Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) Read Online Free PDF

Delia decided she would break the rules of polite society, go to Adelaide Bellaire’s home, and beg her for aid.
    She waited impatiently until her mother, gloating over Marcel Dupuy’s visit, left the house, then hurried to don her best silk shirtwaist with balloon sleeves and a skirt in an amber color, which made her eyes look gold. She twined a matching tignon around her head.
    Checking her reticule, Delia made sure she had the fare for the streetcar and a handkerchief. Then she decided to tuck a second handkerchief inside. Depending on her reception, she might need an extra one.

    The Bellaire family resided in the Garden District, a few miles and a world away from Delia’s neighborhood of Faubourg Marigny, with its shotgun houses and gingerbread-laden cottages. She gazed in awe out of the streetcar window at the two- and three-story mansions, elaborate ironwork galleries surrounded by lawns and beautiful gardens.
    Nervous but determined, she exited at the stop nearest her grandmother’s house and began to walk up a street shaded by oak trees. Pink and white azaleas bloomed in the yards. The smells of sweet olive and magnolia drifted her way.
    She stopped in front of a white two-story house with a red door and black shutters, and some of Delia’s courage drained from her. How can I possibly knock on that door? There was probably a servant’s entrance around the back, but she was here to speak to her grandmother and wanted to pre sent herself as a member of the family, even if she was turned away.
    As she walked up the brick walkway to the door, Delia’s knees shook.
    The butler, a part-caste Negro in a black uniform, opened the door. He glanced at her tignon and looked down his nose at her.
    I should have worn a hat, not a headscarf. Delia lifted her chin. “I’ve come to see Mrs. Bellaire.”
    “Go around back.” As the butler started to close the door, he noticed her eyes and hesitated, staring at her face for a few seconds; then, without a word, he opened the door and ushered her inside.
    Her stomach tight, Delia stepped into an entryway as big as the living room of her house. From the second floor, a curving stairway swept downward, the mahogany railing ending with a carved statue of a woman in a toga. A huge crystal chandelier dangled from a plaster medallion. A gold, tan, and brown-patterned carpet covered the polished wooden floor. A large mirror in an ornate gold frame hung over a narrow, marble-topped table. A backless settee rested against the wall. White roses in a cut-glass vase on the table perfumed the room. The elegance of her surroundings overwhelmed her. Only the memory of Marcel Dupuy kept Delia rooted in place.
    The butler made a stay-here motion with his white-gloved hand. With a stately tread, he moved down the hallway and disappeared into a room on the right. He didn’t appear again.
    But a swish of skirts heralded the plump form of her grandmother who walked briskly toward Delia, her lips pinched in a frown.
    Adelaide Bellaire was still an attractive woman, with silver streaking her auburn hair and fine lines around her hazel eyes. Looking at her, Delia had a sudden picture of what she’d look like when she grew older.
    “What are you doing here, girl?” Adelaide demanded in a sharp tone.
    “Mrs. Bellaire, Grandmother,” Delia said in a pleading tone, her fingers tight on her reticule.
    Adelaide made a cutting-off gesture with her hand. “Mrs. Bellaire will do.”
    “I’ve come to ask for help. My mother is forcing me into a. . .a relationship with Marcel Dupuy.”
    Awareness sparked in the older woman’s eyes, and her nostrils flared. “And what do you expect me to do? I certainly will not run afoul of that cretin . Best resign yourself, girl.” She made a shooing gesture toward the door. “Now be off with you. And never return here where you don’t belong.”
    Shame and hurt mingled in Delia’s heart. Tears blurred her vision. Blindly, she turned. Before she could leave,