Surrender Read Online Free Page B

pawn.
    But there was always the gold.
    Evelyn walked slowly across the bedroom, which was bare except
for the four-poster bed she had just vacated, and one red-and-white-print
chaise, the upholstery faded and torn. The beautiful Aubusson rug that had once
covered the wood floors was gone, as were the Chippendale tables, the sofa and
the beautiful mahogany secretary. A Venetian mirror was still hanging on the
wall where once there had been a handsome rosewood bureau. She paused before it
and stared.
    She might have been considered an exceptional beauty as a young
woman, but she was hardly beautiful now. Her features hadn’t changed, but she
had become haggard. She was very fair, with vivid blue eyes, lush dark lashes
and nearly black hair. Her eyes were almond-shaped, her cheekbones high, her
nose small and slightly tilted. Her mouth was a perfect rosebud. None of that
mattered. She looked tired and worn, beyond her years. She appeared to be
forty—she would be twenty-five in March.
    But she didn’t care if she looked old, exhausted and perhaps
even ill. This past year had drained her. Henri had declined with such alarming
rapidity. This past month, he hadn’t been able to do anything for himself, and
he hadn’t left his bed, not a single time.
    Tears arose. She brushed them aside. He had been so dashing
when they had first met. She had not expected his attentions! Mutual
acquaintances had directed him to her uncle’s home, and the visit of a French
count had put the household in an uproar. He had fallen in love with her at
first sight. She had, at first, been overwhelmed by his courtship, but she had
been an orphan of fifteen. She could not recall anyone treating her with the
deference, respect and admiration that he had showered upon her; it had been so
easy to fall in love.
    She missed him so much. Her husband had been her best friend,
her confidant, her safe harbor. She had been left on her uncle’s doorstep when
she was five years old by her father, her mother having just passed away, and
she had never been accepted by her aunt, uncle or her cousins as anything other
than the penniless relation they must raise. Her lonely childhood had been made
worse by taunts and insults. Her clothes had been hand-me-downs. Her chores had
included tasks no gentlewoman would ever perform. Her aunt Enid had constantly
reminded her of what a burden she was, and what a sacrifice her aunt was making.
Evelyn was a gentlewoman by birth, yet she had spent as much time with the
servants, preparing meals and changing beds, as she had spent with her cousins.
She was a part of the family, yet she was only allowed to reside on its
fringes.
    Henri had taken her away from all of that, and he had made her
feel like a princess. But in fact, he had made her his countess.
    He might have been twenty-four years older than she was, but he
had died well before his time. Evelyn tried to remind herself that he was
finally at peace—in more ways than one.
    While he had loved her and adored their daughter, he hadn’t
been happy, not since leaving France.
    He had left his friends, his family and his home behind. Both
of his sons from a previous marriage had been victims of Le Razor. The
revolution had also taken his brother, his nieces and nephews, and his many
cousins, too. Adding to his heartache had been the fact that he had never truly
accepted their move to Britain; he had left his beloved country behind, as
well.
    Every passing day in London had made him a bit angrier. But
perhaps it was the move to Cornwall that had truly changed him. He hated the
Bodmin Moor, hated their home, Roselynd. He had finally told her that he hated
Britain. And then he had wept for everything and everyone that he had lost.
    Evelyn trembled. Henri had changed so much in the past four
years, but she refused to be completely honest with herself. If she was, she
might admit that the man she had loved had died a long time ago. Leaving France
had destroyed his soul.
    Caring for