“She did not belong at Ruthenia House. Paris with its glamor and gaiety had not been the cure her father had expected it to be. The money he had spent to send her here, money he could ill afford, had been wasted. It would have been better if she had never seen the crooked streets and fine old houses of Paris, the theaters and cafés and book stalls and pastry shops; and far better if she had never met a volatile prince by the light of a gypsy fire. She would put aside her vain hopes, packing them... away as most young women did their dance programs and split slippers and faded flowers when a memorable ball was over. She would return to Louisiana, to take care of her father's house on Bayou Teche near St. Martinville. In time she would forget the pain, but she would remember the pleasure and the joy.To make the decision was fine; to act on it, another thing entirely.Mara went to Grandmère Helene's bedchamber to inform her of what she meant to do early the next morning. Her grandmother was still in bed with a cloth soaked in violet water on her forehead and down-stuffed comforters piled two feet high over her thin body."Don't come in,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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