Forbidden by Susan Johnson (best feel good books txt) 📗

the other women. At the sight of the men, she immediately rushed toward them, tears glistening on her cheeks, the only sign of emotion in the controlled mask of her face.

"Tell me what happened," she said, hushed and low, wanting to know, wanting an accounting after the awful hours of waiting. "How?" she asked, and then quickly, "Where?" As if knowing the details would bring some relief, as if the knowledge would allow her to reach out to him one last time.

Daisy was very like the first time he'd seen her after her mother's death, Hazard thought. Composed, too quiet, grave… all her feelings held in check.

And when Trey fully explained the sequence of events, she only quietly said at the last, "Can Etienne's body be recovered?"

Hazard shook his head, the movement minimal. "We don't know," he said, his voice subdued. "So much depends on how long it takes to pump out the mine… or if we can pump it out. We don't know where the water's coming from or the extent of the reservoir behind it. Come back to town with us," her father suggested, "until we…" He fell silent, knowing the recovery of the body might take days or weeks. The state of the corpse would be gruesome by then.

"I'd rather go home." She felt empty suddenly, and alone, in the midst of her family. Clear River Valley was home… hers and Etienne's.

"I'll drive you. We'll come with you. You shouldn't be alone."

She couldn't bring herself to rudely tell her father she wished to be by herself, so she allowed her family to accompany her to the ranch. But after suffering through what seemed an interminably agonizing period of restrained and solemn conversation, she finally said, "I'm going to sleep. Please…" She hesitated, understanding her family meant well but unable any longer to abide company. "I'd like to be alone."

"Of course," Blaze said, taking Hazard's hand, her eyes filled with tears at Daisy's suffering. "We'll come back later in the day to see if you need anything."

And after their good-byes, Daisy had Louis turn the phones off. She wasn't capable of receiving condolence calls; she didn't want to have to politely accept well-meant sympathy. How could she possibly respond with the required courtesy when she didn't know at this moment whether she cared to live herself. After some rest, after some time to grieve alone, she'd handle all the required duties. Etienne's children would have to be notified… and Bourges.

Although Louis appeared collected, he was hushedly somber, his eyes red-rimmed. But he didn't speak of Etienne again, once he'd asked for the details of his death. Reserved as he'd always been in his master's presence, he quietly carried out Daisy's wishes.

"I hope you stay with me, Louis," Daisy said before she went upstairs to her bedroom. "I'd be most grateful." In her grief she couldn't fully express how much his staying would mean to her, but somehow the house would seem normal with Louis there. With Louis in residence, Etienne's presence would be more vivid as if he were just around the corner or upstairs or out with his horses. Louis could talk to her about Etienne… he knew infinitely more about him than she did; he knew a lifetime of detail and anecdotes. She'd have a link to Etienne and his past.

"Yes, Miss Daisy," Louis answered in French, although she and Etienne had spoken English to him since they'd come to America. He was a man of tradition and protocol, but his eyes were warm when he said, "I'd be pleased to stay."

Daisy had the maid close the drapes in the bedroom, shutting out the afternoon sun. It didn't seem right that the sun should still be shining brilliantly or the autumn leaves continue in their dazzling splendor when her world had died. And she turned Etienne's chair away from the windows before she sat in it, curling deep in the soft leather redolent with his scent.

Only last night he'd sprawled in his chair, holding her in his lap, and they'd gazed at the starry night, deciding with silliness and laughter on baby names.

Her tears began then in a slow seeping at the poignant memory, as if her grieving heart was free at last to mourn in the solitude of their room. The trickle gave way slowly to great gulping sobs and then a flood of uncontrollable weeping. How would she survive, she despondently thought, when she'd never see him again… never hear him laugh or have him tease her, never feel his arms hold her close, never see his face at the first sight of their baby? Clutching the soft leather of the chair arms with tears streaming down her face, she lay back against the warm scented contour, wanting to dissolve into the chair and feel Etienne envelop her in his arms as he had last night.

And she lay distrait and mournful for an endless time, tormented by her loss. An embittered fury, too, dwelt just beneath her sorrow and pain as she berated herself for her own folly at wasting precious months in separation because she'd been constrained by righteous principles. Because she wanted blameless perfection in an imperfect world. She should have stayed with Etienne in Paris and allowed someone else to handle the court case; she should have taken advantage of every minute of their time together.

But she'd been less perceptive than he about the rarity of love, thinking instead that one could negotiate for a style of love and marriage convenient and suitable to one's cherished beliefs. Etienne had been more willing to make the necessary adjustments. His divorce, she realized now, was the ultimate sacrifice of his entire way of life. And she'd quibbled at the time about his sincerity and fidelity or the degree of his commitment to her.

Now when it was too late, she realized how senseless and trivial her censure. Did others think with regret as she did—if only she were given another chance, she'd know