Skip to main content

The riding party

Christoph escorted Delphinia to the stable-yard.

"You look exceedingly pale," he murmured.

"I would not have come, but I promised Adelia."

There was only one thing Delphinia wanted to know, and as soon as it was natural that she should do so, she lifted her gaze to the other riders coming into view, strolling amongst the stable yards looking at the horses.

Her breath caught on a sudden hitch as in the gloom she saw the loose fall of Adelia's burnished hair. Her arm was lodged within the Markgraf's.

A flush crawled across Delphinia's face. She could not name the feeling that swept her, but it seemed a mixture of all the things that cause one to flush: shame, anger, desire. She ducked her head away.

"Miss Rumford seems contended enough," Christoph murmured. "I do not think that she will begrudge our return t England to plan our own happy future."

Delphinia was silent. Something had turned within her. Christoph was an emblem of all the old, the silent submission that had characterized her youth and girlhood. In his presence she felt the old obligation, which was like a shoe that no longer fit.

Adelia turned suddenly to greet them, her green eyes wide. Her laughter shimmered on the air. "I had almost given up on you."

"I told you I would come."

"Lady de Lyons is a woman of her word," Adelia told the Markgraf laughingly, lodging her arm even more securely in his own.

Oskar appeared suddenly on Adelia's other side, through the morning mist and stableyard dust that cast a haze around everything. "The good Markgraf too is a man of honor," he said, a metal-like glint in his eyes.

Popular posts from this blog

The secret to a happy home

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things. 1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else. She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better. 2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journ...

Helen Keller

Reading this Women of Influence book is causing me to remember another of my great childhood loves -- "The Miracle Worker," the story of Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. It was Anne Sullivan I really loved, and still love -- it always made me heartsick to think of her sacrifice, devoting every waking minute to another human being, with almost no life left to herself, until she died in old age, and Helen Keller required another translator. But God -- she must have known it -- that's the best way to live -- it is to have every moment of your life swallowed in supreme goodness and satisfaction. No wonder I loved her, and no longer do I feel sorry for her -- I envy her. I thought of her today perhaps because when I was around eight or nine I grew aware that she and I shared the same initials "AS." Today is the first day that I am Amanda Monteleone at work, and I have written my initials "AM" dozens of times already. It's strange, but the satisfaction of...

Sprouts

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.