For a woman unaccustomed to public speaking, Brian found her dignified and commanding.
She continued, “Your dedication and support is most appreciated. As you know, I’m beginning a new chapter in my life. Many profound changes are taking place, but my music and the love I feel for my God and public will remain the same. I have vowed to dedicate my life to more than just singing. For years, I have sung to be loved. Now, it’s time for me to return the love. I have found a purpose for my life.
“I want to thank all of you for your support and dedication through the years and through my recent difficulties. I want to announce my creation of The Special Angel Foundation, whose purpose is to provide funding and support for causes related to child abuse and exploitation. Half the proceeds of all my concerts, music, and merchandise sales will be presented to the foundation. I don’t want other children to suffer as I did, and I will do everything in my power to support this cause. I urge all of you to join me in this effort.”
Applause thundered.
• • •
After, the crowd of invited guests seemed to take more of an interest in her than the food and other guests. Small talk, pledges of support, handshakes, and even personal checks were thrust in her direction. Though she smiled and was accommodating, her eyes darted about the room in search of Brian.
Her gaze finally rested on him standing near the bar with Stacey. They were intimately close, exchanging glances and mimicking each other’s body language. She had to admit that Stacey was pretty, though in an artificial way. Her hair was too brassy, her make-up too exaggerated and the knit gown obscenely painted on. She could see how a woman like that could attract men. Seeing her so close to Brian raised her temperature and her ire.
Angelique excused herself from her doting admirers and sashayed toward the couple. As she approached, they drew apart. She stepped to Brian’s side, flashed a smile, and caught his gaze. The depth of his dark eyes seemed to swallow her. She blinked to try to regain her composure. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Brian, may I speak with you . . . alone?” she asked.
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation and turned to Stacey. “I’ll call you.”
Stacey grinned and added, “There’s a private lounge off of the hallway, you two.” She gestured toward a doorway across the ballroom and walked away.
Brian grasped Angelique’s arm and led her through the crowd, avoiding interruption. In silence, they walked through the doorway, into a hall and located the lounge. Once inside, he slid closed the pocket doors.
Without words, he reached out to her and drew her against him. She molded against the warm security of his body and comforting arms.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered with a tremble in his voice. He caressed her hair with his hands, letting the strands slide through his fingers.
“I wanted to talk to you and wondered if I’d get the opportunity,” she mumbled. She drew away from him, pressing her hands against his chest.
He released her. “I’m sorry if I was getting too personal,” he said, confused.
“Brian, I could remain in your arms forever, but I have something important to ask of you and there’s so little time.”
She held her hands together as if in silent prayer and sighed.
“There’s a chartered plane waiting at Kennedy. In an hour, I’m boarding that plane to France. I’d like you to join me,” she said.
“France?”
“Listen, I received some sad news before the concert. I have to go to the Benedictine Abbey of St. Paul, and must pray that I’m not too late.”
“Why?”
Tears formed in her eyes. “The Reverend Mother, Sister Claire, has taken ill. She’s dying and her last request is to see me.” Her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you still cared about her.”
“The Abbey was my home and I do believe, deep in my heart, that the Reverend Mother truly cared. The Davidsons swindled her as much as they did me. The poor woman is dying and is probably laden with guilt over giving them to me.”
“Maybe she just feels guilty because it may delay her entry into heaven.”
She arched her brows. “Brian, how can you say such things when God forgives all sins and sinners?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t you see? I have to go to her. She’s the only family I have.”
“Where do I fit in?”
“I don’t want to go alone. It’s short notice, but I need you.”
Chapter 25
The lone bell in the stone bell tower of the Benedictine Abbey of St. Paul announced the noon hour. The bonging resounded through the forest, the village of Arques, and the cloistered walls of the abbey.
Angelique had lost track of time. She sat in reflective silence in the humble, dank cell at the Reverend Mother’s bedside. Brian’s comforting hands rested on her shoulders as he stood behind her. Their eyes focused on the wrinkled face. Though parched and cracked, it reflected a peaceful serenity. Thin lips opened only a sliver for shallow, labored breaths. A priest from the Basilique had performed the Last Rites hours earlier. The Reverend Mother, now looking more like Sister Claire, lay prepared to meet the God she had worshipped her entire life.
Angelique prayed in silence that before the nun’s soul departed to eternity she would speak to her one last time. She stared at the nun’s closed eyes with an icy intensity, willing them to open. One last look. One last word. Since arriving the previous night they had had kept a bedside vigil. Angelique wanted one last miracle.
After the noon hour bell ceased, Sister Claire opened her eyes. Angelique gasped, squeezing the nun’s cold, clammy hand.
“I’m here, Reverend Mother, your Angelique,” she whispered, leaning in closer so the nun could view her more clearly.
“Angelique,” Sister Claire said in French, her lips turning up to form a faint smile. “So little time. So much left . . . unsaid. Please . . . forgive me . . . my sins.”
“I’ve forgiven you long ago, Reverend Mother. The Davidsons lied to us both.”
“I was wrong . . . to send you away with them. Thought you deserved a better life away from the abbey. You had so much more to offer the world.”
“You thought they’d give me a better life? How could you send me away with total strangers?”
“I had to . . . send you away. Every day you reminded me of my . . . sin.” The nun’s labored voice cracked with emotion.
“What sin?”
Sister Claire swallowed hard. “Had to see you . . . to tell you the truth.”
“Truth?” A shiver raced down Angelique’s spine. Her heart palpitated out of fear of what she may or may not want to hear.
“Truth about your birth. You were not an abandoned orphan. You had a mother and a father, mortals and sinners both.”
“I . . . I had parents? Who are they?” She began to tremble. Brian squeezed her shoulder blades, offering some comfort. She was glad to have him near.
“Your mother was a nun at the abbey, your father the rector at the Basilique.”
Tears rolled down Angelique’s cheeks at the revelation.
“Their love for church and God brought them together,” the hoarse voice began. “The lovers secretly rendezvoused in the woods surrounding the abbey. The nun was past forty and never expected to get pregnant. She kept her secret from the priest and sisters, concealing her condition beneath her robes. When the time came, she sought refuge in the forest. Alone, she gave birth and accepted the pain as a sinner should. At the baby’s first cry, she cuddled it in her hands. She cut the cord, cleaned the little girl with a towel and swaddled her in a pink blanket she had lovingly sewn. Pink, the visions she had of a girl coming true. She suckled the baby at her breast, sitting in the solitude of the forest with her secret.”
She drew a deep breath for strength and continued, “She cried over the difficult decision she had to make. If her sin were revealed, she would be tossed out of the
abbey and shunned. Her lover would never admit to his infidelity. His was a position of power. Like her mother, the nun would be forced to live in poverty on the streets. The baby would be looked down upon and mistreated.”
Tears streamed down Angelique’s cheeks as she absorbed the story, knew how difficult it was for the Reverend Mother to tell it. The fact that she was the baby being mentioned was slowly sinking in, though it seemed surreal.
“The nun lay the baby in leaves on the forest floor, relinquishing rights to her child. Somehow, she would arrange for her to be found. The future was to be in God’s hands.”
“I . . . I’m the baby?” Angelique asked, finding it hard to believe.
“Yes.” Tears streamed from Sister Claire’s eyes.
“Who was the nun?”
“Me.” The tormented gaze met hers and Angelique
“You . . . you’re my real mother?”
“Yes, my child.”
“My father?”
“Gone ten years. A good man. I will join him soon . . . finally together.”
“My mother is a nun and my father a priest?” She was still trying to digest the facts.
“Sinners both. You are a special gift from God. My special angel.” Sister Claire’s hand squeezed hers with the little strength she had left.
Chapter 26
The somber funeral was held at the Basilique Notre Dame in Saint Omer as its bell tower rang out in tribute to the late matriarch at the nearly abbey. The nuns in their black habits filed out of the church like penguins marching out to sea. In silence, they followed the procession led by the rector, who waved the smoking golden ball by its chain, the pungent scent of incense wafting through the air around the simple casket and mourners.
Angelique fought back tears as Brian guided her through the procession leading from the church and toward the graveyard. The weather was as bleak as her mood. She had promised Sister Claire their secret would never be revealed to the public. Angelique forgave the woman who had given her life, but a pall had been cast over her heart. Her parents were in love, but couldn’t reveal it or be together because they were clergy.
Before the church service, she had wandered through the graveyard alone surveying the weathered stones. Some had been placed during the Middle Ages with names long forgotten. She walked from stone to stone in search of the name of the other who had given her life. Engraved on a slab overgrown with ivy was the name she had been searching for: Pretre Louis Montagne.
She had knelt on the ground, running her hand over the letters, praying he would know of her visit. Tears streaked her cheeks at this strange reunion with the father she had never known, but who had given her life.
Now she held Brian’s hand in a tight grip, realizing that she wanted him at her side for as long as they lived. At Sister Claire’s bedside he had offered comfort and solace. [For a dedicated journalist like him, she knew his promise not to reveal the secret of her birth had been a sacrifice. That trust only cemented their relationship. She looked up at the sky with its threatening gray clouds, mulling Brian’s words after Sister Claire had died: “How could two people who had forsaken their own love to devote their lives to loving their God be sinners?”
At the time she hadn’t an answer for him, but now she had. Their sin wasn’t only loving each other and having a child from that love. Love wasn’t a sin. Their sin was forsaking that child in the name of God.
In the graveyard, the nuns and townspeople assembled around Sister Claire’s simple pine coffin. The rector flung more smoky incense around it and then sprinkled it with holy water. He proceeded to recite the Prayer for the Dead, Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd . . .”
As he prayed, robed priests from the Basilique solemnly sprinkled more Holy Water into the casket, which rested on pylons over pre-dug resting place.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the rector continued, bending down to retrieve a handful of rich earth and tossed it over the casket.
In silence, the mourners prayed. Angelique stepped forward. In the solitude of the old graveyard, she gave her most memorable performance. With only the sounds of a whistling breeze and birdsong as her accompaniment, she sang “Ave Maria” in both French and English. She sang with all of the emotion and power she had for the love of a mother she had really just begun to know.
After her song, she fell to her knees and stared up at the casket. In silence, the others filed out of the graveyard. Only Brian remained along with the gravedigger, who stood like a vulture eager to complete his task.
Swiping tears, she took Brian’s hand.
More than Sister Claire was buried that day. Years of mystery and uncertainty, of lost identity, and childhood were also buried.
For the first time in her life, Angelique knew what and who she was.
• • •
“Since we’re in France, I was wondering. You said once you had seen Paris only from a hotel room. No Eiffel Tower, River Seine or Notre Dame Cathedral. Considering you are French that’s pretty sad,” Brian said as he drew Angelique closer to him. “What would you say if we went there on our honeymoon?”
She placed her arms around Brian’s neck as they sat in the squeaky bed in their room at the Saint Louis in Arques. She felt a blush bloom over her face as she thought about the day and evening before. She gazed up into his eyes with love and adoration.
“Well, considering we’ve just been married, it makes sense,” she replied.
Married. She wanted to pinch herself. The rector at the Basilique had stared at them with a quizzical expression when Brian had asked him to marry them right after the funeral. Angelique had been taken off guard, but was excited by the notion. He was her best friend, her confidante, an extension of herself. He was the one person she could depend upon and trust. He was the man she loved. What better way to solidify their bond than through the sacred vow of marriage? They would both be starting over . . . together. It was something her parents weren’t permitted or chose to do.
What better place to be married than in the Baslique? The grand old cathedral with its soaring arches and musty scent had been a part of her life from the beginning. Her father had been ordained into the priesthood there. Her mother had taken her vows as a cloistered nun before its alter. She had been baptized there by the father she had never known, a father who had presided over the proud edifice for over twenty-five years. He was buried in its graveyard, as was her mother. They were joined in eternal peace and love.
The Basilique Notre Dame was also where she made her singing debut in the choir loft and where the Davidsons had discovered her. Among the spirits who dwelled within its old walls were the spirits of her past. How fitting for her future to begin within those same walls.
She smiled remembering the vows they had exchanged, “To love and to cherish, ‘til death us do part.”
These were the vows her parents could not make to each other. Yet, in death, they were united and not parted. Angelique knew she had found her own eternal love with Brian.
More from This Author
Lab Test by Nancy Loyan
Perfect Partners
Stephanie Cage
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Donna Stephanie Cage
ISBN10: 1-4405-6341-1
ISBN13: 978-1-4405-6341-6
eISBN10: 1-4405-6342-X
eISBN13: 978-1-4405-6342-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
For Steve, my perfect partner,
with thanks for everything.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
SNEAK PEEK EXCERPT FROM High Octane: Ignited by Rachel Cross and Ashlinn Craven
Chapter 1
“So what’s he doing back in London after all this time?” Lisa asked, leaning in the doorway of Elaine’s office, dangling her silver sandals by their straps.
“Don’t do that to your shoes,” Elaine said. Lisa automatically set her shoes down beside her on the rough carpet. She envied her dancing coach’s commanding tone — no wonder Elaine could keep mobs of unruly eight-year-olds in check better than anyone. “He came back because he heard about Jerry’s accident and knew you’d be without a partner for Blackpool.”
“Yeah, he says.” Lisa turned her eyes to the row of trophies on the top shelf of Elaine’s bookcase, then back to her dancing coach, who was smothering a smile. “That’s got to be up there on the list of great lies of all time. Number one — looks don’t matter, it’s what’s inside that counts. Number two — size doesn’t matter, it’s what you do with it that counts. And number three — I did it all for you.” This time the smile didn’t stay smothered. She waited for Elaine to stop chuckling before she continued. “I bet he says that to all the women on the cruise ships.”
“He says? Lisa, when did you last read the news?”
“Never. I’m a marketing exec, not a news reader, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Sexy in the City Page 139