because Grandmother said a woman had to suffer before she could be beautiful. Before I pulled off the torturous earbobs and left the room, she would draw me close and swear that out of all the girls in the world, I was the one she loved most.

Not until years later did I learn that she drew my sisters aside in the same way. I suppose she wanted to make sure we motherless girls knew we were treasured. But in those moments, I always felt truly special.

And for far too long, I believed her.

© 2012 by Angela Hunt, used by permission. Do not reprint without permission. For more information, visit www.angelahuntbooks.com

To order: www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1439182035/booksbyangelae0d

To view a trailer, narrated by the author, click this link http://youtu.be/nsNku7BuAGM

So are you intrigued? Do you and your sisters or good friends ever go away for a girl's weekend?

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Chapter Fifteen Scene 1 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fifteen, Scene 1

Dawn's light filtered through Christiane's eyelids and the events of the night before paraded before her half-conscious mind. They ended with a vivid love scene. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was in his bed, but this time not in innocence. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the truth. But closing her eyes changed nothing.

For one night she had allowed herself to behave as her mother and she had done it completely just as her mother would have beginning–to the end. She cringed inwardly. She was engaged to another man. And not only had she been unfaithful, but she had been unfaithful with the enemy.

Even in her distress though she could not believe that Eastham had planned what had passed between them. He had had ample opportunities in the weeks they had been together to try to seduce her. He hadn't. The events of the night had moved them both to a point neither of them had intended to reach. She writhed in shame and regret. No,  no. But the truth could not be denied. Her cheeks burned as if she'd been in the sun too long.

And she could not face his scathing wit. What mocking phrase would he greet her with upon waking? She glanced then at the sleeping major. She cared for him, She knew that now. But I cannot stay and live as his mistress. Her eyes shut just thinking of the word. Two days ago she had planned to leave this morning for Valley Forge. Looking at his sleeping face once more, she made her decision. One night of wayward passion would not change the direction of the rest of her life. She must act.

She crept out of bed. As her bare feet touched the chilling floor, she experienced a quiver of icy fear. What if she were pregnant? Forcefully she pushed this from her mind. She had no time or stomach for more worry this wretched morning.

Quietly she stood by the embers of last night's fire. She donned both of her plainest dresses, wearing the brown one outermost. Then she wrapped herself in her warm shawl. She glanced around the room to see if she had everything. Her chain with her engagement ring. She retrieved them from a little box on the dressing table. Perhaps if she had been wearing them last night, she would have remembered to whom she belonged.

Opening the door, she slipped out, closing it silently behind her. At this hour the back steps might be in use, but the main hallway would be empty, so carefully she made her way down the front steps and out the door. The yard was deserted. She hurried away, already becoming chilled in the brisk wind. When she stopped to claim Nancy, she was sure the Widow Schulz would offer her a cup of tea.

Upstairs in his warm bed, the major turned over in his sleep. Something startled him and he awoke. Sleepily he blinked his eyes. Was it real or had it been a dream? He looked over. She was gone, but the pillow still showed where her head had lain. Sitting up, he scanned the room and listened. And icy fear flashed through him. She had bolted!

So what's he going to do?

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Death by Painting-a Humorous Family Story to Celebrate Mother's Day!

Today I'm sharing a humorous family story to celebrate Mother's Day, titled "Death by Painting." I'm also telling another humorous story at the eharlequin.com site, titled "Grandma Fastbinder's Naughty Love Affair with Limburger Cheese." Also another author who has been my guest here previously Leann Harris is also posting a humorous family story on the Craftie Ladies of Romance Blog today, titled a Tribute to Mom. After reading it however, with my less ironic sense of humor, I'd have titled it "Two Generations of Bad Hair Days" So don't miss hers too! Funny.

Well, here's Death by Painting, a true story from my family.

When we lived in Iowa, our house weathered to the point that it needed to be repainted. Our son was around 12 and our daughter around 9 and I was around—oh, wait, that's not germane to the story. Anyway I told my dh that we wouldn't leave it all on his paint-spattered shoulders. We'd all do our parts.

While my dh would paint the big parts, I would sand and paint the trim around the doors and windows. Our son and daughter would paint the foundation and our son would paint the shed to match the house.

I was on the back deck painting a window which lay on newspaper on the picnic table there. From the corner of my eye, I noted that my son was not in the mood to paint. In fact, as I continue moving my brush in even strokes, I watched him "play-act" falling off the ladder.

I thought, "You little monkey, I'm not going to take that bait." I put my brush down and went into the house and got my camera. I proceeded to go out to the "body" lying on the ground and clicked a few shots. Then I announced, "I'm going to call these pictures, Death by Painting.

What do you think his reaction was? He hopped up all smiles and then went back to painting without another complaint.

KIDS!!!

What they won't do for a little attention. My son and daughter always needed what I called "creative" disciplining from time to time.

I plan to tell this story on my son for years to come! Do you have a funny story you could share here?Why not and maybe win a book?

I'm going to give away two copies of Daddy in the Making today to any who leave a family story here.

And I'm giving away more to those who visit and read about my clever Grandma Fastbinder! Join the fun!

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Chapter Fourteen Scene 4 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fourteen, Scene 4

The door opened. "Pardon me," a cool voice spoke lazily. "The Virginia Reel is about to begin and, Christiane, you promised it to me."

Weston released her. Christiane turned to view Eastham, lounging casually in the doorway. "Of course, Major," she managed to gasp. She walked unsteadily over to him and took his arm.

"Later," Eastham said to the other officer. The Lt. Colonel nodded curtly and they left. As they strolled down the hall, Christiane gripped the major's arm with unusual force as she tried to gain control of her breathing.

"Don't try that again," he whispered in her ear. "You are not viewed as one of the blushing virgins here. You are considered fair game."

At a darkened alcove in the turn of the hall, she tugged at his arm. She couldn't stop shaking and feared she might burst into tears.

He paused a moment to let her re-gain her composure. "Are you all right?" he whispered. A few moments passed. Finally she nodded, unwilling to admit how shaken she was. Cold fear still coursed through her, but she forced herself to go on.

They re-entered the ballroom and joined the others in the parallel lines of the reel. The sheen had been taken off Christiane's lightheartedness, but the rollicking tune began to restore her. She began to breathe normally again. The American folk dance, like folk dances everywhere, had more bounce and lilt than the formal steps. She found herself smiling at the major as they exchanged bows and swings. He gave her a surprise smile in return. This made her chuckle because it was perhaps the first honest smile she had ever seen on him.

At the end of the reel she applauded genuinely, but before she could speak to him, her flock of admirers re-gathered and separated them. They returned to their former venue of passing each other nonchalantly on the floor as well bred lovers would.

Hours passed and finally she was completely exhausted. It must be near two in the morning, she thought, scanning the assemblage. Surely the major had had his money's worth and could take her home now. But she could not see him. It occurred to her that she had not seen him during the last two dances. She turned to Lord Hazelton, who had come to stand near her. "Have you seen Major Eastham?"

"Oh, the major?" he returned evasively.

"Yes, the major."

"He will be back soon," a younger officer at her elbow supplied helpfully.

The older man frowned at him.

"Oh, doesn't she know?" the younger burbled.

"What should I know?"  she asked, suddenly alert.

The younger officer studiously ignored her and examined the floor ahead of him.

"You should not bother your head with such details, my dear. It is just a small matter of honor. No one will be hurt seriously, I'm sure," Hazelton explained.

A matter of honor? This could mean only one thing, a duel. "Who is with the major?" she asked numbly.

"Weston." The man who had tried to seduce her in the private room. That is what the major had meant by "Later".

"Where are they?" she asked.

"You shouldn't get involved, Christiane," he advised. "The duel has already begun. I'm sure it is over or will be over soon."

"But it is so unnecessary. Nothing happened."

"Only because Eastham intervened," Hazelton replied with a touch of irritation. "Weston needs to be taught a lesson in manners. He behaved most unbecomingly."

"I don't want anyone to be hurt."

"I will go and see if I can find them," he offered. "You must wait here though. It would be most unseemly for you to be a witness."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. To discourage any further suitors, she wandered by the windows hiding behind the extravagant draperies. In the lamplight outside she glimpsed Lord Hazelton, walking across the yard toward the inn's large stable. The stable, of course, the perfect place for a duel on a cold, winter night. It would be well lit, reasonably warm, roomy enough and secluded.

Without thinking, she was at the side door, sending a footman to fetch her cape. Then leaving the sounds of the stately music and laughter behind, silently on her thin dancing slippers  she slipped and slid across the frozen ground. As she neared the stable, she could hear the unmistakable sound of metal rhythmically striking metal. She recalled Lord Hazelton's advice. If she burst in now, the major would most certainly be deeply embarrassed or, worse yet, wounded by the distraction. Scanning the outside of the stable, she saw a small window at the far end. She hurried over to it, hoping there would be enough light to see by.

There was. The two officers, stripped to their ruffled shirts, parried back and forth. Eastham was calm and deliberate as was the other man. Each thrust was deflected excellently as they moved back and forth, neither giving ground. She knew instinctively that neither one intended to do serious harm to the other. This was merely a formal duel, a ritual that gentlemen observed, but there was always the danger that the two might get so involved in the heat of the action that an accident could happen.

She gritted her teeth with worry. The metallic rhythm continued. Then when she least expected it, Weston quickened the pace of his attack. The major matched it. A staccato of light clashes rang out. Then a bright red crease on the inside of the Lt. Colonel's arm silenced the blades. Blood had been drawn. Satisfaction had been paid. She gasped in relief. The major had not been wounded, either in body or in honor. Now she must manage to get away without being seen. She spun around and fled over the snow patches and ruts.

Deciding that the participants might see her enter the well-lighted front entrance, she sought out the side door again and entered quietly. The ending of a dance camouflaged her entry. As casually as possible she made her way to the front hall. She intended to wait there for Eastham and demand to go home. There she stood, tapping her foot and hugging her cape around her.

"Well, madame, I find you at last," his voice came from behind. Evidently the duelists had also used an alternate entrance.

"Major," she said imperiously. "I wish to go home now."

"Oh?" His tone matched hers. "But I came to claim one more dance." Without giving her a chance to reply, he whisked off her wrap and tossed it to a nearby servant.

Taking her arm firmly, he drew her back to the ballroom. He walked purposefully over to the small group of musicians and conferred with the head violinist, who nodded profusely. The melody they were playing ended abruptly and then began the strains of a Viennese waltz. Christiane gasped. The waltz was–even in France–considered shocking.

Christiane's mother and grandmother had argued over whether it would be accepted in Christiane's time or not. Finally over her grandmother's objections, Christiane had been tutored in it. But this was not the court of Louis XV. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Leading my partner to the floor."

"But, but…," she stuttered.

"But me no buts, madame. Do you know the waltz or no?"

She was stung by his tone. "Of course, I do."

"Then let us begin. This will be our grand finale." He whirled her into his arms and then they were gliding to the music.

As she had feared, the floor was empty except for them. Probably no respectable woman in Philadelphia could waltz. She almost pulled away, but then it came to her. Whose reputation was she trying to protect? Christiane Kruger would never have to pay for Christiane Belmond's indiscretions. Philadelphia be damned. Tomorrow she would slip away as humble Christiane Kruger, but tonight…. A smile illuminated her face and she answered the major's every lead gracefully.

On his brow, she could see the light perspiration he had worked up during the duel and she liked the light smell of brandy that lingered on him. The muscles of his shoulders moved rhythmically as she rested her arm on them and his hand at the small of her back guided her firmly. She had the sensation of floating as they moved together and her heart beat a bit faster with the excitement of their display. They whirled on the empty floor in solitary grandeur, giving an artistic performance for the gawking, scandalized audience that encircled them.

The melody was almost over when one couple finally joined them, the general and Mrs. Loring. Christiane chuckled inwardly. The "Sultana" evidently had heard that they were waltzing and was not about to be outdone. The two couples spun artfully around each other. The song ended. The major bent over Christiane's hand, formally thanking her for the pleasure.

Without further conversation, they left the floor and claimed their wraps. Then she allowed the major to escort her out to their carriage in the brittle night air. As usual, they rode in silence. Back at the officers' quarters, a generous fire awaited them in their room.  The major lit a few candles and set them on the ivory white mantel.

Still holding her fur cape close about her neck, Christiane perched in her wing-backed chair, allowing the fire to thaw her, bit by bit, the chill that had overpowered her in the carriage. He brought her a warming brandy and sat down across from her. The contrast of the noisesome ball and this quiet haven made them mute. They sat companionably, sipping the clear, amber liquid and watching the crackling flames and their flickering shadows. As she sipped, she felt herself relax, lower her guard.

"Your performance was gifted," he said finally.

She turned her face to him. Her eyes swept over him. In that faraway fort those years before he had made an unforgettable impression on her. After living with him these past weeks, she knew more clearly why. Though maddening at times, he was an exceptional man: honest, intelligent, and arresting. She allowed herself to gaze at him lingeringly, to admire his lithe figure as he lounged in his chair. Finishing his brandy, he rose and went behind the dressing screen.

With this their nightly routine began. She savored the final sips of her brandy, which left her feeling drowsy. She waited till she heard him scrape back the bed curtains and climb into his bed. She rose then and took her turn behind the screen. Languidly she slipped her arms from the sleeves of her gown. She reached up to undo the pearls. The clasp argued with her and would not come loose. She felt too dreamy, too sleepy to unclasp it. Holding up the front of her gown, she stepped out from behind the curtain and went over to the major's bed.

Sliding open the curtain and sitting down on the edge, she said, "Major, would you undo the pearls. I can't."

He sat up leisurely and looked at the lovely, velvety back just inches in front of him. The night of dancing and dueling had left him tired, yet restless. Soon this episode would end. This beautiful girl would leave and his life could return to normal.

Tentatively he reached up to unhook the protesting clasp. Unexpectedly his hand brushed her shoulder. A tingling raced up his arm. He fumbled with the clasp and then got up on his knees for a better perspective. Finally the clasp separated and he held the pearls forward in front of her throat for her to take; she did not reach up for them. And in those seconds he was snared by the last of her perfume, and more so, her own natural fragrance. The creamy skin of her nape glowed in the firelight, tempting him.

Half-remembered sensations swept through him and without intending to, he leaned down and pressed a kiss there, one and then slowly another, another. How long had it been since he had touched anyone so wondrously soft?

Of course, he had never consciously thought of making love with her. He had guarded himself against thinking about her, but now as his lips touched her smooth shoulder, he felt lightning flash through him. And wonder of wonders, he felt his body, preparing to love her. A pleading well up inside him. His lips sought her skin.

Christiane felt his lips. She knew she should rise and walk away, but the feelings his touch released caught her in their web. It had been almost a year since a man had touched her like this. The kisses, so soft yet so insistent, ignited an inner fire. Just a few more, then she would withdraw. But her inner flame grew and her resolve melted. The pearls slid over her and dropped to the floor.

She opened her mouth to say, "Stop," but all that came forth was a mixture of a sigh and a moan….

Well, Christiane has been playing with fire and it looks like she's about to get burned. Since she was thirteen, she has been on a quest to find meaning in life, to live a different life than her mother's. Tonight she planned to spend only one evening like her mother and only till the end of the ball. At only nineteen, I don't think she saw this coming at all. Did you?

I am almost afraid of posting this scene because one of the strongest taboos in Christian romance seems to be that a heroine can't sin sexually. But I wrote this long before I was aware of this. In fact, I wrote it before the Christian market had developed at all. So what do you think? Should I continue Christiane's story or has she done the unforgivable? Will you stick with her?

More Winners! And Do You Want to Win??

I'm announcing four winners today. And sharing how to win more books at the end!

First of all, Author Donna Crow selected Liz V as the winner of her PDF copy of Donna's latest mystery, A Midsummer's Eve Nightmare.

Second, I was the guest blogger on The Pink Heart Society blog

http://pinkheartsociety.blogspot.com/2011/04/writers-wednesday-blogging-for-authors.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThePinkHeartSociety+%28The+Pink+Heart+Society%29

And I gave away a copy of Daddy in the Making to beckyqward(at)gmail(dot)com

Third Giveaway goes to

RandomlyKait at kaitywells [at] hotmail [dot] com

who also won a copy of Daddy in the Making on the 4 Love of Books blog

http://myheartbelongs2books.blogspot.com/search?q=Lyn+Cote

Fourth winner is D Schmidt of Canada who won a copy of Daddy in the Making on GoodReads.

Finally do you want to win two books? Look up in the right corner of this page. Have you joined my egroup LynCote_to_Readers yet? Here's the scoop about this giveaway:

Throughout May, if you join my egroup or if you're already a member, you can persuade another reader of my books or blog to join (Make sure they email me and give your name. Click Contact above.), I'll enter both names into another drawing to win my latest book and one from the past. How's that?

Mega May starts today. More about that on Tuesday! And more giveaways on Tuesday. Don't miss them!

Chapter Fourteen Scene 3 La Belle Christiane

If you've just discovered this free read, click Archived Free Read and start at the beginning.

La Belle Christiane

by Lyn Cote

2011 copyright Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fourteen, Scene 3

All the while she danced, Christiane wondered where the major could be. Occasionally she saw him, whirling by with another woman. Their eyes would meet and then slide apart. She hoped he was enjoying the performance he had ordered and financed, but would he never claim her for a dance?

At last she managed to break away from the dance floor. Escorted by a major and a captain, she arrived at the sumptuous buffet table. The array of viands before her boggled the palate: smooth brown pate, pink ham, venison, and a variety of dark and light sausages, a rare roast beef; breads, rye, wheat and white, thin-sliced and without crusts; all manner of tarts and a rainbow of petit fours, dark Dutch chocolates; red punch and fragrant mulled wine. She was amazed again at the feast and famine of her life. Last December she had starved. This December night she would feast.

The three of them found a bench along a nearby wall. Christiane ate methodically while the men, one on each side, tried to outdo one another with light-hearted teasing and compliments. She often paused between bites to giggle.

"Madame Belmond, how are you?"

Christiane looked up. "Mrs. Loring, how are you?" She was gratified to see the envy in the blond's eyes. Christiane's escorts stood up in deference to the Sultana.

"I am as well as one can be at these weekly soirees." Her tone attempted to portray the proper boredom of a highborn lady.

"Oh, really?" Christiane answered impishly, "I'm having a delightful evening." She glanced suggestively at her two "bookend" officers.

"I am just happy you took my advice and that the major has finally ceased keeping you prisoner."

Christiane giggled. "It wasn't against my will," she answered brazenly. "He can be quite amusing."

"Well, there is no accounting for tastes," the general's mistress commented sharply, revealing her envy over the pearls and the new gown. Christiane ignored the comment, but was secretly pleased. The woman went on, "Would you care to play a hand or two of cards? The general is expecting me in one of the gaming rooms."

"I came to dance." Christiane tapped her toes on the shining floor and treated the men nearby to a brief glimpse of her silk stockings and slender ankles.

"Try to amuse yourself  then, my dear," Mrs. Loring said patronizingly.

"I intend to," Christiane replied as the scarlet-robed Sultana swept stylishly away.

Major Andre on Christiane's right asked, "I see your supper is done and the violins are striking up another minuet. Will you do me the honor?"

"Of course." Christiane hopped up, handing the disgruntled captain her plate and cup. The mulled wine had lightened her mood even more.

The major swept her onto the floor. The stately minuet with its set poses and pauses was perfect for flirtation. "Madame, you are the loveliest lady at the ball," he murmured as he bowed to his partner.

"You are too kind." She bent her neck in polite welcome.

"The major is to careless of you. If you were mine, I would not stand idly by and let others take my place." With his hand above her head, he turned her in a sedate circle.

As if on cue, Major Eastham appeared and tapped Andre on the shoulder. With a disgruntled look, Andre gave way. The steps of the dance became more intricate, but as soon as she was able, she whispered, "I hope you have been enjoying my performance. What do you think?"

"Adequate, madame, barely adequate." For some reason he was nettled and he took it out on her.

"Only adequate?" she hissed.

"Yes, I am sure Mrs. Loring could put on a much better display."

She almost sputtered, but controlled herself. A better show he wanted, a better show he would get. At that moment the persistent major returned to reclaim her. Eastham gave way without a word. Christiane voiced her pleasure, "Major Andre, I was pining to see you again."

As they finished the dance, she was again surrounded by three officers. She chose the colonel. During the next few dances, she began to cast flirtatious glances at the men, gliding nearby with other partners. This tack netted her even more suitors at the end of each song.

It delighted her to see that the major himself had stopped dancing and now stood, sipping wine and watching her intently. She hoped he was enjoying her show. Lt. Colonel Weston, whom she was curtseying to, whispered, "Aren't you tired of this dancing? Would you care for a hand of cards?" She nodded. A quick exit would add an interesting note to her plot. They slipped off the floor and down a side hall to a private room. Once inside she was surprised to see that they were alone.

"A private card game?" she asked warily.

"I wish to play, but not cards. I am sure you will find that I am much more generous than Eastham and much more attentive." Before she could make any reply, she was in his arms, tasting the rum on his lips. Her efforts to push him away were ineffectual. At the ball he had not looked so strong or so demanding. As his embrace tightened rather than loosened, a feeling of panic shot threw her. Memories of Morristown choked her. She began to twist and struggle in earnest.

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