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Chapters (52)
  1. Born Out of Wedlock
  2. Dedication
  3. Table of Contents
  4. Prologue
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  43. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  44. Chapter Forty
  45. Chapter Forty-One
  46. Chapter Forty-Two
  47. Chapter Forty-Three
  48. Chapter Forty-Four
  49. Chapter Forty-Five
  50. Chapter Forty-Six
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. Other Titles by Author

Without missing a beat, Evelyn raised her hand as if to block the sun, even though it was no longer directly in her eyes. “You know, I didn’t expect today to be so bright. Perhaps we should get out of the sun. There’s plenty of time for introductions later.”

“Thank you,” Robert said, leaning heavily on his cane. “It is rather warm for this time of the year.”

“I totally agree,” Evelyn said, motioning with a sweep of her arm toward the doors several yards behind her. “Let’s go inside where it’s cooler. Shall we?”

Joanna took her father’s arm, and slowly they walked across the expansive terrace and into the house that would be their home for the next five years.

Chapter Eleven

Commissioned to design and build a home like no other, the architect for the Egertons had done exactly what he had been hired to do. However, his forte had always been churches, cavernous and chambered, with high ceilings and panels of wood to absorb the sound, and his proclivity could be seen as soon as Joanna walked in the door.

Like many of the oldest houses of worship, the floor was slate, and the darkness of the variegated shades of gray, blue, and green rock was lightened only slightly by the aged, stained mortar between the joints. Panels of wood covered the lower third of the walls, and while the pattern was interrupted by the doors dotted down both sides of the entry, the color of all the woodwork remained the same. Oil stains and varnishes applied years before had deteriorated to the color of motor oil, and while the upper sections of plaster were free of wood, they had not escaped the ravages of time. Hairline cracks could be seen, and the once vibrant rose-colored paint had faded to the shade of weak tea, easily seen in the light streaming down from above.

The foyer was in the shape of an octagon, and the geometric pattern repeated in an opening cut into the ceiling, allowing the sunlight streaming through the second-floor windows to find its way downstairs. From where she stood, Joanna could easily see the iron handrails on the second floor surrounding the opening, as well as an obscure design painted on an octagonal inset of plaster at the highest point of the dome, nearly fifty feet above her head.