Innocence Lost

By Barbara Lynn Blake

In the age of innocence a young American girl, Rachel Lester, travels to Europe to find her destiny and love. She meets three men who will decide her life. She meets Forrest Mann, a young American man her own age, who shares with her the promise of a conventional American life. In England she meets Lord Hatfield, a man fifteen years older, who can give her a title and money. And in France she meets Count Kovensky, a charming man who offers her a life among artists, writers and philosophers and a world revolving around his houses in Paris, Monte Carlo and Florence.
What choice will she make and what price will she pay for her innocence lost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477216026

Barbara Lynn Blake

Barbara Lynn Blake has lived all over the world including Venice and Assisi, Italy; Monte Carlo, Monaco; Pyeongtaek, South Korea; Bournemouth, England; Linz, Austria; Winter Park, Florida; Eden Prairie, Minnesota; and Santa Barbara, Solvang, San Jose, Santa Monica and Pasadena, California. She currently lives on the island of Maui in Hawaii. She is an artist, a Yoga teacher and the author of 12 books. She is currently writing another book about her two years of living in Venice, Italy.

Book preview

Innocence Lost

Barbara Lynn Blake

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© 2012 by Barbara Lynn Blake. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   07/03/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1601-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1603-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-1602-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012909984

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

New York, 1873

What an unusual looking lady. Very chic for New York, a woman said to her companion.

Do you mean the Countess Kosvesky? her companion answered looking at the woman who was standing near the bottom of the stairs at the opera.

Is that who she is?

Yes, her knowledgeable friend answered.

She is quite beautiful, the woman observed.

"They say her beauty is legendary in the salons of Europe. She married some Polish count. I knew her when she lived here in New York as a girl.

Where is her husband?

She left her husband years ago. It was quite a scandal. She ran off with her husband’s secretary. If she were still a respectable woman I would introduce you to her. But she is scorned here now. Nobody talks to her. It’s hard to believe that she was once a young, innocent American woman who by mere chance had gone to spend a summer in Europe.

Chapter 1

1862—A Large House in Paris

Count Kosvesky looked at the young woman as she descended down a flight of stairs from the ballroom above. It was sometime after midnight. The girl’s face rose in color from the dancing that she had been enjoying but a moment before.

Now there is a beauty, the Count said to his friend who stood with him at the foot of the stairs.

So innocent. I dare say her lips have not yet been touched by a kiss, his friend snickered.

Then I shall be the first, Count Kosvesky predicted as he smoothed his dark thin mustache with his finger.

Ah only if I am not the first, he friend challenged him. Besides she is not your type—too innocent, too pure.

She is an American, the Count revealed to his friend.

Ah, they are… how shall I say it… naïve.

Yes, but then one has the pleasure of being a teacher—of training them just right so that they fit perfectly into one’s life.

The young woman noticed the men at the foot of the stairs as she slowly walked down the stairs careful that she did not trip. An older woman, who was not altogether unattractive, appeared behind her and called to the girl.

Rachel.

The young girl stopped and looked back up at the woman who called her name.

Her name is Rachel, Count Kosvesky confirmed to his friend.

A rather ugly name even for an American, his friend grimaced as though to discourage the Count’s interest. Some kind of Biblical reference no doubt.

Count Kosvesky looked at his friend and laughed, Do not try to deter me because she has an ugly name. It is her face that is charming. So different. And her body. She has a very pretty form.

And do you propose seducing her? his friend questioned the Count. Young American women are not so easy to seduce. If you want her you may have to marry her.

The Count was quiet as the young woman continued her descent down the stairs with the older woman at her side. As the women drew near to them Count Kosvesky said to his friend as he smiled to the young girl.

If that is the only way.

Chapter 2

Rachel Lester was eighteen years old the night the Count saw her in Paris. She had just arrived in Paris with her aunt and uncle for an extended stay. Rachel spent her youth in Europe the only child of two American wanderers who had made their home in Florence, Paris and London. As a child she spoke flawless French, English and Italian but all with a queer accent so that no one could tell her origin. During her childhood there were times when she was doted on by her parents and then forgotten like some precious jewel only worn on special occasions. Rachel was an exceptionally pretty child in the way of her mother. Her dark brown hair fell in soft curls to her waist. Her blue eyes shone full of interest for the world around her.

Rachel’s parents were from America’s old New York stock. Vivian Crane had married Mr. Lester before either were twenty years old. Their interests in the arts lead them to live in the European capitals. Rachel’s first years of her life were spent in Italy. But at the outbreak of the civil war there in 1849 her parents fled first to Paris then to London. When she was ten both her parents died on a ship carrying them on a visit to France. Little Rachel had been left behind with Mrs. Lucille Monroe, her mother’s sister, who was living in London at the time. Rachel was soon transported back to America with her aunt to live with her parent’s families whom she had never met.

In New York she lived like an exotic flower among the sturdiness of her American relatives. Rachel was different. As a child she was apt to say as she pleased but seemed to want nothing more than please those around her. Rachel had spent her first year in America adapting herself to her relatives although it was her relatives who thought they had the burden of adjusting to her. Rachel admired her cousins who were numerous and seemed so dull to her. They were so narrow in their views of life but also so strong in their convictions. So sure were they of their place in life. They possessed the solid roots that Rachel had missed as a child. Her American cousins she saw not as individuals but like eggs in pairs or dozens—interchangeable faces and all with the same ideas.

From birth their characters had been molded by old New York values. American values. They valued money, family, security and the promise of a good make on the stock market. One was so much like another. Her cousins thought alike, dressed alike and acted alike. But she admired them. Sometimes she even envied them. But she knew she was nothing like them.

In New York Rachel lived along with her aunt, Lucille Monroe, in her grandmother’s house. Rachel quickly came to realize her aunt was thought of as a bit of an eccentric to the family. The family eyed Aunt Lucille with reserve and took to the young Rachel as someone to save from Lucille’s influence.

Her mother’s mother, Mrs. Crane, was immensely fat. She was a fixture in her house as much as the large dining room hutch—unmovable and omnipresent. Rachel came very quickly to love this huge fat woman as a source of comfort and warmth. Old Mrs. Crane mourned over the death of her daughter, Rachel’s mother. She made a special place for little Rachel in her heart. That Rachel resembled old Mrs. Crane in her youth only strengthened their bond and affection.

The heavy bosom of Mrs. Crane could still remember her own slow acceptance by New York society and so took her young orphaned grandchild, Rachel, almost as her protégé. Rachel flourished in her growing years becoming prettier each year. Rachel’s figure became thinner as Mrs. Crane’s figure grew larger that prompted one acquaintance to remark, Mrs. Crane must be eating all of Rachel’s portions, which produced the expected snickers.

By the time Rachel was eighteen years old she had mastered the highly developed skills required by New York society as well as developing a high appreciation of art and history. Her childhood years of playing by the Arno River in Florence and Seine River in Paris had given her an extended education for the arts. If fate had allowed she would have stayed in New York and married one of the prominent men who were not put off by her black coming out dress. But Rachel did make the mistake of wearing a black dress to her coming out party. It was Aunt Lucille who had chosen the scandalous dress for Rachel’s coming out party. The resulting scandal caused Rachel’s life to change.

During the summer of Rachel’s seventeenth year, Aunt Lucille had met a man—a Mr. Tinker. After a brief courtship and to everyone’s surprise but her own, Aunt Lucille was married to him and planned on going back to England with him in a month’s time. In one of her last duties before her exit to England, Lucille was to pick out an appropriate dress for the upcoming ball where Rachel would formally make her first appearance in society. Normally it was Rachel’s grandmother who approved of all of her dresses. Mrs. Crane saw that Rachel was dressed like all the other girls. It was only because Mrs. Crane was quite ill at the time of Rachel’s coming out party that she could not supervise the selection of Rachel’s dress. So Aunt Lucille’s unconventional will was left free. Aunt Lucille, who had forgotten of the ins and outs of New York fashion, chose a black dress for Rachel. The dress was made and worn. All this was unknown to Mrs. Crane until the day after the ball when Mrs. Crane’s youngest daughter, Louisa Stone, reported the disgrace to her mother.

Lucille has gone too far this time. She will disgrace all of us before we know it. I’m only thankful she is leaving for England for soon, Louisa Stone said to her mother while Mrs. Crane was still in her bed drinking her morning tea. Mrs. Crane was annoyed at the display of temper before she was even dressed.

"You talk in riddles, Louisa. Now tell me plainly how has Lucille offended you this time."

Mrs. Stone did not care for her sister Lucille and often brought complaints of her conduct to their mother. Mrs. Stone conveyed to her mother in exaggerated detail the offense of the dress. This time Mrs. Crane was apt to support her youngest daughter Louise. After a few tart meetings between Mrs. Crane and Aunt Lucille, Aunt Lucille decided to take Rachel back with her when she returned to England.

She is still my responsibility, Lucille said in defiance to her mother.

I should prefer to keep her here with me, Mrs. Crane insisted.

And bury her here in New York. She is already disgraced in Louisa’s view. You’ve heard Louisa say ‘no family will want her now’. And yet you want to keep her here? She will suffocate here. She is her mother’s daughter after all. New York could not keep Vivian and New York will not keep Rachel.

You mean I am to lose her like I lost my Vivian? Mrs. Crane reciprocated, shocked at the idea that she might lose her granddaughter to the excitement of Europe.

New York is too constraining for her, Lucille said to her mother in her anger at her own reactions to society’s pressures. Let her marry a Duke or a Count or even one of the Princes of England. She will suffocate here. Let her go to Europe, she is more like them than us anyway.

Aunt Lucille seeing the old woman’s anguish but knowing her to be sympathetic to Rachel’s best interest appealed to her mother with a gentle voice.

Let me take her to Europe… for a year. New York will forget all this and she will come back to you.

Mrs. Crane nodded her approval knowing full well if Rachel were to return to Europe she would stay there. It was after all where she was born, where she had been raised. Mrs. Crane let the girl go to Europe with regrets at not being able to keep her little Rachel, more dear to me than any of my children, here with me.

Mrs. Crane saw the young girl to say goodbye a few days later. She was determined not to let any tears fall even after Rachel had left the house for the ship that was to transport her across the Atlantic Ocean. She could not keep Rachel from her destiny.

Chapter 3

Rachel arrived in London an American by birth, in her dress and in her manners but her heart remained European. The gardens of Hyde Park were locked into her memories along with those of her parents. She had not been unhappy in America, not exactly. But as she stepped foot on British soil she could not help feeling as if she had arrived home. Everything seemed so different to her but also so familiar. In New York she felt like she had been wearing a corset which tightly concealed her thoughts. Back in England Rachel could breath again.

Rachel, with her aunt and new uncle, stayed for several weeks in the sophisticated city of London. London at that time was the capital of world—the wealth of Africa and India and the Americas and the Orient poured into her capital city. You could buy anything there. Society, despite its layers of Barons and Lords and Princes or perhaps because of it, seemed more flexible and open than the rigid society of New York. An American lady, like any exotic import, was in high demand. Especially one with money and as young and pretty as Rachel Lester.

After several weeks in London the family moved to Mr. Tinker’s estate, Dartmore House, in Kent. Rachel was in Kent but a week when she had already captured the interest of two men. Lord Hatfield, who was in his early thirties, found the ‘American Rachel’ a girl of extraordinary gifts. She brought along with her her American independence, her freedom of thought and her childhood background of European art and history. All of which impressed her English admirer.

She is practically a scholar, Lord Hatfield said to his friend Jeffrey Spears who also took a special interest in the Rachel. The two men when speaking of Rachel always referred to her as the ‘American Rachel’ as if she might be confused with another Rachel even though they knew no other Rachel.

Yes, so unusual in a woman, Jeffrey agreed. She can tell you about the Louvre room by room. Who painted what and when? And she commands the same knowledge of the Pitti Museum in Florence.

They say her parents were great lovers of art. She was practically raised in the Louvre.

But even without her background she is the prettiest girl here, Jeffrey confirmed Lord Hatfield’s own good opinion of Miss Lester.

Rachel’s Aunt Lucille was, of course, thrilled that the Duke showed such interest in her niece. He made his admiration of her public knowledge and fluttered about her, a bee to the flower. Rachel did not share the Duke’s enthusiasm. He was pleasant enough in the manner of an English gentleman but she quickly dismissed any real interest in him. She thought him a man who had never done a hard day’s worth of work, physical or otherwise and this was true. The Duke was a sitter. He was not even a thinker. His thoughts centered on petty problems such as the length of his pants or the strength of his tea. And over these issues he often became very distressed. His skin was white, as white as any Englishman’s could be who rarely saw the sun. His hands with their elongated fingers were pale and fragile. He had hardly done any more in his life than lift a cup of tea or a book. Only a book had not been raised since the Duke left Oxford after two years of study. His days were spent in the long succession of taking his meals, his tonic water and his tea. Oh yes, and a butterfly collection. As a Duke he was sought by many that viewed the Duke’s acquaintance as a prize but no one could hardly claim him as a friend. The closest thing he had to a friend near his own age was the man whom he now conversed with about the American Rachel.

His partner in pursuing this topic of Rachel was Jeffery Spears, a man two or three years older, who was well acquainted with the Duke since they were neighbors. They were drawn together by their sameness in life—namely both being rich, single men and of a marriageable age. Jeffery, if you did not know the two men’s backgrounds, would have been the preferable choice. He was robust, not quite as thin as his sedentary companion. He rode daily to take away the dull hours of the day. He was the shorter of the two men, his dark curly hair already starting to leave his head bald. His face was congenial however and he was the more aggressive of the two men in pursuing conversation.

The Duke was not a talker. He preferred to watch life around him like a spectator in a theatre. This gave him a distance that many people mistook for conceit. Perhaps he was conceited but he had no other reason to be conceited other than his luck of being born to a title. Rachel saw all these things about the Duke on their first meeting. But her aunt only saw the prestige and money that would be accrued with such a marriage.

Aunt Lucille had her niece alone at the moment and said to her, The Duke is looking at you. He is always looking at you.

Rachel took a quick glance and her eyes met the Duke’s. She smiled, nodded and looked again at her aunt.

He is in love I think, her aunt continued her attempt at matchmaking.

Oh, Aunt Lucille, you imagine every man in love with me.

It is not I, but the Duke who imagines his love for you.

You would have me married before I finish my eighteenth year.

To a Duke, yes. Even his companion, that Mr. Spears, is watching you. He, I believe, is also smitten.

It will do you no good to talk like this, Rachel said exasperated at her aunt’s persistence. I find both of them much too dull to speak with for even half an hour. A lifetime would be beyond endurance.

Couples never speak once they are married, my dear. You do not marry to converse.

Rachel looked at her aunt with a small smile rising to her face asked, And what do they marry for?

For prestige and money, Aunt Lucille exclaimed with authority. You can do no better than the Duke. He is wealthy and he is kind. That is all you need in a husband.

He imagines himself… ill, Rachel retorted.

Is he ill? Aunt Lucille asked in an exaggerated manner.

No, nothing more than a cold from staying too long in damp rooms. And if he walks too much, he fears he will have a heart attack. I have known him but a week and twice already as we were walking along he felt his chest and said ‘my heart, it is beating so fast,’ Rachel said mocking the Duke’s tone.

Oh goodness, I hope he does not have a bad heart. You must have a child right away then to make your claim on his property. Or else it will go to some forgotten cousin, Aunt Lucille instructed as if the marriage had already been arranged.

Rachel smiled and walked away from her aunt without another word.

She walked to the end of the room to look out over the lawn which was the same color of green as the trees. Nothing varied here not even the color of green. A light rain fell as it had fallen every day in England since she arrived. Rachel felt trapped within the confines of this house, the house of her aunt and her aunt’s newest husband. Aunt Lucille and her husband were once again hosting a party for the neighborhood.

Besides the Duke and Mr. Spears, Sir Alfred Long and his wife were in attendance. They were an older couple, without children, who were great talkers. Their topic of conversation was Sir Alfred’s adventure in India from whence he returned some twenty years ago. But he spoke of the Indian forest as if he had been there just yesterday. His wife took all her husband’s views as if they had been joined by the hip and never been parted.

Another couple also joined the group. Aunt Lucille husband’s nephew and wife, along with their two children, were visiting their uncle for an extended visit. The atmosphere was somewhat strained between Aunt Lucille and her husband’s relatives.

Mr. Charles Tinker, Aunt Lucille’s husband, was a man whose family fortune had left him to live a rather adventurous life. As a second son of a wealthy family he was given much liberty as well as a heavy purse. When he was a young man, he traveled around the world with his first wife. He had spent great amount of his life living abroad in Argentina, in Cuba, in the Bahamas Islands, in Ottawa and in New York. Twenty years passed, no children were born and his wife died. It was in New York he met the magnificent Lucille Monroe, a woman of unusual taste and very liberal in her thinking. They were married, a surprise to Aunt Lucille’s New York relations as well as Mr. Tinker’s relatives in England.

Mr. Tinker’s nephew had once thought his uncle’s fortune would come, in tact, to him. But his uncle’s taking of a second wife put that expectation in question. The nephew, at his mother’s urging, went to Kent to visit his uncle.

His mother said to him before he left, You must make your claim. He must not forget you now… now that he has again married. What if he were to have children with this wife? Where would you be?

Mr. Tinker had only informed his relatives of his marriage, not of the details of his wife who his family assumed would be young. But Aunt Lucille was well past the age of issuing any children. Still the nephew, with his family, was camped at his uncle’s house for an undefined period of time.

The nephew along with his wife and children viewed Aunt Lucille with some prejudice and along with her, her niece. They moved about the house as a unit, so that you rarely saw one without the other three. As a little troop, they made their stand ready to do battle. Aunt Lucille called them the nephews to Rachel in private and tried to go on as cheerfully as possible despite their