Everything For Love by Marilyn Vix

Author:Marilyn Vix [Vix, Marilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marilyn Vix
Published: 2017-01-19T01:22:58+00:00

Twelve

Breakfast was a buffet of cheeses, breads, meats, cutlets, and coffee. Deidre managed to get enough food, and she even managed to get it to stay down. Which wasn’t easy. Her stomach kept doing flips. She was so nervous.

They were still finishing up the meal. Henri sat to one side of her with Max on the other. She wasn’t sure if she could leave the table. If only she would stop thinking about what everyone might think about her poem. She couldn’t get the image of them laughing at her out of her head. It was paralyzing her.

“Are you all right, Deidre? You are looking a bit green.” Max placed his hand on her wrist.

His tone gently brushed her nerves away. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit nervous.”

“They’ll love your poem. Who could resist you?” Henri said to next to her. “Especially when you recite about a subject so controversial.”

“But will they like it?” she asked.

Henri said, “They’ll love it. Coming from you, I’m sure.”

She managed to blush. “Max has heard the start of it. He didn’t say it was horrible.”

“Then trust his opinion, Deidre. Try not to worry.” Henri patted her hand as though she were a child. She wanted to wrench it away. But she figured he was treating her as women in this time were treated. Sometimes that alone churned her stomach.

“Of course, I could recite the one about Paris. I do so miss it.” Her head was swimming with indecision.

“Whichever you choose to share, it will be wonderful,” Max whispered quickly. He rose from the table.

Deidre froze. She had always been the observer of art. Not one of the artists. She didn’t know if she could get up. Max stood next to her, wiped the corners of his mouth, and left the napkin on the table. He took a moment watching her. “Are you going to stand?”

“Do I have to?”

Max put his hand on her shoulder. “They are both good, Deidre. You will not disappoint them.”

“But will they like it?” Her voice wavered.

“They’re English. They’ll have to pretend they do. So don’t worry.” He bent closer to her ear so only she could hear. “You wanted to be the artist, remember? It’s part of the role.”

She sighed. He was right. She had a job to do. She stood, and Max pulled the chair out for her. They all left the dining room and moved to the conservatory, where the sunshine peeked through the clouds to light the interior. The glass roof and walls gave the whole outdoor effect while keeping bad weather at bay if needed. Today, many of the paneled windows were ajar, letting in fresh air. It gave a romantic anticipation for the poetry to come.

She sat in one of the white wicker chairs. Sinking into the cushion, she remembered to keep her back straight and upright, though her corset helped with the awkward posture. No one could really be fully relaxed in high society, especially in this age. Sitting up was mandatory.

Max stood next to her, tea still in hand.

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