Read Online Through a Glass Darkly: A Novel by Karleen Koen - Free Book Online Page A

She moved her legs so that Barbara could sit on the edge of the stool they rested upon. Barbara pushed her embroidery stand aside. I will never understand a duty that hurts others, she thought stubbornly. She sat down haughtily on the spot the Duchess had indicated and stared at her grandmother, her face closed and mutinous.
       Where on earth does she inherit that stubbornness? the Duchess thought. Yes, Richard had been stubborn, but not with this locked–in setness that could not be moved except perhaps by reasonable argument, and not even then if the girl decided she was right. I have been too easy on her, the Duchess thought. I should have beaten her more often. She is not docile and quiet enough. I would never have dared look at my grandmother so. Ah, the young today do not know what manners and duty are. She leaned her head against the tall back of the chair. The wine had given her a pretense of strength, but underneath its false sweetness crouched her age, her fatigue, always ready to pounce, to drag her down and shake her lifeless. She closed her eyes and spoke softly, to spare herself as much as possible.
       "Likely neither Harry nor Jane will remember the intensity, the pain, two years from now, Bab. Two years is such a long time when you are young. Harry will find an amusing mistress. Jane will marry and have a baby. Life goes on…our duties go on…I hardly knew your grandfather until the contracts were signed." What liars we become with age, she thought. Tell the girl how you followed Richard Saylor with your eyes and heart long before he ever spoke to you. Tell her that. "But I knew my duty. I knew what I owed my family. And I did it." She paused, her face soft with memories, and Barbara, staring at her, caught a sudden, unexpected glimpse of how she must have looked years ago. She listened, in spite of herself, intrigued by the idea of her grandmother's youth.
       "Ah, Bab…he was the handsomest man in four counties, besides being the best! At first I loved him because it was duty. But then I loved him because I could no more help myself than the sun can help rising in the morning." That is how I feel about Roger, Barbara thought. "And he learned to love me—a sharp–tongued, skinny stick like myself. And we worked together to build our fortune." What a brave, handsome soldier he was, the Duchess thought to herself, picturing him in his scarlet general's uniform, the medals pinned to his coat and glinting in the sun. Second only to Marlborough, and in the Duchess's eyes, not even second. Ah, those were good years. Three strong sons survived all the other dead babes, the estate rebuilt, added to, a daughter coming like a lovely bloom of love—a girl as beautiful as her father was handsome. Life seemed so rich, so easy. Nothing could stop them; they would rival anyone in power and land and wealth. They did. And then, the wheel of fate shifted: one son dead in a battle in that years–old French war, the other two dying unexpectedly of smallpox, a demon from the Devil himself, also finding and killing their oldest and dearest grandson—the heir since his own dear father had died. The dukedom went to Abigail's son. Sweet Jesus. She had always disliked Abigail, wondering how her funny, charming William, who was never jealous of his older brother's inheritance, always with a joke and a smile, dying like a dog in a faraway land—they never found all of his body—could have married her. So, in five years, after twenty years of good fortune and prosperity, all that was left of their children was Diana. It was far too late to bear any more. Three fine sons—strong men to continue the family name, the family honor, to care for them in their old age—gone. And with them, Richard's heart. He, too, dying. Widows and children left, gone. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
    "Grandmama? Are you well? Shall I call for Annie?" The look on her face stabbed Barbara's heart. Betrayal or not, this old woman was her