The Eleventh Year
“Like Chenonceau, it was made of gray stone, with simple turrets that gave it graceful curves. The green trees and the moat and the small bridge, the rose garden to the left where she was now walking with Alexandre, were throwbacks to the Middle Ages. Romance hung heavy in the air. Wives and mistresses of kings had fought over it; she’d heard Charlotte say that Henri II had given it first to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, who had been evicted upon his death by his widow, the embittered Catheri...ne de Médicis. Sixteenth-century politics had been played out in its shaded alleys, famous children had been conceived in its arbors. Lesley, in the early spring of 1919, felt part of this romantic bygone era. She felt exhilaration and fear at what she sensed was on Alexandre’s mind.
He looked at her, and she felt his delicate blue-gray eyes upon her. He had eyes that expressed what he felt, unlike the hard compelling gaze of Justin Reeve. She had felt as if Justin, through his eyes, had drawn her inexorably toward a precipice.MoreLess
He looked at her, and she felt his delicate blue-gray eyes upon her. He had eyes that expressed what he felt, unlike the hard compelling gaze of Justin Reeve. She had felt as if Justin, through his eyes, had drawn her inexorably toward a precipice.MoreLess
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