Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1) by Simone Beaudelaire

Author:Simone Beaudelaire [Beaudelaire, Simone]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creativia
Published: 2018-11-15T18:00:00+00:00

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That afternoon, Katerina successfully found an efficient young woman named Katie Lawrence to do the cooking and cleaning of her home. While it was traditional to call such a woman by her last name, she and Katerina were the same age, and she liked the girl's confident manner and open, country-bred kindness. At Katie's wink, Katerina decided they would be more friends than anything else and decided they should call each other by their first names when no one was around. Secure in the knowledge that meals would be forthcoming, she practiced until her fingers were sore. Finally, she sent a brief letter to her mother-in-law. Feeling accomplished for completing all her tasks, she indulged herself with a cup of strong black tea and the collection of poetry Christopher had left in a folio on the bedside.

So far, she greatly enjoyed being married. Her husband charmed and pleased her tremendously both in bed and out. Positive feelings about herself rounded out a surprisingly happy sensation. The bishop had made her think she would grieve and be miserable for a while and then begin to heal, but in fact, the two processes seemed to be simultaneous. She still had those old feelings of fear and depression that had been her constant state for the last ten years of her life, since her mother's death, but they were now interspersed with moments of radiant joy. While she allowed herself her unhappiness, knowing it had to be felt to be healed, she was far from miserable most of the time. How can I be when I have Christopher to hold and kiss and talk to me?

She took a sip of her tea and opened to the first poem, her eyebrows drawing together at the title, `Porphyria's Lover'. This must be one of the conversation pieces he had mentioned before the poetry party turned into a crisis. She wondered how lascivious it would be. Well, I'm a married woman, am I not? I have experience in the ways of passion. If this poem proves a little scandalous, I can handle it.

So, she read. It was not what she had expected, and the blunt description of the violent murder struck her in a weak place. She hated being such a watering pot, but there was no help for it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she turned to the next poem. `My Last Duchess'. Though subtler, she found the reference to the murder readily enough. How close she had come to being the subject of a story just like these. Except in her case, her lover had saved her, not harmed her. She closed the folio, so her tears would not stain the paper, and set it aside. Her tea forgotten, she buried her face in her arm on the table and gave vent to her emotions again, and that was where Christopher found her when he returned from work a few minutes later.

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