Broken Angel

By Nona Mae King

Rachel Samson studied abroad at a business school for women since the age of fourteen. Eight years have since passed. When she arrives home, she discovers that the control she craves is but a myth. Determined to protect all aspects of his family legacy, Rachel's father has once again chosen the path for her life with meticulous disregard to her desires, including that of future husband.

Though a refusal of his selection will likely jeopardize her financial freedom, Rachel is determined to show her father the conviction and strength borne of her will to succeed. But when she meets Robert Trent on the long journey home from her studies abroad, could this handsome and mysterious stranger possibly offer her heart and will a more compelling compromise?

Broken Angel is a compelling story of love, forgiveness, and conveying the strength required to surrender.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nona Mae King
• Release date: May 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310728204

Nona Mae King

Nona King was born and raised on a 30-acre homestead outside Aurora, Oregon, in 1972. In the late '80s she began writing feature-length plays, young adult fiction, and Christian romance novels. From '99 to '05 she experimented with myriad worlds and character-types through VG fan-fiction under the pseudonym Mintbaby. She is the author of more than 30 novellas and short-stories, including fan favorites such as the 'Bookworms and Booya!' series, the 'Terra' saga, and 'A Rose by Any Other Name.'In 2006 King moved to the Seattle area where she met and married her husband and once again focused on her original fiction, publishing one paranormal fantasy and four romance novels from 2008 to 2014. Other projects include her young adult fiction series, Changing Scenes, her epic fantasy, Resurrected Honor, and her first romantic comedy, The 'Ex' Dating Formula.King has dedicated herself to writing true-to-life characters, be they villain or hero, so readers can experience life and its many passions. All her stories focus on faith, honor, and the importance of communication and trust in our relationships.

Book preview

1Broken Angel

a Heart of the Blessed novel

~**~

Broken Angel | a Heart of the Blessed novel

By Nona Mae King

Published by Nona King [Angel Breath Books]

Smashwords Edition

2016 - First Printing

The Library of Congress Copyright Office

Registration Number: TXu 1-980-649

Discover other titles by Nona Mae King at Smashwords.com:

Fantasy:

To Save A Soul

Fantasy Romance:

My Fair Princess

The Story

Romance:

Heart of the Blessed:

Searching for Sara

Releasing Yesterday

Broken Angel

FanFiction:

Mists of Destiny

The Terra Saga

A Rose By Any Other Name

The Bookworms and Booya! series

The Reluctant Knight

Few Words

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

~**~

Dedicated to

Lynna Mae Kreyssler Johnson. I miss you, Mamma.

May 9, 1946 ~ December 14, 2014

~**~

The Beatitudes

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,

For they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

For they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

For they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,

For they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,

For they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

For they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

- Matthew 5:3-10 (NKJV)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – The Attraction of ‘Not So Proper’

Chapter 2 – Perspectives

Chapter 3 – A Preferred Stranger

Chapter 4 – Tortures Past

Chapter 5 – To Tortures Present

Chapter 6 – Green Eyes

Chapter 7 – Untitled Passions

Chapter 8 – Wrong Questions

Chapter 9 – Inviting Rachel

Chapter 10 – A Lady of Letters

Chapter 11 – Dedications to Truth

Chapter 12 – Engagements

Chapter 13 – Summoning Angel

Chapter 14 – Mirrors

Chapter 15 – Secondary Confessions

Chapter 16 – The Pot & The Kettle

Chapter 17 – Frayed Cords

Chapter 18 – Daddy’s Girl

Epilogue – The Final Verse

One

The Attraction of ‘Not So Proper’

Rachel, darling, you must say hello to Mr. Traxin.

The click of carriages passing outside on the cobbled avenue faded from Rachel’s focus. Slender fingers tightened around her silk and bamboo fan. Humanity stood on the dawn of the 20th century, and yet she could not step beyond the necessity of social climbing through flirtation. The fact scraped across her calm as sandpaper as she shifted from the open balcony doors and the soothing caress of the garden breeze. Dressed in garish gold satin, her hostess glittered from head to toe, resplendent in gems and a glass-like smile. Mr. Traxin fared little better, his expression bright with an over-eager desire to impress. He stood as the fourteenth gentleman to whom she must say hello.

Willard Traxin, may I introduce to you Miss Rachel Samson. Lynette’s countenance glowed, brunette curls dancing in celebration of what she deemed the perfect match. Introductions spoken, the woman excused herself before Rachel had a moment to protest.

Annoyance stretched Rachel’s lips into a line as Lynette’s slight form melded into the crowd. Above all else, Rachel wished the locomotive bound for her father’s estate had already whisked her from these social obligations in the City. Surrounded by those who considered status and wealth a right rather than a responsibility, her patience wore thin.

Miss Samson, I heard you must away on the morrow. Must you venture to the wilds of Oregon so soon? We have only just been graced with your presence!

Oh no, Mr. Traxin. Not Oregon. Countenance and voice as calm as silk, her fingers pressed their hold of her fan to elicit the whisper of a crack. I go to Boston, she corrected for the countless time that evening.

What is in Boston, pray?

Our family estate.

Truly? Mr. Traxin’s limpid gaze still did not glitter with anything but feigned understanding and interest. Then, my dear, why ever would you be onto Oregon at all? If you had any sense in that lovely head of yours, you would stay in Boston. But I am more than willing to visit you in the wilds.

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose to keep her faltering hold of her temper in check. Mr. Traxin, I suddenly feel ill.

Oh, my dear.

She turned aside his touch, dipping into a slight curtsy before maneuvering through the cliques of people near the southern entrance into the garden. The cool breeze soothed away the oppression of stagnating wealth, easily refreshing her calm. The need to feign illness for a moment’s reflective quiet would forever spark her temper, although she knew the alternative of letting fly a cutting remark or her usual dry wit was simply not allowed. The status of the Traxin family obligated her to a positive advertisement of the Samson name.

Rachel? Rachel Samson?

Her fan paused as emerald eyes adjusted to the evening darkness. Lucy? she queried the familiar figure approaching from behind. Is that you?

Dark eyes twinkled within an exquisite heart-shaped, pale face as Lucinda Bond enfolded Rachel into an embrace. She kissed each cheek. I heard a rumor you were at this horrid party, but I could not make myself believe such a tale. You viewed them as the very plague while at school!

Indeed, and that viewpoint is still upheld. Rachel accepted Lucy’s arm for a turn around the garden path. A conversation with you will be a breath of fresh air after the multitude of conversations thus far. They have scarcely tickled my interest. While I was sorely tempted to refuse all invitations, I tasked myself with choosing the one which could sow the most benefit.

Lucy giggled. Dearest, Rachel. Business to the end.

Rachel allowed a smile, grateful that Lucy remained as one of the few who could still amuse her.

Have you heard from your father? Lucy queried as they continued down the stone path.

I have heard nothing since Mother’s passing. Three years without even a cable? If she had behaved as badly toward someone of equal stature, her father would have fumed at her for days without end.

So odd. Have you sent a cable?

No.

Lucy gaped at her, dark eyes glittering in bewilderment. Rachel Samson! Should you not let him know you have arrived safely ashore? That you are on your way home?

If it mattered one way or the other, he would have contacted me.

Lucy’s arm tightened. I pray that isn’t true.

Why should it not? You know he wouldn’t allow my return even for Mother’s funeral. A fact which still grated at her very soul.

He must have his reasons, Rachel. I remember those first letters from him–

Lucy.

She sighed. I wish I could go home with you, Rachel.

Unnecessary. This first meeting with my father is the final test. If I cannot face him, I have learned nothing of independence and assertion and will be unsuitable to act as his heir.

‘Heir.’ Lucy wrinkled her nose. It doesn’t sound right.

Rachel’s eyebrows dipped and she released Lucy’s arm. Dear Lord, Lucy. Why does everyone suppose we are truly the lesser sex?

Oh, no, I didn’t mean that at all, Lucy protested. I only wish you had someone to help you. A friend who understands and supports you. There is nothing wrong with an ally is there?

Rachel’s eyebrow shifted upward, but she did not lift her gaze.

Lucy once more took hold of Rachel’s arm. When do you leave?

For home? Tomorrow morning.

You have wanted to return home for such a very long time, Lucy observed softly. I hope it is all you wanted, and more.

Thank you. Though what she wanted and what she could realistically expect were a jumbled mess of ideas, memories, and suppositions.

Rachel discerned the approach of two men moments before she noticed their shadowed silhouettes. Lucy, let us make our excuses and escape this party. I spied a middle-class eating establishment of ‘questionable reputation’ on my way and would much rather–

Rachel, I can’t. I came with someone.

The rising blush to Lucy’s cheeks confessed all. Ah. Peter, Rachel observed. Blessed with waves of dark hair and piercing gray eyes, girls by the score had swooned at the mere mention of his name. But his eyes had always strayed to the innocent loveliness of Lucy Bond.

Rachel glanced away. The men drew closer, talking amongst themselves and sharing the occasional bout of laughter. Rachel knew she hadn’t yet had time enough to gather a reliable calm, and a spark of temper would negate the hard work she had invested this week in cultivating the reputation of the Samson name.

Rachel noticed Lucy’s glance toward her and then the approaching men, but before Lucy could pose the question, the men ceased their private conversation. As they drew parallel, the men nodded a passing greeting, their identities hidden in shadow as they moved on without comment—for only a moment. Before Rachel could even release a breath of relief, she heard the dreaded words Rob, she was exquisite. Go introduce yourself.

Rachel stiffened. Good God. Can I never escape the prison of my exquisite countenance? Already worn thin, she felt her patience beginning to fray.

I will do no such thing, the other gentleman informed. My last intention this evening was to bother lovely ladies.

Are you daft? I have never before seen anyone so entrancing! the other man pressed. His voice faint now.

You still haven’t, old man. Her face was mostly in shadow.

I saw enough to know she was a vision, he protested.

A vision? There was a pause. Perhaps.

Their discussion faded, and Rachel reluctantly laughed. I would thank that gentleman for saving me the exhausting duty of entertaining him and his friend, but that would mean a conversation. I have suffered enough of those to last two lifetimes.

Lucy giggled. Rachel Samson. Surely this evening has not been as awful as that?

Rachel caressed the cool breeze with her fan. You’ve no idea the tortures withstood this evening, Lucy. Conversations of balls, fashion, and society have nearly bored me to tears. Had I seen you and Peter, I would have made my way to your side on pain of death.

Once more Lucy giggled with an Dearest, Rachel. Then she voiced a gasp and turned to gather both of Rachel’s hands in hers. "Rachel, dear, please say you will be persuaded to come and visit me sometime soon? Peter and I…." Lucy flushed and lowered her gaze.

So, he has finally proposed.

Laughing, Lucy’s eyes met and held Rachel’s, a trait of straightforward honesty Rachel always admired. You mustn’t say it as if it’s a curse. I love him and he loves me. Why shouldn’t we be happy together as man and wife?

Man and wife. It sounds as if one is saying Master and servant. Aloud, she offered, Best wishes to you both, Lucy, but I don’t believe I shall be able to visit for quite a time. I haven’t any idea what my plans shall be once I arrive home.

Will you try? I would so like for you to be my maid of honor.

Rachel’s slight smile warmed to one more genuine. "Thank you, Lucy. I will try."

Lucy’s face shone as she giggled. It’s all so exciting, Rachel, and you should see Peter. He has a bit of a dazed expression at times. If I didn’t know better, I would believe that he didn’t expect me to accept.

Then certainly you must return to him, Lucy. Rachel gave Lucy’s hand a pat before she motioned back toward the house. I need some time to myself, and I don’t wish to contribute to his loneliness.

Lucy gave Rachel’s hands a fond squeeze. Dearest, Rachel, you can be so silly at times. The young woman enfolded Rachel into an impetuous embrace, not seeming to notice the stiff uncertainty of Rachel’s acceptance. It was nice to see you, dearest, and I pray your meeting with your father goes well. She pulled back and smiled. God bless you, Rachel.

Thank you, Lucy.

Lucy gave Rachel’s hands one last squeeze before returning to the house. Rachel watched her go, turning away after Lucy’s silver gown had faded from sight. "Your meeting with your father…." She pressed her lips together as she moved forward, her fan caressing the air around her. She didn’t know what to expect, and that feeling was far from acceptable. I suppose I shouldn’t worry, for that changes nothing and proves less.

Rachel’s brow furrowed. Her own abilities and accomplishments seemed to prove as little, especially when viewed in direct comparison with Mr. Traxin’s advances. 1886! This is 1886 and I’m still surrounded by such backward thinking as women being worth nothing more than the ability to bear children and give men pleasure! How am I to battle against such thinking? She refused to believe her father had purposefully set her up to fail.

Watch your step.

Her gaze shot to a tall, shadowed figure leaning against the trunk of some type of tree. Excuse me?

The shadow shifted somewhat, and an arm emerged clothed in black with opal cufflinks and immaculate white shirt-cuffs. The manicured nails indicated a raised tree root a scant six inches from where she now stood.

Rachel moved her gaze back to the figure, unable to gauge his expression or intent due to the shadows hiding his face. I thank you, sir, for the warning.

You’re quite welcome. His voice sounded rich and full, nearly as low as that of a bass in a church choir from memories past. The host should have taken greater care with the lighting of these paths. My friend nearly took a tumble twice.

Her lips tilted upward. Is that why you now lurk alone?

The shadow chuckled and stepped forward, a great portion of his face remaining in the cover of darkness. "It only seems I lurk. I simply relished the silence before again braving the nest."

Rachel hid her widening smile behind her fan with a graceful flick of her wrist. You don’t care for parties, sir?

When one’s wealth is flaunted? No.

Thank God. I suppose the flaunting is, in itself, a sport to them. Rachel scoffed softly and looked away toward the bright glow of the house’s lights. A waste of time and energy.

Indeed, was all the gentleman offered in reply.

In fact, after this single statement the gentleman remained quiet. He didn’t comment on the chill of the evening, the amount of stars in the sky, or how she supposedly rivaled Aphrodite herself. The silence was a blissful change and invited a rather deep sigh from Rachel as she closed her eyes and drank it in. Why she didn’t move on, she couldn’t say. Why the gentleman didn’t speak, she couldn’t suppose. But the silence was welcome.

Then, to Rachel’s further shock, he simply observed, It seems you have need of solitude and silence, Miss, and into this I have no wish to intrude. When Rachel faced him again, he bowed, offering, Good evening, Miss, before continuing down the walk, hands within the pockets of his trousers as he whistled a simple tune.

Rachel arched an eyebrow as she watched him, surprised and relieved that he hadn’t taken it upon himself to fill her supposed boredom. Lynette would have been horrified at the missed opportunity for fluttering lashes and pouting lips. Rachel’s very nearly laughed aloud. Thank you, sir.

"So this is where you’ve been hiding!"

Expression now blank, Rachel once more gathered her cooled calm firmly into hand before facing Lynette’s approaching figure. How much more of this must I endure? But the clock pendent pinned to her bodice showed it only just shy of eleven, meaning a further attendance of at least one hour would be necessary for appearances.

Sighing, Rachel forced a slight smile. I apologize, Lynette. I felt a moment’s illness and had to retreat.

Lynette tucked Rachel’s arm forcefully around her own before turning and leading the way back to the party. "Oh dear, not ill! Daddy will be horrified. You simply must stay with us this evening! Rest and recoup before leaving for Oregon."

Rachel nearly released a quick breath of irritation. Rachel. She gathered her calm back again. I can assure you I’ve recovered, Lynette. The walk and air have done their duty.

"I am glad. Now you can dance and have the others green with envy!"

Lynette–

"In fact, charming Mr. Traxin has promised he won’t dance with another soul until he has shared at least two dances with you. He’s quite taken with you, dear. Isn’t that thrilling? Before Rachel could respond, Lynette continued, undaunted. I’ve set him to wait on the far side of the dance floor with the promise that I would fetch you and return straightaway. You should have seen his face, dear. It was fairly aglow with eagerness! I’m so jealous! I’ve but two beaus the entire evening and you’ve made the catch of at least five! You show such calm, making them wild with the want to impress you. You really must tell me your secret, dear."

Disinterest, Lynette.

Pardon?

Rachel released a soft breath. It was nothing.

Two

Perspectives

Occasional gusts of early morning wind shifted Rachel’s traveling gown of emerald corduroy as the porters loaded her trunks onto the baggage car. Lynette dutifully wept her grief at Rachel’s departure, the latter questioning their sincerity when the performance was clearly viewed by a wide collection of unattached gentlemen. For some reason, however, that morning Rachel found amusement in how… adept the woman was at utilizing her femininity to receive what she wanted.

In fact, Rachel smirked.

"I had so hoped that we could have persuaded you to stay with us, Lynette confessed, her head tilted to catch a halo of sunlight upon her hair. When I think of all the parties we could have planned for you."

I appreciate your attempt to soothe my boredom, Lynette, Rachel offered. The woman would never understand that balls and masquerades were the least of her interests.

It was a joy, darling. You’re radiant by candlelight, and those gowns from Paris! Why, they make you a rival to Aphrodite herself!

Rachel swallowed the scoff before it could fly free. Lynette, you only believe that because everyone else says the same.

Lynette protested, but the conductor’s infamous bellow of All aboard! interrupted further comment.

Rachel turned toward the reserved coach and the porter waiting to hand her up.

The woman followed in her wake. Mr. Traxin was quite taken with you, Rachel darling. Be prepared for a surprise visit from him.

Mr. Traxin indeed. Rachel tempered the sneer from her lips. I doubt our paths shall cross, Lynette. He seems to believe I live in Oregon.

Pardon?

It was nothing. At the steps to the Pullman coach, Rachel dutifully faced the young woman. Thank you for your hospitality. It was appreciated.

Tears glowed once more in the woman’s lack-luster eyes as she gathered Rachel’s rigid form into an embrace. Have a safe journey, Rachel darling.

Thank you. Rachel counted off the timing of the recommended pressure before distancing herself. I shall do my best to inform you of my safe arrival.

All aboard! The conductor sounded the final call as the porter offered Rachel a hand. You be needing some help, Miss?

Yes, thank you.

He handed her up into the coach while the conductor ushered Lynette from the area.

Giving one last wave of farewell, Rachel released a relieved breath and turned to enter the coach. The vision of red velvet couches, lush carpeting, intricate lace curtains, and elegant crystal chandeliers all bore the memory of her departure eight years previous. Fourteen years of age. Alone. Doing her best not to cry though her father—

Thoughts scattered with her snap of fan against gloved hand as she forced her feet forward. She slipped her short white gloves from chilled hands and tossed them onto the mahogany table, gathering up the New York Times as she settled into the red velvet couch perpendicular to the outward windows. The social pages drew back the sneer at the too-large photograph of her in the company of her alleged friend and confidant Lynette Hatcher. She moved on to the business section. Confidant? she mused. How did they come to that conclusion? The woman understands not one word of anything save men, petticoats, and how to arrange a bouquet ‘just so.’

Ah. It appears this car is not so vacant as I was led to believe.

The baritone rumble drew Rachel’s gaze, and the rich chocolate eyes of the gentleman leaning against the dark leather chair across from her assaulted her focus. Dressed in a trim suit of navy blue, the color served his height and extreme good looks well enough to give her a moment’s pause regarding the state of her appearance—to her annoyance. Excuse me, sir?

He smiled, his teeth a pure white flash of amusement against the natural tan of his smooth complexion. Intrusion is not my intent, dear lady, though I seem to have stumbled into it regardless. Please forgive me this moment of indiscretion.

She arched an eyebrow, the timbre of his voice tickling her memory of a shadowed garden and a gentleman who warned me before I could take a tumble.

He paused the duty of removing his gray traveling gloves. Ah! The maiden with a poet’s air of melancholy. He bowed at the waist. Your servant.

Rachel inclined her head.

He somewhat carelessly chucked his gloves onto the table with hers as he collapsed into the chair across from her with an air of boyish mischief. I must confess I am relieved that I do not, in fact, have exclusive use of this coach this morning. Although, to be honest, I am curious as to the reason for the pleasant surprise.

The temptation to surrender a smile tickled Rachel’s lips as she relished the fact he had not waited for her invitation to sit. A curiosity I do not fault you for in the slightest, especially considering my family has had this coach reserved for the greater part of three months.

Indeed? Hm. I wonder if I– He suddenly snapped his fingers. "Yes. I was to leave yesterday morning. Only I was waylaid by my friend. At the gentleman’s grimace, Rachel’s smile escaped. He sat forward. I say, truly, that if you would rather not endure my company, I espied a friend on my way through and can most certainly impose upon him."

You are welcome to stay, sir, as there is room for us both. Spending the three-day journey entertained by only old memories and rising questions did not appeal to her, especially not when teased by the possibility of sharing intelligent conversation for the first time in weeks.

Wonderful, he said. I must say traveling alone is seldom as… amusing as traveling in company. Although this other friend has a tendency toward…. The amusement sparkled in those lush eyes, feeding a surprising rise of intrigue. Well, let me suffice it to say that he has a few more bad habits than what a gentleman should admit to genteel company.

You cannot intend me to believe you have no ‘bad habits’ of your own, sir?

Hah! On the contrary. Everyone has a fault. In fact, my father would classify mine as arrogance.

‘Arrogance’, you say? Her eyebrow arched as she regarded his distracted duty of adjusting his gloves upon the mahogany table. You present with assurance and confidence, but I would hazard that a classification of ‘arrogance’ is false.

He chuckled, and his brown eyes shifted to meet her calm expression. None held her gaze long, a point of some pride for her, and yet the gentleman didn’t look away until a continuation would have been overly forward. Then he simply lowered his eyes to a feigned scrutiny of his nails. While I appreciate that, I have come to discover many tiers to character flaws as well as character strengths. In point of fact, when too many strengths come together, they can often become tainted into flaws.

Curiosity and intrigue soared. Explain, if you would.

Of course. Certainty and confidence together often blossom to assurance, and both are considered positive strengths to a person’s character. However, should that assurance be tainted with a pride that is, in itself, twisted by self-importance, arrogance takes root.

Rachel absently caressed the air about her face and neck with a subtle beat of her fan as she considered him. Classifying his expression, his words, and his body language as well as the tone in which he presented his argument. Please do continue.

Some say arrogance is a man’s destiny; to be assured – or arrogant, depending on his pride ― a good hunter, a better fencer, and intelligent regarding subjects of business, that is his role in this life. Yet, on the other hand, the gentleman motioned toward her. It is often expected of the woman to be emotionally sensitive, self-absorbed, and pre-occupied with fashion and the art of capturing a beau as well as the size and quality of the gems adorning her neck and fingers.

Her hold tightened upon her fan until she heard a soft pop. Rachel. She released a slow breath before continuing the gentle pump of the fan. The gentleman’s countenance did not shift from the darkly serious discussion, though a shadow had flickered across his eyes.

A too-limiting expectation for society to force onto others, wouldn’t you say? Yet when a person, myself being the prime example, present actions and conversations so opposite society’s expectations, we are classified as arrogant. So I, upon many occasions, can be classified as arrogant or prideful, though such may not be anything more than one person’s skewed perception.

Rachel regarded his frank countenance and experienced, for the first time, a whisper of sincere interest and attraction into his person, like a brush of hand.

The gentleman suddenly sat forward. Miss, I do apologize if you took offense. That, yet again, wasn’t my intention. I’m not usually so vocal regarding my philosophical differences with to society’s views of male and female roles. I find that my stand on the subject is generally scoffed at. Or minimized at the very least.

Well do I understand that! Your stand being? His eyes darted away from their scrutiny of her stature and he shifted his position. An intriguing development, she mused, cataloguing the response for a later review.

Excuse my hesitation to answer, he said after a clearing of the throat, but I have no wish to risk continued offense with a too-quick response.

Noted. And appreciated.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips. Yet you still desire an answer.

Correct.

Hah! Well, old man, see what crypt you’ve built for yourself…. Releasing a deep breath, he gave a slight shake of his head before retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it forward to her. Intrigue teased an eyebrow upward as she leaned forward to retrieve it. The monogram there. Whom do you suppose crafted it?

Considering subjects of needlepoint and embroidery were not her forte, Rachel couldn’t tell if the monogram of R.L.T. had been tastefully planned, delicately crafted, or appropriately positioned within the corner of the kerchief. She approved the deep blue of the thread against the antique white of the kerchief, however, and the very modesty of it seemed to make it more dignified.

Rachel lifted her gaze to meet his. A sister?

The gentleman’s lips twitched upward. No. Only child.

Pardon me.

He waved a dismissive hand before once more motioning toward the kerchief. Again?

I yield, sir. She offered the kerchief back again. She knew nothing of crafts, but could not admit to that truth.

The kerchief drew his whole attention, and an amused twist played about his lips before he once more met her focus. I was curious one day and crafted it myself. She blinked at him, shock preventing even a simple response. He chuckled. I do not jest, I promise you. My mother offered a few well-timed suggestions and directions, certainly, but mostly the task was my own.

Teasing the corner of the kerchief, his chocolate gaze focused beyond, to a history which began to tickle the edges of her intrigue. I must admit I receive a bit of satisfaction having it in my pocket, proving that even a man can perform a delicate task such as this. Though, he let fly a soft scoff as he lifted a hand for deeper scrutiny. Large fingers presented quite the challenge, and I experienced several spiteful jabs before the project could be called done.

Amusement tickled her lips upward. I can only imagine.

However, self-pity isn’t my point. Oh… that was horrible. Excuse the pun.

He threw back his head and laughed a delightful baritone rumble. Rachel found the entire scenario fascinating, as most of the gentlemen in Europe were too rehearsed to present themselves as genuine, to say nothing of their lack of any morsel of humor.

The fact that you assumed the kerchief to be crafted by a woman would have been the… well… the point. That assumption proves society’s view of a female’s role within it, unfortunately limiting all involved: Men and women.

Hm. Apparently I have become as tainted by society’s views as others, Rachel observed, the fact causing irritation, as well as admiration at how deftly he revealed the point.

Considering it is impossible not to be… influenced by surrounding environments, that fact shouldn’t cause too great of consternation for you, Miss. We’re all guilty of it. Even I myself instantly classified you as a lady of poetic nature when I first saw you in the garden last evening. Mostly, I believe, due to the extreme angst and distance in your stance. I generally only observe that in poets and artists. While I still haven’t yet classified your expertise, considering the paper there beside you, I doubt it involves artistry of the… general sense of the word.

Rachel sent a slow and thoughtful glance to the paper before once more allowing the gentleman’s handsome features to draw her attention; completely.

He smiled, an expression that seemed to spend the most time in those eyes, and then motioned toward her. But now I would much rather escape to safer subjects, such as where you journey off to so early in the morning?

Boston. Though why she should feel no qualms with a more personal conversation with a stranger met only once before Rachel had no idea. However, for the first time since arriving from Paris, she was blissfully free from suspicion. I suppose that alone should cause suspicion. She smirked.

One of his eyebrows twitched, but he simply said, Ah. Highly refined and lovely city, that. Then he further examined her expression before speaking again. I’ve found myself there once or twice. The people are relaxed and compassionate. At least, in the circles I subjected myself to.

Yet another eerie coincidence. Rachel, don’t be ridiculous, she scolded. Who hasn’t been to Boston at least once in their life? Family?

He smiled slightly. Of a sort. The gentleman motioned toward her. Have you been away long? Your fashion suggests you were most recently of Paris.

Lowering her gaze to a brief glance of her traveling habit, Rachel once again felt a wave of… relief. Intriguing.

Your contemplative silence causes me to wonder if my more personal questions have given you pause on the wisdom of our discourse.

Rachel met his gaze. Not at all. Simply thoughtful preoccupation.

Oh? Regarding what, may I ask?

A growing dread of conversation and all that entails, she found herself admitting. Suspicion of their intentions is to be expected—who shows their true colors in this day and age, I ask you—but dread is crippling. The slight motion of wrist and fingers encompassed his entire relaxed, athletic form. Since leaving Europe, yours is the first discourse which has not encouraged any emotion save intrigue and interest. The change is welcome.

Mischief twinkled behind his eyes and danced on the slight curve of his lips. My humor has a tendency of both causing annoyance and tears, so These conversations with you have been a welcome change as well. You haven’t even hinted at a desire to strike.

A smile caressed Rachel’s lips. The day is young, sir.

He laughed, a sound that Rachel had begun to classify as unique, as she hadn’t ever heard a sound as rich and full of mirth while not being offensive or overly loud.

Then he sat back in the chair, the amusement still plain on his expression, and motioned toward her. So you’ve recently returned from Europe, where you resided for quite some time, if I gather correctly. At her quizzical tease of eyebrow, he continued, There is a French lilt to your speech.

Does he miss nothing? It was an oddly unsettling experience to be so transparent, and yet her mind fairly hummed with the challenge to improve the stealth of her reactions.

What kept you in Europe for so long?

Studying. She lowered her gaze to the silk-screened fan, which she opened with a deft motion of wrist and fingers. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. Such a simple word could not possibly contain the entirety of her metamorphosis. She had