Read Online PortraitofPassion by Lynne Barron - Free Book Online Page A

am thinking that I might
have a love affair in the process. Isn’t it about time I learned what all the
fuss is about?”
    * * * * *
    Hours later as they rode home, Bertie sprawled in the seat
across from her softly snoring, Bea thought about their earlier conversation.
As always, Bertie’s advice had been good. He had a way of seeing ahead, of
evaluating every possible contingency and adjusting their actions accordingly.
She knew she could not have taken on this task without his help. She would not
even have dared to attempt it.
    She remembered the day she and her mother had left
Idyllwild, nearly nine years ago. It had been raining for days and the lawn and
the great drive were a mire of mud. Even so, Beatrice had turned in a long,
slow circle, standing in the downpour to get one final look at her beloved
home. She had tilted her head back to look up at her bedroom window, unable to
believe it was hers no longer. The garden where she had learned to sketch, and
later to paint, was no longer hers. The pond where Tom had taught her and Harry
to swim and to fish now belonged to someone else. The fields she had helped to
plant and to harvest. The stable that held her beloved Constance. But Constance
was no longer hers either. “All property, possessions and chattel,” the
officious man had said. They were leaving with little more than a few trunks
filled with their wardrobes.
    She had been unable to comprehend that they were leaving,
moving away from the only home she had ever known. No matter how many times her
mother had explained it to her, she did not think she would ever truly
understand it. Her father and her home, both gone in a matter of a week.
    How could Papa have done this to us? But she had
pushed the thought from her mind, as she had countless times in the past days.
She would not allow herself to be angry with him. Not now. Not yet. She had
room in her heart only for sorrow and grief. If she let in the anger, she might
go mad.
    “Beatrice,” her mother’s soft voice had called to her from
the open carriage door. “Please, come out of the rain.”
    She silently obeyed, climbing in to sit next to her mother.
Tom and Molly Jenkins sat across from them, Tom stoically looking out the
window, Molly quietly weeping into her hands. Thank God Harry is gone ,
Bea thought. He had left to take up his commission in the Royal Navy in
January. His last letter had arrived only days before they had all received the
news of Papa’s death. He had posted it from Spain where his ship had been
docked.
    “Where will Harry write to us?” Bea cried. “How will he know
where to find us? We will be lost to him!”
    Molly’s weeping turned into a low wail. Tom wrapped his arms
around her and pulled her head into the crook of his neck.
    “We’ll send word through the Admiralty’s Office,” he
replied. “I’ll take care of it as soon as we arrive in London. We’ll leave our
address and they’ll send it to him. Do not fret.”
    “But what address will you leave?” Bea asked. She tried to
hide the fear in her voice. She did not want to upset Molly, really she didn’t.
“Where will we live?”
    Molly looked up from Tom’s embrace and fixed her eyes upon
Mama. Bea turned toward her mother, waiting.
    “Paris,” Mama replied. “I have already sent a letter to
Bertie and Anna. They will welcome us.”
    “Paris?” Bea cried. “But we will never get Idyllwild back
from way over there!”
    “Bea,” her mother said, turning to her daughter and holding
her gaze. Mama’s beautiful blue eyes were dry. She had cried all she intended
to last night as she tucked Bea into her bed for the last time. “Idyllwild is
lost to us.”
    “But, Mama,” she began, only to be interrupted.
    “I know you would like to believe we will come back, but we
will not. You must make up your mind to it, Beatrice.”
    “But I cannot!” Bea said fiercely. “Idyllwild is my home.
Mama, it is in my heart. Perhaps I could make up my mind to it, but