'Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.'
~ James Arthur Baldwin

Everett climbed out of the carriage first and helped Lizzie down, as she straightened out her appearance, Everett offered his hand back up to Zara, she paused for an instant, took a deep breath and stepped down.  Everett was sure she didn’t know how attractive a picture she presented.  Hannah had chosen Zara’s most modern dove grey gown with black piping cut in a semi modest fashion and had her long brown hair with russet highlights pulled back from her face in a simple style, adorned with a matching bonnet.  With her hair pulled back it showed off the slim column of her neck and lovely high cheekbones, even though she had been through a horrendous ordeal she still had a glowing beauty about her.

Everett tucked the ladies hands onto his forearms and led them around the gardens to the sprawling lawn out the back that housed the picnic.

As the trio rounded the main building Zara’s eyes widened to take in the spectacular before her, she hadn’t seen such opulence before and wasn’t quite sure where to look first, a picnic to her was a basket with some cold food and iced tea shared with close friends in the countryside or at the beach.  Not table after table of succulent morsels begging to be eaten, trays of desserts and large bowls of punch set about to delight the guests.  Then there was the marquee erected in the middle of the lawn to eat under or various tables and chairs set up under numerous trees to shield fair skin from the sun.  Strains from a string quartet playing Mendelsshon could be heard across the lawn lending a formal feel to the occasion.

Everett had led them to the punch table and was pouring drinks for them when they heard a male call out, ‘Lord Covington, over here.’ All three of them turned in the direction of the male voice.  The Earl of Shelburne was striding toward them waving his arm in the air.

Time seemed to stop for Zara, and everything seemed to go fuzzy around the edges. Zara was certain her dead husband was coming towards her.  Tall and well muscled with a broad, powerful chest from years spent at sea, shiny black hair and those sparkling warm blue eyes.

So familiar.

Andrew. It couldn’t be Andrew. What kind of cruel joke was this?  The man stopped directly in front of her and flashed her a warm smile, showing a row of beautiful white teeth and a dimple in his left cheek. 

The punch glass slipped from her fingers, thudding on the grass. Her mouth opened and closed in shock and she started to back away from him, shaking her head in disbelief, he gave her a concerned look before she promptly fainted.

Back to manuscripts...

Words Written
19,100 of 80,000

 All written content on this site is the property of the author.