Forbidden by Susan Johnson (good books to read for teens .TXT) 📕

time to come. During the buffalo days of her first twelve years, she'd lived the nomadic life of her tribe, unparalleled training in the acceptance of natural cycles. She understood how the patterns of life ebbed and flowed, how the sunshine and plenty of summer gave way to the storms and deprivations of winter. And she understood the necessity of laying up reserves against the future. She wasn't without her moments of melancholy; on those afternoons when she was alone, or sometimes at night when she couldn't sleep, she'd wonder if she'd heard the spirits and seen the signs properly. But the rational, the pragmatic part of her nature—the portion of her personality more typical than the sybaritic, blissful woman in love or the reader of spirit signs, reminded her of the problems. A mild word for Isabelle's intentions, a mild word for the liabilities she represented in the continuity of Etienne's life. Too lenient a word for the impossibility of joining their totally disparate lives.

And she counted the days.

"Get up," Etienne said one sunny morning, bending over to kiss Daisy awake, "I'm taking you shopping."

"Don't want to…" Daisy mumbled, burrowing deeper into the covers. She hadn't his energy or the stamina to stay up late into the night and be up at dawn, cheerful.

"Worth's is having a sale." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he smiled down at Daisy. He was dressed, having already met with Bourges that morning.

"Not either…" Her eyes were shut again. Worth's never had sales.

"Some people are pretty grumpy this morning." His voice was full of cheer.

"It can't be morning. Go away."

"I've made an appointment with Jean-Philippe."

"I've too many gowns already." She'd half buried her face in the pillow to shut out the light, so her words were muffled. They'd been to Worth's before. Etienne was a generous man.

"He has a dress, I'm told by a reliable source, made from the ivory silk you admired at Guillet's Gallery last week."

Daisy's eyes flashed open. "The ivory silk over-embroidered with tulips?" Delight infused her voice as she rolled over.

"Exactly." She had a childlike enthusiasm he adored; it nurtured his humanity, mitigated his streak of cynicism, made him believe again in magical concepts like unlimited joy.

"You had it made."

"Come try it on." He didn't deny her assertion.

"The fabric wasn't for sale at Guillet's. That special length was promised to the Musée Historique des Tissues at Lyon."

"Guillet's a reasonable man." Actually he was an unreasonable man but they'd eventually agreed on a price for the exhibition-quality design.

"You shouldn't have."

Her smile made him very glad he did. "Come see if it fits."

They were greeted at Worth's by Gaston Worth himself, who had seen the Duc's carriage arrive and rushed downstairs to waylay them. None of the couture house subordinates could safely handle the potentially combustible situation with the Duchesse de Vec in their special dressing room accompanied by one of the young priests she customarily retained as escort. With his brother Jean-Philippe and several female shop assistants in attendance of course. But the Duchesse's young priests always took a curiously personal interest in her toilette… making decisions for her on style and detail… familiar, it seemed, with the Duchesse taste in gowns, at ease with the Duchesse in her lingerie. He'd prefer the two parties didn't meet.

"Good morning, Monsieur le Duc," Gaston breathlessly declared, having run down two flights of stairs to stop the Duc from going up to the first-floor dressing rooms. "And Miss Black. What an honor so early in the morning."

"Jean-Philippe was expecting us," Etienne quietly said, aware of Gaston's skittish nerves. Gaston rarely undertook to greet customers; he was the house business manager.

"Papa will see you directly. Would you like tea?"

"You needn't bother your father." The Duc knew Charles-Frederick Worth took little part in the day-to-day activities of the house since his health had declined. "Jean-Philippe designed a gown for Miss Black. Would you like tea, dear?"

"Yes," Daisy said, and Gaston exhaled an audible sigh of relief.

"Let me have tea brought to you in our private salon. Denys," he ordered, actually snapping his fingers in his agitation, "show Miss Black and the Duc de Vec into the primrose salon."

The young man standing at attention near the door reacted like a trained soldier, although his smile was gracious.

"I'll have Jean-Philippe bring Miss Black her gown immediately," Gaston promised, briskly signaling for another subordinate to send off with the message.

"There's no special rush," the Duc pleasantly replied, struck by Gaston's disquietude. What was alarming him so? If he didn't know better he'd consider Gaston's nervousness had to do with the irregularity of his and Daisy's union. But since the House of Worth made a considerable portion of their profits from men buying gowns for their paramours, that possibility was unlikely.

"How kind, Your Grace." Gaston nodded toward the salon. "Denys. He's at your disposal, Your Grace. I'll order the tea myself. A few moments of your patience, Miss Black," Gaston murmured and with a flawless bow, he swiftly took his departure.

Tea was elaborate, the primrose salon on the ground floor more so, the young man—left, the Duc suspected, to see that they stayed in the pale yellow salon—the soul of courtesy. And when Jean-Philippe rushed in a short time later, full of apologies and breathless, followed by two assistants bearing Daisy's gown, the Duc was bemused. "No need to apologize, Jean-Philippe. Denys has seen to our every comfort," he said, lounging in a down-cushioned fauteuil sturdy enough to hold even his weight. "Are we early?"

"No, no… Monsieur le Duc. Half past eleven, you said, I know, but Papa… had a slight spell," Jean-Philippe improvised quickly. "Nothing serious," he swiftly added, seeing the expres-sion of concern on the Duc's face. "He's resting comfortably upstairs."

Odd… Etienne thought, Gaston had suggested their Papa help them with the fitting no more than five minutes ago. Ever courteous, the Duc kept his reservations to himself. "Someone else can help Miss Black with her fitting if it's inconvenient for you."

"No… No… Papa's