Surrender Read Online Free Page A

Thump. Thump.
    She watched the clods of dirt hitting the casket as they were
shoveled from the ground into the grave. Her heart ached terribly; she could not
stand it. She already missed Henri. How would they survive? There was almost
nothing left!
    Thump. Thump. Thump.
    Aimee whimpered.
    Evelyn’s eyes suddenly flew open. She was staring at the gold
starburst plaster on the white ceiling above her head; she was lying in bed with
Aimee, cuddling her daughter tightly as they slept.
    She had been dreaming, but Henri was truly dead.
    Henri was dead .
    He had died three days ago and they had just come from the
funeral. She hadn’t meant to take a nap, but she had lain down, just for a
moment, beyond exhaustion, and Aimee had crawled into bed with her. They had
cuddled, and suddenly, she had fallen asleep....
    Grief stabbed through her chest. Henri was gone. He had been in
constant pain these past few months. The consumption had become so severe, he
could barely breathe or walk, and these past weeks, he had been confined to his
bed. Come Christmastime, they had both known he was dying.
    And she knew he was at peace now, but that did not ease her
suffering, even if it eased his. And what of Aimee? She had loved her father.
And she had yet to shed a tear. But then, she was still just eight years old,
and his death probably did not seem real.
    Evelyn fought tears—which she had thus far refused to shed. She
knew she must be strong for Aimee, and for those who were dependent on
her—Laurent, Adelaide and Bette. She looked down at her daughter and softened
instantly. Aimee was fair, dark-haired and beautiful. But she was also highly
intelligent, with a kind nature and a sweet disposition. No mother could be as
fortunate, Evelyn thought, overcome with the power of her emotions.
    Then she sobered, aware of the voices she could just barely
hear, coming from the salon below her bedroom. She had guests. Her neighbors and
the villagers had come to pay their respects. Her aunt, uncle and her cousins
had attended the funeral, of course, even though they had only called on her and
Henri twice since they had moved to Roselynd. She would have to greet them, too,
somehow, even though their relationship remained unpleasant and strained. She
must find her composure, her strength and go downstairs. There was no avoiding
her responsibility.
    But what were they going to do
now?
    Dread was like a fist in her chest, sucking all the air out of
her lungs. It turned her stomach over. And if she allowed it, there would be
panic.
    Carefully, not wanting to awaken her child, Evelyn D’Orsay slid
from the bed. As she got up slowly, tucking her dark hair back into place while
smoothing down her black velvet skirts, she was acutely aware that the bedroom
was barely furnished—most of Roselynd’s furnishings had been pawned off.
    She knew she should not worry about the future or their
finances now. But she could not help herself. As it turned out, Henri had not
been able to transfer a great deal of his wealth to Britain before they had fled
France almost four years earlier. By the time they had left London, they had run
down his bank accounts so badly that they had finally settled on this house, in
the middle of the stark moors, as it had been offered at a surprisingly cheap
price and it was all they could afford.
    She reminded herself that at least Aimee had a roof over her
head. The property had come with a tin mine, which was not doing well, but she
intended to investigate that. Henri had never allowed her to do anything other
than run his household and raise their daughter, so she was completely ignorant
when it came to his finances, or the lack thereof. But she had overheard him
speaking with Laurent. The war had caused the price of most metals to go
sky-high, and tin was no exception. Surely there was a way to make the mine
profitable, and the mine had been one reason Henri had decided upon this
house.
    She had but a handful of jewels left to