Just Rewards (Harte Family Saga)
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ARIELLE KALLINSKI. Daughter of Michael Kallinski and his former wife, Valentine Kallinski. Sister of Julian and Jessica.
JESSICA KALLINSKI. Daughter of Michael Kallinski and his former wife, Valentine Kallinski. Sister of Julian and Arielle.
BY BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD
THE EMMA HARTE SAGA
A Woman of Substance
Hold the Dream
To Be the Best
Emma’s Secret
Unexpected Blessings
Just Rewards
Voice of the Heart
Act of Will
The Women in His Life
Remember
Angel
Everything to Gain
Dangerous to Know
Love in Another Town
Her Own Rules
A Secret Affair
Power of a Woman
A Sudden Change of Heart
Where You Belong
The Triumph of Katie Byrne
Three Weeks in Paris
PRAISE FOR BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD AND HER NOVELS
“The Harte saga is as much a force of nature as a work of fiction … the issues at stake still compel readers after 25 years. Bradford understood early on readers’ hunger for depictions of women who are strong and powerful and whose values embrace family. A quarter-century ago, Emma Harte crossed the no-woman’s-land that once divided family and business, and now generations of readers consider her a role model in their own lives.”
—The Washington Post
UNEXPECTED BLESSINGS
“Bradford gives her readers more of what she does best—strong, savvy female protagonists who relentlessly pursue great destinies, characters much like the author herself … well-written and full of emotion … completely riveting … the plot, while always complex, has suspenseful moments to keep the pace sharp … good reading … Unexpected Blessings clearly shows why Bradford is still the premier writer of family sagas.”
—Miami New Times
“The exploits and adventures of Bradford’s indomitable heroines continue to make for lusty escapist fiction in this robust fifth novel in the series.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The enduring theme of family loyalty ennobles the Harte family saga and raises it to a heartwarming crescendo that longtime fans will appreciate. New readers will relish it as well.”
—Book Page
EMMA’S SECRET
“Readers who loved A Woman of Substance will enjoy Emma’s Secret.”
—Denver Post
“In her 19th novel, the grande dame of mass-market fiction revisits her first heroine—the indomitable Emma Harte.”
—New York Daily News
“So many of us turn to novels like Barbara Taylor Bradford’s latest, Emma’s Secret, for our daily dose of amour.”
—Woman’s Day magazine
“Promises to tantalize, mesmerize, and titillate readers of all ages. It has all the Bradford touches: strong and swift plot, hints of secrets about to be revealed … spellbinding … destined to fly off booksellers’ racks and be passed around many book clubs. It is a darn good read.”
—Roanoke Times
“It will be … appreciated by those with an irresistible desire to follow the further adventures of the Harte clan.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Bradford’s characters are so real, readers clamor to know them better.”
—USA Today Weekend magazine
“[An] original story with new energy. Emma Harte is one of those characters … we never want to leave behind, and thank goodness Bradford has brought her back to us with a story worthy of this truly remarkable woman.”
—Romantic Times, “Top Pick”
A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE
“An extravagant, absorbing novel of love, courage, ambition, war, death, and passion.”
—The New York Times
“A long, satisfying novel of money, power, passion and revenge, set against the sweep of 20th century history.”
—Los Angeles Times
“A wonderfully entertaining novel.”
—Denver Post
VOICE OF THE HEART
“Voice of the Heart is the sort of book I cannot resist, indeed, I pray to find.”
—Washington Times magazine
“It really keeps you turning the pages, wondering just why it is that two beautiful women who were once great friends are now sworn enemies.”
—Daily Express (UK)
“A rare treat. We guarantee you will laugh and cry with the characters and that you won’t be able to put it down.”
—Literary Guild magazine
“Meant to be read in a peignoir on a chaise longue whilst nibbling scented chocolates.”
—Cosmopolitan
“A rich tapestry of love and romance. The surprise ending is both poignant and fitting.”
—San Diego Union
“Barbara Taylor Bradford is back with a new, vibrantly characterized leading lady and a glimpse into the dazzling world of the rich and powerful … [A] richly woven tale.”
—Working Woman
“It is easy to want every item Bradford catalogues, easy to imagine wearing it, eating and drinking it, driving it, smelling like it … The geography of Voice of the Heart takes a reader to all the right places.”
—Los Angeles Times
“A captivating work filled with glamour, intrigue, and ironic reversal … Richly textured, highly entertaining.”
—Booklist
“Engrossing … Stunning.”
—Pittsburgh Press
HOLD THE DREAM
“Readers who shared the trials and tribulations, and successes, of the indomitable Emma Harte in A Woman of Substance will find this sequel equally engrossing. Attractive, intelligent, and capable, Paula McGill Fairley proves a worthy successor to her grandmother’s domain.”
—Booklist
“Another instant bestseller. The men and women are all gorgeous, rich, well-dressed. There are luxurious descriptions in this perfect page-turner.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
“A deeply involving story of women of power and wealth and substance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fascinating.”
—Houston Chronicle
“A sweeping saga full of passion and intrigue … a gripping read.”
—Hello magazine
“A vibrantly characterized leading lady and a glimpse at the dazzling world of the rich and powerful. A richly woven tale.”
—Working Woman
“Barbara Taylor Bradford is the storyteller of substance.”
—The Times (London)
TO BE THE BEST
“A novel for everyone … A satisfying, lushly detailed saga.”
—Rave Reviews
“A compulsive read.”
—Daily Mail (London)
“Will keep you up ’til all hours reading just one more chapter before you can bear to turn out the bedside light.”
—Prima magazine
ACT OF WILL
“A master storyteller and character builder, Ms. Bradford again crafts another reader-holder novel … Act of Will is another winner.”
—Pittsburgh Press
“Pure gold—certain to be a runaway bestseller.”
—Cosmopolitan
“This novel continues the Bradford tradition of spirited romances peopled with memorable, self-made women … fetching.”
—Booklist
READ ON for an excerpt from
Barbara Taylor Bradford’s next book
THE RAVENSCAR DYNASTY
Coming soon in hardcover from St. Martin’s Press
YORKSHIRE 1904
Edward Deravenel galloped ahead at great speed, leaving his brothers behind, rapidly gaining the advantage. He urged his white stallion forward, oblivious to the icy weather, the lash of the wind on his face.
At one moment, half-turning in the saddle, glancing beh
ind him, Edward laughed out loud, his hilarity filling the air as he waved to his brothers: George, endeavoring to catch up, his face grim in its determination … Richard, struggling even farther behind, yet laughing and waving back. But then Richard was the youngest, and much less competitive, the baby of the family, and Edward’s particular favorite.
For a split second, Edward considered slowing down and allowing Richard to win this impromptu race, which had come about so spontaneously a short while before, then instantly changed his mind.
George would inevitably contrive to finish first, by pushing Richard out of the way in his overriding desire to be the winner. Somehow he always managed to do this, whenever he had the opportunity, no matter what the circumstances. And this Edward could not permit. Not ever. He strived to make certain Richard was never humiliated, never diminished by George, who was older than Richard by three years. In consequence of this, George frequently endeavored to lord it over the younger boy.
Edward continued at a gentler pace along the narrow path, glancing down to his left as he did. The plunging cliffs fell steeply to the rocks and the beach; six hundred feet below him the North Sea roared under the gusting wind, resembling polished steel in the winter sunlight.
The surging waves frothed and churned against the jagged rock formations, while above him kittiwakes, graceful and buoyant in flight, squawked stridently as they wheeled and turned against the pale sky. Hundreds of these beautiful white gulls with black-tipped wings made their homes on projecting ledges of rock on the cliff faces, and as a child he had watched them nesting through his binoculars.
He shivered involuntarily as the sudden remembrance of a tragedy of long ago hit him most forcibly. A man in his father’s employ, who had been bird-watching, had plunged to his death from this very spot. Now, instinctively, Edward veered away from the precarious cliffs, headed in the direction of the dirt road which led across the moors and was much safer terrain.
This morning the moorland was dun-colored and patched with slabs of frozen snow, and there was no question in Edward’s mind that he much preferred riding up here in the warmer months. At that time of year, the weather was more benign, the air even balmy and filled with the scent of wild flowers, and the northern summer light was dazzling.
Edward mentally chastised himself for taking his brothers out on this January day. He had realized, rather late, that it was far too bitter, especially for Richard, who tended to catch colds so easily. He dared not contemplate his mother’s ire if the boy fell sick because of this ill-conceived outing on the cliffs.
Swinging his head, he saw that the boys had again slowed and were lagging behind, obviously even more fatigued than ever by the long ride. He must spur them on, encourage them to move forward with swiftness, get them home without delay and into the warmth of the house.
Beckoning to them, he shouted, “Come on, chaps! Let’s get a move on!” And he set off at a brisk canter, hoping they would follow suit.
Once or twice he glanced behind him, pleased that they had heeded his words and were cantering hard on his heels. Within minutes, much to his profound relief, their ancestral home was in his direct line of vision and he couldn’t wait to arrive there.
Ravenscar, the beautiful old manor house where the Deravanels had lived for centuries, stood on high ground, set back from the sea, and it dominated the surrounding landscape. Dark green trees, ancient, tall and stately, formed a semicircle around it on three sides, and these in turn were backed by high stone walls; the fourth wall was a natural one—the North Sea. This stretched into infinity below the tiered gardens and sloping lawns that ended at the edge of the precipitous cliffs.
As Edward drew closer, he could easily make out the crenellation along the line of the roof, smoke curling up from the chimneys, and the many mullioned windows glittering in the sunlight. Within seconds he was bringing his horse to a slow trot, riding through the black iron gates and up the long, tree-lined drive. This ended with some abruptness in a small, circular courtyard covered with gravel and with a sundial in its center.
The house was built of a local, pale-colored stone that had mellowed to a soft golden beige with the passing of the centuries. An Elizabethan house, it typified Tudor architecture with its recesses and bays, gables and battlements, and many windows of differing sizes. Ravenscar was one of those grand houses from the past, and it was utterly unique, and had a lovely symmetry and charm all of its own. To Edward, there was a sense of timelessness about it, a quality of serenity and peace dwelling in its gently flowing facade, and he understood why his forebears had always cherished and cared for this treasure.
The Deravenels had lived in their house by the sea since 1578, the year it was finished. Before then, for many centuries, the family had occupied the fortified castle that had stood at the bottom of the gardens on the edge of the cliffs; a ruin now, it was nonetheless a well maintained ruin. This stronghold had been built in 1070 by the founding father of the dynasty, one Guy de Ravenel, a young knight from Falaise, liegeman of William, Duke of Normandy.
Duke William had invaded England in 1066, claiming his right to the English throne through his cousin, the deceased monarch Edward the Confessor, who had promised him that the throne would be his one day. But for political convenience, Edward the Confessor had reneged on that promise and passed over William in favor of his wife’s brother, Harold, bequeathing the throne to the man who became, briefly, Harold III.
Believing his claim to be absolutely legitimate, William had crossed the English Channel with the six knights who were his trusted childhood friends and a large army. He defeated Harold III at the Battle of Hastings, was proclaimed William the Conqueror, and crowned on Christmas Day of 1066.
Some time later, William had despatched Guy de Ravenel to the north to act as his marshall. Based in Yorkshire, Guy had followed William’s orders, had kept the peace, by force when necessary, built defenses and forts, and ensured the north’s loyalty to his friend the Norman king. And Guy had been enriched by William because of his staunch loyalty and unparalleled success.
Ever since that time, some eight hundred and thirty-five years ago, descendants of Guy de Ravenel had lived on this long stretch of coastline high above the North Sea known as Ravenscar. Nearby was the ancient seaport and spa of Scarborough; a little farther along the expansive stretch of coast was a picturesque fishing village with the quaint name of Robin Hood’s Bay. Both dated back to Roman times.
Moving forward, Edward rode out of the courtyard and around to the back of the house, heading for the stable block. He clattered into the cobbled stable yard, his brothers following behind him, and jumped off his horse with his usual vitality and energy. As he hurried over to his youngest brother, he greeted the stable lads cheerfully; a moment later he was reaching up for the eight-year-old Richard, exclaiming, “Let me help you down, Dick!”
Richard shook his head vehemently. “I can manage, Ned. I truly can,” the boy protested, stealing a surreptitious look at George through the corner of his eye. He knew only too well that George would tease him unmercifully if Ned helped him to dismount.
But Ned paid not the slightest attention to Richard; he put his strong arms around him, obviously determined to lift him out of the saddle. Richard sighed, swallowing another protest that had sprung to his lips. Accepting that he now had no other choice, he slipped his riding boots out of the stirrups and reluctantly slid into his brother’s enfolding arms.
For a split second, Edward held Richard close to his chest, hugging him tightly, and then he put him down on the cobblestones, noting, as he did, that the youngster’s narrow face was pinched with cold and drained of all color. My fault, he chided himself, regretting more than ever his thoughtlessness earlier that morning.
“Thank you, Ned,” Richard murmured, staring up into Edward’s face through his steady, slate-gray eyes. His eldest brother was six feet four, broad of chest, very strong and athletic. His brilliant eyes were as blue as the speedwells that grew in the summer
meadows, and his thick hair was a stunning burnished red-gold. To Richard, and every woman who met him, Edward Deravenel was the handsomest man alive, plus he had a warm, outgoing and endearing personality. He was affable, inordinately friendly, and blessed with a beguiling natural charm that captivated everyone. Richard loved him more than anyone else in the family, was completely devoted to him, and he would be all of Edward’s life, and even after that.
“Inside the house as fast as you can,” Edward cried, giving Richard an affectionate push toward the side door, which led to the mud room. “And you, too, George, my lad. No dawdling around this morning.”
The two boys did his bidding, and as Edward followed them at a quick pace, he called out to one of the stable lads, “The horses have been ridden hard this morning, Ernie. They need your very best rubdown, and put the heavy wool blankets on them before you give them water and feed.”