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Copyright © 2022 by Matilda Martel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the
publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or
reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

Cover Design by BookinitDesign

Created with Vellum
 Contents

1. Lincoln
2. Daisy
3. Lincoln
4. Daisy
5. Lincoln
6. Lincoln
7. Daisy
8. Lincoln
9. Daisy
10. Lincoln
11. Daisy
12. Lincoln
13. Epilogue- Five Years Later

The May December Romance Series

Also by Matilda Martel
Stalk the Author
Chapter 1
 Lincoln

“Y ou know I love you .” C ora lays it on thick . S he ’ s got something to

say---something I won’t like. Whenever my daughter begins any
sentence with declarations of parental love, I prepare for the worst
possible scenario.
“And I love you, sweetheart.” I inhale the rest of my espresso
and brace myself for whatever horrible news she’s about to reveal.
“Good. And I hope you have my best interest in mind,” she
stammers and scans the packed diner for the closest waitress. When
no one arrives, she takes a deep breath and continues.
“Always,” I mutter.
She nods and tries to smile. The huge grin plastered across her
flushed face never reaches her eyes. Her delay only makes things
worse. Whatever it is---it must be bad.
“Out with it, little girl,” I bark. “What in the world did you do, and
how much will it cost me?”
She slumps in her chair and uses the menu to cover her face.
“Dad, it’s time to move on. Mom is happily married, and there’s no
hope of you two getting back together. Get back on the horse, find a
nice lady and propose. You aren’t getting any younger.”
“What in the world?” I can’t believe I gave up my precious
Sunday morning, walked six blocks, and agreed to meet at my least
favorite restaurant just to hear those words right out of the gate.
“Do you seriously think I care if your mother remarried? Good for
her. I’m glad she found someone.” I exhale with relief. “For heaven’s
sake, I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” She bounces to the edge of her seat and narrows her
stunned gaze. “I’m not. But if I were, why is that such a horrible
thing? I’m almost out of college.”
“Just cool your jets, little girl. I’m in no mood to have anyone call
me grandpa. I feel old enough as it is. I don’t need you to make me
feel twice my age while I work up the confidence to jump back on
the proverbial horse.” I sigh with exasperation and search the
horrible menu for something reasonably healthy. Cora can afford to
splurge on calories. She’s twenty-one with the metabolism of a
hummingbird. If I don’t hit the gym later today, my pants will fit
tight tomorrow.
She pokes her head above her menu and mumbles, “This is for
your own good. Uncle Lawson reminded me you haven’t been in a
relationship since the divorce. He says you’ve pissed away the last
five years feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Hush your mouth, Cora,” I grumble through clenched teeth. My
brother has a lot of nerve dispensing dating advice. He met his wife
in Vegas and fell ass-first onto the woman of his dreams. It was a
once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I’m not lucky enough to experience
the same fate. I’ll surely meet the love of my life seconds before
death, which may not be long if I keep meeting my daughter in
greasy spoon diners. `
“Those were his words, not mine. Besides, you’re only being a
grump because you know it’s true. I hate to see you so lonely,” she
whispers, hoping I’m too gullible to know she has ulterior motives.
She doesn’t want to worry about me when I get older. My ex-wife
already gave me the dirt about my precious daughter’s concerns. If
I’m a lonely old man, she may get stuck taking care of her poor
decrepit father somewhere down the line, and Cora’s the
consummate planner. She wants to nip this in the bud before my
problems become her problems.
“And how’s your love life? You’re twenty-one years old. Isn’t it
about time you start dating?” I throw shade her way, hoping she
drops the subject and quits this line of questioning. I’ll get around to
dating sooner or later, preferably much later, and when I do, it won’t
be something I plan to discuss with her.
She gasps, then chokes on her orange juice, reeling that I would
dare bring up such a sensitive subject when she’s insinuated I need
to find someone before I become someone no one wants.
At least, it felt that way.
“I’m twenty-one. There’s plenty of time for me to catch the
dating bus. How long do you think you’ll look presentable enough to
catch some unsuspecting woman who doesn’t know your best years
are long gone?” She narrows her gaze and crinkles her nose with
cruel defiance.
“Aha! I knew that’s what you implied. Let me tell you something-
-” I cut my words and lose my focus on a pair of ruby red lips.
Across the room, a young woman with long brown hair scrolls
through her phone and taps a message onto her phone screen. My
heart thumps, echoing like a jackhammer, and my world comes to a
crashing halt. I scoot to the edge of my seat and sweep a trembling
hand through my hair, trying my best to look presentable when I
throw myself at this woman’s feet.
She’s the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen---too perfect to be real.
Where the hell has she been? What have I been doing with my life?
Why haven’t I been scouring every nook and cranny in this
godforsaken city, looking for this one woman to ease the ache in my
heart. If I’d known she existed, I never would have given up the
search. But now she’s here, and there’s only one thing for me to do.
“Dad?” Cora slaps my forearm to grab my attention. “Where did
you go? You stopped talking in the middle of your sentence. If it
takes you this long to think of a good comeback, you need to work
on your material. I’m not waiting all day. Oh, never mind, I’ve got a
text.”
“Sorry, I need to take care of something. I’ll be right back.” I
place my napkin on the table and scramble to my eager feet. I have
no idea what I’ll say. It’s best to just start with a firm hello and a
nice compliment---nothing too creepy. There’s no need to profess my
undying affection so soon.
 “Stop right there. The bathroom can wait. Daisy’s coming. She
just text me she’s at the front, and oh, here she comes.” Cora slides
out from her chair and stands by the table, jumping and waving to
call her friend.
“Daisy? Is she joining us?” Daisy Ford has been living on the
fringes of my life for years as my only child’s best friend. Cora never
stops talking about her and although we’ve spoken on the phone
countless times we’ve never met face to face. It’s a shame because
she seems like a charming, affable girl, wise beyond her years. I’ve
just never set eyes on the only girl nice enough to befriend my
difficult offspring.
It’s my fault Cora runs everyone away. She gets her snarky
personality from me. I swear, this girl could start an argument in an
empty room.
As grateful as I am for her kind heart, Daisy can wait. There are
greater things afoot and my future happiness depends on action. I
need to get to the front of the room and see where the host is
sitting my beautiful girl. Someone as lovely as her is surely attached
but she arrived alone and I might have a small window to introduce
myself before her chump boyfriend arrives. All is fair and love and
war, and as a lawyer with almost twenty years’ experience, I know
all about playing dirty.
“I’ll meet her in a second, Cora. I need to check on something,” I
try again to sneak away, but she yanks the back of my sweater and
tugs me towards the table. “Don’t be rude, Dad. Daisy’s a sensitive
girl, and she’s noticed you always disappear whenever she’s around.
I don’t want her to think you don’t like her. It’s been three years,
and you always manage to sneak away when she’s around. Mom’s
met her a thousand times. Enough is enough.”
I fumble into my seat and stare confused at my daughter’s miffed
expression. I’ve never avoided meeting this girl. She seems lovely,
and I’m thrilled Cora has a friend she can depend on. Besides, until
recently, Cora still lived at home with her mother. It’s hardly a fair
comparison.
“Don’t like her? What’s not to like? We get on fine,” I rasp,
annoyed by the accusation. Daisy’s impeccable stock plummets in
seconds. I took her for a sensible woman, not an insecure teenage
girl. I can’t believe I’m even having this discussion when the girl of
my dreams is on the other side of the room ordering pancakes.
“Just please behave. Daisy’s going through a hard time. She’s
engaged to Alfie Langston and I’m not sure how she feels about it.”
Cora jumps again, then whistles. “Daisy!”
“Alfie Langston? He’s not so bad. He’s not the sharpest tool in the
shed but he seems like a good kid. His father recently hired me to
handle his pre-nuptial...” I mumble, then sputter into a catatonic
daze when I see the dark-haired girl headed our way. She’s a vision.
Blue eyes, round curves settled nicely on a tiny frame, she looks like
the incarnation of sex and my fondest, wildest dreams. Holy shit, the
stars have finally aligned in my favor and granted me this small
mercy. I jump to my feet and step out from the table, ready to
pounce when she passes by.
Crimson lips curve into a delicious grin and my knees buckle. I
can’t believe my luck. Dear Lord, she’s smiling right at me. Is she
smiling at me? This is fate. My heart thunders with boundless love.
She sees me, and I see her.
I thought this type of thing only happened in movies.
“Daisy! We’re just about to order.” Cora flies from her seat and
wraps her arms around the woman meant to mother her future
siblings. What’s happening? Who? What?
Oh no, this can’t be her. Daisy?
Chapter 2
 Daisy

M r . K ent is here . H e ’ s finally here .

Three long years of skulking in the shadows, long glances in my
periphery, and sweaty forbidden dreams that made it impossible to
give Cora eye contact for days have culminated in this very moment-
--the day Lincoln Kent and I would finally shake hands, and he’d
know we were meant to be together.
This should have happened years ago. If I’d had the nerve to
introduce myself and taken a chance on true love, I never would
have abandoned hope and traded the success of my business for the
slightest possibility that he and I would come face to face, and the
stars would align in our favor.
Why did I give up so easily? Fate reveals itself in its own time,
not mine.
But today, I put the past behind me and seize the day. Today
Daisy Cassandra Ford takes one small step into her future and claims
her man. No more dawdling in my dreams. No more wishing upon a
star. Come what may, I’ll shove these big tits in his face and show
him that age is nothing but a number.
“Mr. Kent, it’s so nice to finally meet face to face.” I offer my
hand with a smile and hope he takes it. His heavenly blue gaze
meets mine, and my soul floats out of my body, hovering overhead
to get a bird’s eye view of the moment we fall in love and two
become one. We’ve never stood so close or looked into each other’s
eyes. My heart sparks to life like a car battery that’s just received a
jolt of electricity. My body simmers, and I imagine smoke billowing
out of my ears as he grabs my hand and shakes it rougher than I
expected, like a husky truck driver greeting an old buddy at a weigh
station. I tear my hand away from his sweaty bear paw and wipe it
on my skirt, utterly bewildered by his lack of charm.
For the sake of our babies, I’ll forgive his unromantic greeting
and chalk it up to low blood sugar or an earlier argument with Cora.
She’s not the easiest person to know and always blurts the first thing
on her mind. I think her personality is refreshing, but that’s because
I grew up with people who believe emotions are a character flaw.
Maybe she angered him moments before I arrived.
“Nice to meet you...Daisy,” he murmurs, and I watch his Adam’s
apple bob up and down as he swallows the giant lump in his throat.
I lean closer, hoping to engage him in flirtatious banter, but he
averts his eyes, glancing in every direction but mine. My heart sinks
with defeat. I always knew there was something about me he didn’t
like, but I never expected it to be so palpable. Is it my parents? Is
there something about the Fords he finds distasteful? We’re horrible
people, but I never thought he’d take it out on me.
“You can look at my menu. The server is on his way back.” Daisy
flips the laminated sheet and points to the breakfast items. “I’m
having waffles.”
I foolishly linger by my chair and stare longingly at Mr. Kent,
hoping if I bat my lashes long enough, he’ll dig deep into his soul
and salvage our beautiful moment. Perhaps he’ll find his social
graces and pull out my chair. A beat passes, and Daisy plops into her
shimmery red chair. Another beat goes by, and Lincoln Kent folds his
long legs and slides into his seat. As the last person standing,
twiddling my thumbs and holding onto the greasy diner menu, I tuck
my humiliated tail between my legs and slink into my wobbly chair.
“Did you talk to your parents about your business?” Cora
mumbles as she sips her juice but doesn’t wait for me to answer
before addressing her father. “Daisy’s a fashion designer. She’s
graduating early and starting her own e-commerce business if she
can get her parents to let her tap into her trust fund early.”
 I shake my head and peruse the menu, scanning it quickly while
the server breathes down my neck. “Are the eggs free range?”
He shakes his head.
“Are the oats fresh or instant?”
“Instant and from a box,” he grumbles.
“Can I substitute the sausage for turkey bacon?”
“Nope.” He shifts his weight and makes a physical demonstration
of impatience.
“Do you have anything…healthy?” I stammer, uncomfortable that
I look like a prima donna in front of the man of my dreams.
He leans forward and taps a bony finger at the line that reads
wheat toast. My eyes shift to Cora, too busy scrolling through her
phone to notice the scene I’ve created, then drift left to Mr. Kent. His
bugged eyes appear frozen with mortification. The petulant daughter
of Ansel Ford is causing a scene and probably giving him indigestion.
“Thank you. Please, bring me the toast,” I choke back the start of
tears and chew on my bottom lip, hoping he doesn’t see the
heartbreak of unrequited love in my eyes.
“You’re only having toast!” Cora chimes in and breaks the
awkward silence left by the retreating waiter.
“Didn’t I ask you not to choose this awful place? There are
thousands of places in the city. I would have schlepped into Brooklyn
or taken the train into Jersey rather than come here. And it’s not a
snobby thing. The food is outrageous.” I unfold my thin paper napkin
and cover my lap before I ruin my dress with the wads of chewing
gum stuck to the bottom of the table.
“You said I could choose whatever I like.” Cora whines and flails
her arms.
“I said anywhere but here.” I cross my arms and narrow my
gaze, reminding her of our earlier conversation. I turn to face Mr.
Kent. “I’m sorry I sound like a brat. I love food, but if I’m going to
splurge on calories, I want the experience to be worth it.”
To my surprise, he nods with enthusiasm. “This place is
atrocious. I’m also having wheat toast topped off with the acidic
espresso that will probably give me reflux in two hours.”
 Our camaraderie warms my heart, and I take it as a sign to
initiate the playful chitchat I’ve practiced in my mirror over the last
few days---ever since Cora informed me we’d be meeting her father
today. “You should see the place she frequents in the Village. I’m
almost certain it’s days from being shut--”
“I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me! Dad, you spend so
much time at the gym, and Daisy, you eat so many veggies you’re
gonna turn into a freaking rabbit. Live a little. Now stop complaining
and tell me about Alfie and your panty business.”
“Pardon me?” Lincoln places his elbow on the table and angles
his face with curiosity. His brow creases, and his lips part, as if he
wants to ask a probing question about all this panty business. Cora’s
question makes it sound like Alfie’s been in my panties. He’s my
fiancé, and it’s perfectly reasonable if we’ve knocked boots, but we
haven’t.
It isn’t a love match. We’re the pathetic pawns of manipulative
parents who have spent the last five years guilting, bullying and
pushing us together. They claim we’re the perfect couple. In reality,
we’re their collateral. I’ll trade you my daughter for your son if you
promise not to backstab me in business. When the Fords and
Langstons officially join forces, they can pool their resources and
stage a coup in the upper echelons of New York high society.
My dad wants to unseat his rival. With his money and Mr.
Langston’s connections, they just might succeed. I’ve always been a
good daughter and I’m not the kind of girl who makes waves. But
that was before I lost my heart to Mr. Lincoln Kent. The closer I
come to marrying Alfie, the more I fear I won’t be able to go
through with it.
What if Lincoln and I were meant to be and I never fought for
my man?
“Not now, Cora. This isn’t the time.” My voice breaks, and my
shoulders droop with shame. I twist my napkin until it rips apart,
littering my lap with crumbs of dusty paper.
“Dad doesn’t care. He’s a divorce lawyer. He hears this shit all the
time.” She waves a dismissive hand at her father, who narrows his
judgmental gaze.
 “Are you...are you marrying Alfie Langston? I know his family.”
His chest heaves as he tries to decipher my expression.
I nod, then shrug. “I don’t want to talk about this. We’re
engaged, but it isn’t meant to be a conventional marriage. Our
families want us to marry. They’ve planned it for years.” I hug my
chest and pull my gaze from his, too embarrassed to face him.
The ache in my heart spreads into my lungs, and my breath
labors. There isn’t enough air in the room. No matter how hard I try,
I can’t inhale fast enough to keep my head from spinning. I should
leave. I’ve longed to sit in Lincoln’s presence for years, and now he
probably thinks I’m the worst kind of woman.
How will I ever make him fall in love with me now? I didn’t want
him to find out like this.
“Fine, don’t talk about stupid Alfie. Does the company in France
want to meet with you about your designs?” Cora switches subjects,
but it’s too late. The air is heavy with tension.
“Milo Vidal, the shoe designer loves my designs. But I still want
to try to do it on my own. It’s my baby---you know?” I squirm in my
seat as a pair of sky-blue eyes burn a hole in my temple. Lincoln’s
perturbed and doesn’t waste time pointing out why.
“You’d really marry a man you don’t love?” The harsh sound of
disgust in his voice shreds my heart.
“It’s not like that, Dad.” Cora slams her hand on the table and
fights for my honor.
A thousand words, explanations, excuses, and declarations of
undying love bubble up from the depths of my soul and lodge in my
throat. I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak emerges.
There’s nothing I can say that matters. He’s Cora’s father, and as an
attorney, he’s seen the worst of marriage. He must think I’m a fool.
Struggling to regain control of my voice, I stammer through
syllables and eke out a muffled reply, “I’m not sure.” My face flushes
under his stern gaze, and I feel my body shrink down to the size of a
toddler.
“I’m sorry. It isn’t my business,” he groans and shakes the
breadcrumbs off his napkin. A deep scowl transforms his beautiful
face and remains throughout our brunch. He only speaks to Cora
from that moment on and never looks at me.
We don’t get our moment, and I don’t claim my man.
I’m such a fool.
Chapter 3
 Lincoln

“I’ m so embarrassed . I’ ve got a wild hunch you ’ re the reason I’ ve

never been able to keep friends.” Cora stomps beside me, kicking
leaves and throwing a monumental hissy fit as she berates me for
my behavior over brunch. I’ve got it coming. I lost my head and
heart, then forgot my manners. If my mama was here, she would
have dragged my old ass out of that disgusting diner by the ear and
read me the riot act for how I treated Daisy.
First anxiety turned me into a nervous teenage boy too stupid to
remember simple social etiquette like pulling out a lady’s chair,
handing her a clean napkin, lifting her hand to my lips to greet her
warmly, then dipping her deep in a smoldering, passionate kiss that
made her know my intentions.
Well, maybe not that last part. Not with Cora two feet away. I’ll
get to that later.
For heaven’s sake, I couldn’t form simple sentences. One look
into those dark blue eyes, and I felt like I’d stepped into a dream.
So, this is love? Is this what love feels like? I’m not sure I
believed in it ‘til now.
The love for your child, yes. The love for my parents and
brothers, of course. True love? Did I really believe in the kind of love
that sweeps you off your feet and makes you feel like you can
conquer the world? No. Even though people swear by it, I always
thought they were full of crap. I don’t doubt they believe they’ve
fallen head over heels, but there are crazies who swear they’ve seen
aliens too. Where does it end?
I guess it ends with me because I’ve become one of those
nutjobs. True love is real. In minutes, that beautiful girl wrapped me
around her tiny finger, branded her name into my soul, and claimed
my heart forever hers. For Pete’s sake, if I just heard someone else
recite those exact words, I’d say they were drunk, high or insane.
But I ain’t laughing. There’s nothing funny about finding the one girl
meant to complete you and then learning she’s engaged to another
man.
Alfie fucking Langston. Who names their son Alfie? He’s
technically a client, so I know that’s not a nickname. I didn’t realize
it was an arranged marriage. Sitting so close to the only woman
who’s ever made my heart beat like a pounding jackhammer and
listening to her strangled voice tell me she’s willing to resign herself
to a loveless marriage made me want to burn that diner to the
ground.
In truth, I’ve been dying to set fire to that place for years, but
the look in her eyes gave me a whole new reason.
“You give your father far too much credit. You lost all those
friends on your own.” I lead her up the stoop to her building and try
not to forget Daisy is my daughter’s friend. My mama said
everything happens for a reason. I know we were meant to cross
paths, but there’s no denying God made her unavailable for a
reason. She’s not only young enough to be my daughter but she’s
also engaged to another man---my client’s son. It crosses the
boundaries of ethical propriety. It’s nasty and unseemly.
And now I’m hard. Jesus Christ, kill me now. I’m a a filthy,
disgusting man.
This can’t be who I am. I refuse to be an old fool chasing after
girls his daughter’s age. Besides, someone as beautiful as her would
never want an old goat like me. Would she?
Cora searches for her keys, fumbling through her oversized purse
while she rants, “I pleaded with you to behave. Daisy’s a tender soul
and she doesn’t need judgment from the likes of you. Her parents
are giving her a hard time and she isn’t like me. She doesn’t disobey
or go against their wishes. I trust you and Mom love me. We Kents
may get on each other nerves, but we’re family and stick by one
another through thick or thin. Mr. and Mrs. Ford withhold their love.
They’ve done it her entire life. Maybe this marriage isn’t ideal but
she’ll become financially independent and she can work on her art.
Maybe soon she’ll find the strength to break free. It’s not ideal, but
you didn’t have to make her feel ashamed.”
I pull my spare key out from my coat pocket and insert it into the
doorknob. “I said I was sorry. The subject made me uneasy.
Marriage is hard enough when you believe you’re in love. Your friend
may be in for a rude awakening when--” I cut my words when Cora’s
face turns red. She shuffles backward through the doorway, shaking
her fists and madder than a wet hen.
“You always do this! You always diminish love like it’s a farce or
too unreachable for mere mortals to attain,” she huffs, reigning in
the volatile temper she inherited from yours truly.
“I don’t believe that. Okay, maybe I did once, but not anymore.
At least I don’t think I do.” I scramble to make sense of my feelings
and hope to calm her down. My ex-wife often warns me about my
pessimism and how it affects Cora’s outlook on life, and I promised
to tone it down for her sake. I’m a horrible father upsetting her like
this. “Besides, you know it’s wrong. I’m sure your mother doesn’t
condone it either.”
She straightens her clothes and unruffles her feathers. “No,
Mom’s against it. She loves Daisy and thinks she should ditch her
parents and move in with me. But that’s not her style. Her
grandmothers would happily take her in if she wasn’t afraid of her
own shadow.”
I frown with confusion. Why would she choose such an ugly fate
over living with Cora? It’s far more likely she can’t bear the thought
of putting up with her. Dear Lord, what have her mother and I
unleashed on this poor unsuspecting world?
I step onto the threshold, but she lifts her hand to stop me.
“Don’t walk me up. I’ve got homework and I’m still royally annoyed
with you. It’s this rotten attitude that concerns me. How do you
expect to find a nice lady if you scare them off left and right? Poor
Daisy took three bites before making up that horrible excuse to
leave. She couldn’t stand to be around you.” Cora pulls my heart
from my chest and kicks it to the curb.
My shoulders sag with remorse. “Please apologize for me. I didn’t
mean to make her feel ill at ease. She was even more lovely than
you described and I enjoyed her company. It’s not like you were
hoping to fix us up---were you?”
Her eyes flare with stunned disbelief. Her jaw drops, then seals
shut as her lips tighten, disappearing into a thin line of rage. “I
would kill you and swear you died. Don’t even think about it, old
man.”
I back down the steps wagging my finger, regretting I brought it
up. There’s no need to make her suspicious before I plan my next
move. “Hush your mouth, little girl, or I’ll stop paying your rent and
cut you off cold. It was a simple question. You’re the one who
started down this path about me and marriage. Then you invite one
of your friends. Don’t forget the law only obligates me to support
you until you turn eighteen. Your free ride ended three years ago,
Cora.” I narrow my gaze, quirk an eyebrow and hop down her stoop.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Next Sunday, I’ll pick the restaurant, and I expect a much better
attitude.”
Chapter 4
 Daisy

“D on ’ t be ridiculous , D aisy . W e ’ re in the middle of planning your

wedding. You can’t jet off to Europe at a time like this.” My mother
twirls on a tiny podium in front of a full-length mirror while she
fastens and unfastens the fabric buttons of yet another god-awful
Chanel suit. “Weren’t you just there?”
“That was two years ago,” I circle the small stage to face her and
try to reassert my position. “The wedding isn’t until next spring, and
you’re doing all the planning anyway. Alfie won’t miss me. We hardly
see each other, and I heard from Dad he’s planning on taking a trip
to Italy. Why can’t I? I’ll be back in a few weeks, and I promise to
stop procrastinating about my dress. Maybe I’ll even find something
in France.”
“In France? Without me? We’re supposed to choose it together.
It’s a mother-daughter tradition.” She frets and pretends to come
down with a sudden case of maternal instinct. Everyone knows
Delilah Ford doesn’t have a nurturing bone in her body. She simply
wants the final say on whatever dress I choose, and I have a hunch
her selections will be as gaudy as that suit.
“All right. I’ll wait until I return.” I offer a compromise that suits
me fine. The last thing I want to do is shop for a dress I have no
intent on wearing.
“Daisy, sweetheart,” she hums through tight lips, then offers a
disingenuous smile. She doesn’t give any thought to my request and
effortlessly spills her canned reply, “It’s not a good time.”
 “It’s a perfect time, Delilah. Daisy will go.” Nana gives me a wink
from her padded chair on the opposite side of the room. We
rehearsed our routine minutes before we arrived, and she promised
she could talk my mother into anything. I just didn’t expect her to be
so succinct.
“Mom! Daisy’s my daughter.” My mother makes a show of
defiance while she ties the obnoxious bow on her blouse.
“And you’re my daughter.” Nana makes her point with a stiff
upper lip. She controls a good portion of the family purse strings and
doesn’t like to be contradicted. “I’ve already spoken with Ansel’s
mother, and she agrees. Daisy needs her very own bachelorette trip.
I had a lovely girls’ trip to Paris before I married your father, and I
want my Daisy to experience some freedom and carefree days. She
graduated early and more than proven herself to be a capable young
woman. Besides, she has a meeting planned with a fashion house in
Paris. She should see how they do business before she makes any
decisions about her own company.”
My mother grows suspicious. Her beady eyes shrink, and her
weight shifts to one hip. “Well, is it business or pleasure?”
“It’s for pleasure. I’m looking into a few tours, but I plan to
spend most of my time in Paris.” I inch closer to Nana and use her
as a shield. I had little hope of this plan succeeding until she
suggested intervening. While we work on Mom, Grandma Grace is
working on Dad.
“I don’t appreciate being ganged up on, Mom.” My mother steps
down and marches into the dressing room, oblivious to anyone’s
pain but her own. She’s bullying me into a marriage I don’t want,
and she acts like she’s doing me a favor because Alfie is considered
a catch. Everyone completely ignores our mutual dislike and his non-
stop carousing. He’s twenty-seven years old and acts like he’s the
president of his fraternity. It’s embarrassing. My only hope for
salvation may come in the form of my grandmothers. They aren’t
sold on the idea and have been known to cause mischief on my
behalf.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me, Delilah. Daisy deserves this trip.
Grace and I want to give her a graduation present, and if this is
what she wants, then we’re damn well going to give it to her.” Nana
opens the curtains to give her a piece of her mind and forces my
half-dressed mother to duck into the corner.
“Mother! Stop that! You’re causing a scene. What if someone
shoots a photograph of me in my panties and uploads it to social
media?” Mom gathers her nerves and dignity while Nana and I stifle
our shared amusement.
Two hours ago, I finally asked for my grandmother’s help. Ten
minutes later, she called Grandma Grace, and they spent the rest of
the morning circling their wagons. Up until today, I’ve gone along
with the plan. My parents have one child and heaped all their
dreams, hopes, and expectations on my shoulders. I’ve tried to
make them proud. But where has it gotten me?
How many more years do I have to pretend to be happy?
Twenty? Do I have it in me to pretend that long, or will I forget what
happiness feels like when it becomes second nature?
Grandma Grace is right. Silence kills.
Open your mouth, Daisy. Take back your life.
“If you two don’t mind, I think I’ll check out the shops across the
street. I need some clothes for my trip.” I slip my coat over my
shoulders and shove my purse under my arm.
“Stop right there, little girl!” My mother hollers from the dressing
room. “We never decided if you’re going or not.”
Nana crudely punches the curtain and blows me a kiss. “Yes, we
did. Buy yourself some expensive luggage on me, sweetheart. Spare
no expense.”
“Love you, Nana!” I blow her a kiss and slide into the elevator
before my mother can voice her objections.
I’ve spent the last three years looking for a way out, dreaming
and hoping that Lincoln Kent would be the Prince Charming that
might save me from this horrible fate. But that’s not how my fairy
tale ends.
It may take lies, trickery, and the help of two fairy godmothers,
but this princess will find a way to save herself.
Chapter 5
 Lincoln

D ivorce is a dirty business , but it ’ s also my specialty . T echnically , my

partners and I handle all kinds of family law, but I built my
reputation on being the best damn divorce lawyer in Upper
Manhattan. And after the shit I’ve seen, I deserve every pat on the
back I’ve received.
I’m just not sure how much more of it I can take. Last year I
doubled my prices, hoping to discourage people from hiring me. It
didn’t work. People will pay through the nose if it means they can
stick it to their ex. But I’ve become more selective. If I smell
someone is hiding assets, using children as collateral, or trying to
screw a long-suffering spouse from their just reward, I won’t sign
on. I didn’t go to law school to abandon my ethical obligation, and I
won’t compromise my humanity.
When my ex, Melissa, and I decided to call it a day, we didn’t
even use a lawyer. We went through mediation. She took one half,
and I took the other. There wasn’t much anger or bitterness. We
tried our best and still felt something was missing. After sixteen
years, it was best to go our separate ways while we still had a
chance to find love with someone else. At least, she believed there
was hope. Until Sunday morning, I thought those days were long
gone.
Circumstances like ours are rare. Most of my clients spend years
gathering evidence to tear each other apart. They hire private
investigators to stalk their spouses in hopes of catching them in the
act of infidelity or taking part in illegal activities they can later use as
blackmail. It’s utterly disgraceful. I’m ashamed to say I recommend
many of these surveillance guys myself---but not today.
Today, my Rolodex came in handy.
“Where are you going? We have a meeting in five minutes.” My
partner taps his watch and points to the conference room down the
hall.
I shake my head and adjust the sleeves on my coat as I head
toward the elevator. “I’m on my way out to meet a client. This is
business, Sam. You’re going to say nothing in that conference room
that can’t be said in an email, and you know it. You just want a
captive audience. You think the sun rises just to hear you crow.”
“Enough with the colloquialisms, Linc. I don’t know what that
means, and I can’t keep looking them up,” he rasps with irritation
and corrals a few passing employees into the conference room. “I’ll
send you the notes.”
“Thank you. Please do.” I wave as I make my escape, nearly
missing the sliding elevator doors. My phone pings again, and
coordinates appear in my app--- a single dot flashing brightly on the
corner of Fifth Avenue and 48th Street.
Lyle: She’s all alone at Sak’s after dropping insane money on
luggage at Louis Vuitton. Who is she? She’s a pretty young thing.
Me: Avert your eyes, dickhead. I’m not paying you to ogle the
client.
Lyle: Then how am I supposed to watch her?
Me: Fine, glaze them over. I’ll be right there to relieve you.
I fly out of the elevator and break into a sprint, weaving through
the crowded lobby on my way to the hired car waiting outside. I
should have done this days ago, but I didn’t have the nerve. It’s
humiliating. I know I don’t stand a chance. This is a losing game.
Even if I manage to attract a woman twenty-two years younger than
me, she’s my daughter’s friend-- her only friend. Cora’s made her
feelings clear. What kind of man chooses his sexual needs over his
daughter’s feelings?
I curl my upper lip with anger. That apartment of hers costs me a
fortune. Cora doesn’t need a one-bedroom with a study at her age,
but I give her what she wants out of the goodness of my heart. The
least she can do is cut her old man some slack and let him chase his
dreams of boning her hot friend.
Dear Lord, I’m going to hell. I’m a lonely, despicable man who
deserves to burn in a lake of fire. But if it’s any consolation, I think
I’m in love. It’s been four days, and I miss the hell out of her. I can’t
sleep, eat, think, read through briefs, or deal with any of my rotten
clients. There’s something wrong with my head. My body’s gone
haywire. I can’t think of her without getting an erection, and I’m
always fucking thinking about her. I go to bed restless and angry,
then wake up in a ball of sweaty sheets. For crying out loud, it’s
been four days. How will I be next week?
This morning, I’d had enough. I need to see Daisy in the flesh,
but I wasn’t sure where to begin. I’m not getting Cora involved. And
since I’m not sure where this is going, it can’t look staged.
I just want to see her. It would be nice to talk to her, hear her
voice, and apologize for my behavior. She’s engaged. It might be a
marriage of convenience, but I’m not the kind of guy that goes
messing around with another man’s woman.
Am I? Would I?
Thank you, Jesus, for small mercies. Midtown traffic appears to
part like the Red Sea as my car careens onto Fifth Avenue. I spot
her in my periphery two blocks away and ask my driver to drop me
off at the closest curb. There’s no mistaking her sassy walk or those
dark locks blowing in the wind. She’s got a handful of bags, and
she’s too busy window shopping to see me jump out of the car and
blend into a herd of tourists. This will only work if it appears we met
by sheer coincidence on a crowded New York street---two souls on a
casual walk. No, there’s nothing odd about that. In a city of eight
million people, we meet again so soon.
I don’t care. It’s too late to back out now.
I temper my pace and shuffle my feet, hoping she looks up
before the crowd I’m following rushes past her place by the window.
This could all blow up in my face. She’ll notice if I circle back, but
I’m not above it.
 “Mr. Kent?” I hear her voice before I see her approach. I slam on
the brakes without a thought to the crowd bustling behind me.
Someone significantly shorter than me slams into my back and
makes a poor attempt to give me the what for. I look over my
shoulder and growl, annoyed that someone would piss on my
parade. As expected, they run away before things get ugly.
“Mr. Kent?” Daisy waves from her place by the shop window, and
my feet skim the sidewalk like I’ve stepped onto a conveyer belt.
“Daisy Ford, what a surprise!” I lie through my teeth and smile so
wide my cheeks sting. As I approach, my hungry eyes roam every
inch of her petite frame. She’s such a sight for sore eyes and more
beautiful than I remember. And fuck, she looks even younger. Her
ruby red lips have been wiped clean. Now they’re shiny and baby
pink---a perfect Cupid’s bow. I want to part them with my tongue
when we kiss. I want to smear that lipstick all over her chin when
she opens her mouth wide and takes my cock down her throat.
What am I doing here? This is fucking torture.
“How strange finding you here in the middle of the workday. Do
you have a client nearby?” She’s cleverer than I predicted. Why
would I be on Fifth Avenue in the middle of the day, for fuck’s sake?
I’m stalking my daughter’s friend--- that’s what I’m doing.
I shake my head and laugh, hoping to buy myself time to create
another lie. It should come second nature. I am a goddamn lawyer.
But I don’t enjoy lying to her. Daisy’s special. “I’ve been told I need
new neckties. I’m on a two-week rotation because I’ve been too
busy to buy new ones. So, here I am.” That’s not entirely untrue. It’s
a three-week rotation.
“I apologize for my behavior on Sunday. Your confession caught
me by surprise. I only want the best for you...and hate...I just hate
to see you sell your future short. You deserve beautiful things.” I
stare longingly into her fluttering lashes, reveling in the opportunity
to stand so close to such a lovely woman. Her shoulder accidentally
taps my bicep, and my heart skips a beat. I want to bring her into
my arms and keep her safe from all these assholes buzzing past us.
We could jump into my car, head to my brownstone, and make mad,
passionate love for hours. Or maybe I’ll make her dinner. That’s
harmless---right? Cora can’t object to me feeding her friend.
“Please don’t mention it. Nothing’s set in stone.” She offers a
cryptic answer that makes my ears perk with rabid curiosity.
“What does that mean?”
She smiles sweetly and walks towards the next store, gesturing
for me to follow. “I’m headed up the street. My grandmothers
bought me a belated graduation gift. They’re sending me on a two-
week trip to Europe. I’ve never traveled alone--- isn’t that
wonderful? I leave in four days, and there’s so much to do.” She
clasps her hands with delight and kicks one boot in the air. “Please,
don’t tell Cora. It came on rather suddenly, and I haven’t told her
the news. She’s going to kill me.” She sticks a fingernail in her mouth
and chews.
Europe? Two weeks? Alone! I lost three pounds in four days from
anxiety and night sweats. There’s no way my fragile mind can
endure two weeks and the Atlantic Ocean between us while she
sows her wild oats. No, no, no. There’ll be hordes of swarthy men
with tight pants and accents dying to show her a good time. The
next fourteen days will be a fucking nightmare.
“Why so long? Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable traveling with
your mother?” I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. She’s
a beautiful, twenty-one-year-old girl. Of course, she doesn’t want to
travel with her mother. She wants to have one final adventure before
she marries that idiot Alfie, and I lose all hope of winning her for
myself.
Her round eyes widen as she stares, confused. “We don’t get
along. Besides, it’s not entirely for pleasure. I’m taking care of
business, and she doesn’t entirely approve of what I do.”
Now I’m confused. “Why wouldn’t your mother approve? You
seem incredibly ambitious for your age. I wish Cora was.” I
reconsider my words. “Don’t tell her I said that. I don’t want to
stress her out prematurely.”
She giggles as we race across a busy crosswalk. “My mother
never cared for fashion design. She’s a snob and thinks I’m
becoming a tailor, which is bad enough in her book, but she really
doesn’t approve of my company, Belle Luxure. Do you like the
name? It’s French for lovely lust.”
I stop at the edge of the sidewalk and stare, bewildered. There
are far more sides to this girl than I ever imagined, and I’m dying to
know each one.
She quickly gauges my expression and surmises she needs to
explain. “I don’t think I let Cora finish her sentence on Sunday.
When she said I was in the panty business, she meant lingerie. I
design high-end risqué lingerie. After graduation, I sent a few
samples to the French fashion houses, and more than one wanted to
incorporate my designs into their collections. It’s hardly a bidding
war, but I have meetings. My grandmothers think I should hear them
out, but they still want me to do it on my own. I’ll know more after I
meet with them.”
“Risqué lingerie?” I swallow the frog in my throat as my pulse
quickens to a frantic pace. “How risqué?”
Her eyes sparkle with the tell-tale mark of pride even as her face
turns bright red. “Much too naughty to describe in a public setting,
Mr. Kent. Think Frederick’s of Hollywood meets La Perla and then
take it up a few notches.”
My head swims with visions of Daisy in sheer lace, pasties, baby
doll teddies, and crotchless panties. Blood rushes below the Mason-
Dixon line, and my cock thickens to obnoxious proportions. I fight
like hell to regain my composure while I sway in my loafers and
stammer like a thirteen-year-old boy addressing his first crush. “You
make panties?”
Chapter 6
 Lincoln

I take her hand in mine and give it a light squeeze . “T here ’ s nothing
to worry about. The take-off and landing are always the scariest
parts. But once we’re in the air, you won’t feel a thing.” I offer Daisy
a few comforting words that feel insincere at best. Anyone who
knows me knows I detest flying and would never be this calm
minutes before departure.
The last few days feel like a blur. One minute I’m weak in the
knees from scrolling through the latest photos of Daisy’s sketches,
and the next, I’m walking onto a jetway with my passport in my
hand. Fortunately for me, she isn’t upset by my intrusion. I don’t
think I’m flattering myself by believing she welcomes it.
“I thought I’d be all right on my own, but I’m so glad you’re
here. What did Cora say? Don’t you think she’ll suspect something
inappropriate?” Her brow creases, and her bottom lip pillows with
worry.
I shake my head and bring her hand to my lips, hoping to ease
her concerns. “Cora wants her father to be happy, and spending
time with you makes me feel over the moon.”
Daisy hooks her arm through mine and nuzzles closer. She settles
into the armrest and lets her head fall onto my shoulder. “May I
confess something to you?”
“Anything,” I rasp, hungry for any crumb of affection she wants
to give me.
 “It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles and digs her face into my
sweater. “Will you promise not to laugh?”
I circle my arm around her shoulders as the plane soars into the
air. She leans closer, holding tight to my chest as gravity pushes us
into a mock embrace. The scent of her perfume, the one that’s
haunted me since our walk Thursday afternoon, drifts into my face,
and I taste the notes on my tongue. I want to taste more. How
much will she let me take before we come home? Can I convince her
to let me keep it?
“I’d never laugh at you, sweetheart,” I assure her as the plane
levels off.
Daisy wiggles into her seated position, but I keep her from
straying too far. “I’ve had a crush on you for years, Mr. Kent. I saw a
photo of you in Cora’s apartment. You were in a tuxedo at a
wedding. I took a photo of it with my phone and looked at it every
day, thinking of you, dreaming of you, wanting to be with you. One
day I even followed you. You’re the most handsome, sexiest man
I’ve ever met, and I...I... I’m sorry I’m making you feel
uncomfortable. Forget I said anything, and please don’t say anything
to Cora, for heaven’s sake. She’d never forgive me for making a pass
at her father!” She unbuckles her seatbelt and bounces out of her
seat. “I’ll be back. I need to powder my nose and maybe slash my
wrists.” Before I can stop her from fleeing, she jumps over my knees
and sprints into the tiny lavatory.
My heart swells with pride. My cock springs to life. I thought I
was a fool for coming, but something made me buy that ticket, pack
my bags, and steal that cab from the elderly couple waiting by the
curb. Daisy’s love was calling me here. This is the chance of a
lifetime---golden ticket to paradise. I refuse to be the kind of man
who wastes a precious gift only to look back at the end of his life
with regret. There’s a beautiful woman in that restroom who doesn’t
know I’ve jacked off every night for the past week while I envisioned
coming on various parts of her gorgeous body. But she’s about to
find out.
Determined and horny, I unbuckle my seat belt and stride toward
the first-class lavatory. As I approach, the door slides open, and
Daisy’s stunning face greets me. I don’t let her step out. Instead, I
step in and lock the door behind me.
“Mr. Kent?” Her bewildered expression demands answers, but I’m
too overcome to speak. Am I really going to take advantage of a
young girl on an airplane like some jet-setting gigolo joining the
mile-high club?
“Please, call me Lincoln.” I trail my hand along the curve of her
face and lift her chin. “Did you really mean what you said out
there?”
Her limbs tense with fear, but her expression softens. She nods
once, then leans into me. Her soft breasts graze my chest, teasing
my pecs with the gentle caress of her taut nipples. My skin turns to
gooseflesh. This is too good to be true. I’ve dreamed of this moment
all week, never believing it would happen so easily. I thought the
anticipation and waiting might send me to an early grave. But here
she is.
Daisy is willing and eager. Daisy wants me.
She walks her fingertips up the length of my arm, then steps into
the warmth of my embrace. Her body melts into mine, radiating heat
and sweetness like sugar in my hands. She grips my forearm with a
mischievous smile and lifts my hand to her mouth.
“I’m glad you’re here, Lincoln. I’m happy you came.” She guides
my index finger through her plump lips and suckles. My knees
weaken, and my lovesick mind drowns in a hot sea of hazy lust.
When she takes me deeper and sucks harder, the steady throbbing
in my chest pumps harder, faster, and surges blood into my swollen
cock, already straining and smashing against the steel teeth of my
zipper. My chest heaves as I fight to catch my breath. I’ve never
been a taker. In all my forty-three years, I’ve never been the kind of
man driven by primal instinct, but I’m a different man now. Daisy
Ford awakened the hungry beast lurking inside. Maybe this is the
man I was always meant to be.
“I wanted you to come,” she sighs, out of breath and flushed
pink with the signs of desire. “I hoped you’d come for me.”
The most beautiful girl I’ve ever known lifts her wide blue eyes to
mine, and my flimsy resolve dies a horrible death. “Of course, I
came. And now, you’re going to come for me.” I slide my finger from
her mouth, pull her roughly into my arms and steal her breath. My
lips crash into hers, and our mouths fall into a slow dance that
quickly turns into a taste that can’t be quenched. The sweet scent of
her breath makes my stomach churn with hunger. I deepen our kiss,
and she answers back, exploring my mouth with her tongue---biting
my lip while her hands dig into my ass.
“I came here for you, and I’ll have you. Here. Now.” I slip my
hands under the hem of her dress and reach for her panties. They’re
thin and sheer, delicate enough to tear away with a flick of my wrist.
She guides my hand between her thighs, and I feel the audacious
lack of fabric.
My pulse spikes with adrenaline, and I hoist her onto the sink to
see the proof for myself. Saliva pools in my mouth when Daisy’s
swollen slick pussy lips peek through the crotchless gusset of her
black lace panties. Crotchless panties---probably her own design. I
may faint.
I run my hand through the seam of her wet folds and bathe her
arousal onto her clit. Her eyes grow wide, and her hips jerk forward
with every pass over her tight little bud. I bring my wet fingers to
my lips and suck them clean, relishing her taste like a predator
teasing his unsuspecting prey. Daisy’s sweetness sharpens my
hunger and makes me feel like a rabid dog in mating season---both
insane and driven by carnal instincts.
This is no place to draw this out. We’ll have time for romance in
Paris. We have the rest of our lives to take it slow. I stroke her clit,
slowly, slowly, increasing my pace as her thighs tense on my hips.
She kicks off her shoes and curls her toes, stretching her legs high
along my back. “Lincoln! You’re so good. I’m so close.” Her voice
breaks as it climbs one octave after another. I study her expressions
and listen to her body, desperate to learn what pleases her. Long
strokes prime her pussy. Short, fast flicks build a tighter tension.
When I switch to tiny circles, she arches her back and grinds her
hips into my hand.
“Oh fuck, right there, right there.” Her breath hitches. My heart
beats faster. I lick the sweaty sheen that forms on her chest and
take a stiff nipple into my mouth, ravishing each peak with lusty
attention until she soaks my hand, yelping and crying as she climbs
closer to the pinnacle of her climax.
“Lincoln, Lincoln, Lincoln, please give me your cock,” she begs.
She doesn’t have to beg. It comes joyfully of its own free will.
“You’ll get it, dirty girl. I wish I could take all three holes here,
but we only have time for one.” I duck my head and bury my filthy
mouth in her wet pussy. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I
don’t care. I’m fucking in love with this woman. I’ll give her the
world. If things get nasty and deviant along the way, so be it.
Jesus, I hope I didn’t offend her.
“Yes! I want you everywhere, Lincoln. Promise you’ll put your
cock everywhere,” she hums, then squeaks, yipping in time with the
hummingbird strokes that send her over the edge and into another
dimension. “I fucking promise, baby. I’m going to fuck you raw, in
every hole, and fill you with so much cum, I’ll keep you knocked up
for years.”
“Yes! Hurry! I need you.” We work together to unfasten my belt,
and I reach into my pants to pull out cock. She spreads her legs
wider, raising them over my hips while I run the bulbous head
through her dripping folds. I sink into her slick channel, still
quivering from her climax, and wedge myself deep inside her. She
sucks in a breath when I fill her to the hilt, shuddering as her body
grows accustomed to my size. I can hardly believe the sight. She
looks so fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect with my cock sliding in
and out of her bare twenty-one-year-old pussy.
It’s a work of art made just for me.
“So good. So good, Mr. Kent,” she breathes sweetly into my ear
and rests her chin on my shoulder. “I always knew you’d feel good.”
Her hips move in time with mine, grinding and rocking while I try to
make room through her tight walls. “You’re going to make this pussy
yours, aren’t you?”
I hook her knees over my elbows and charge forward, thrusting
hard, ramming into her tight entrance until each thrust becomes
easier, smoother, and deeper. I dig my fingers into her ass and lift
her onto my cock, impaling her, bouncing her slick pussy until I feel
it clench around my shaft. “I’m going to make you my wife, Daisy.
I’m going to lock this pussy down for the next sixty years.”
“You better,” she moans and throws her arms around my neck,
bringing her lips to mine in a blistering kiss that makes my balls
tighten. We rut like animals in heat---chasing the building tension
that makes our thumping hearts reverberate against our chests. This
is the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done. We’ve just admitted
our attraction, implied our affection, and subtly confessed our love,
but I could be knocking her up. That doesn’t deter me. The touch of
her lips, the look in her eyes, the taste of her breath, and the tight
grip of her pussy spasming around my cock if enough to make me
come harder than I’ve ever come before.
“Daisy, baby....” My heart stops, and all four limbs tense. Dizzying
euphoria invades my senses as warmth spreads in my lap. A faint
knock brings my attention to the door, where I see my assistant’s
face poking through a small crack.
I feel wet. Why the hell am I wet?
“Mr. Kent? Why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve buzzed
you four time in ten minutes. Mr. Langston needs to speak to you.
He says it’s an urgent matter concerning his son. Were you asleep?
Are you sick?”
I drop my gaze to the large stain covering my erection, then
shamefully bow my head. I’m losing my fucking mind and having
wet dreams in the middle of the afternoon. “Yes, I’m sick. Tell him
I’ll call him back tomorrow. I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.”
Chapter 7
 Daisy

“I don ’ t understand why you ’ re here . T his was supposed to be my

alone time, and you are ruining my vacation!” I stretch open my
umbrella and step under the canopy before striding back into the
street. Thank goodness I wore galoshes today. They don’t look
fantastic with my outfit, but I didn’t ruin the thousand-dollar pair of
shoes strapped to the idiot following three paces behind me.
This intrusion is unforgivable. If I’d wanted him to join me, I
would have issued him a formal invitation.
“Stop following me,” I bark over my shoulder and cringe when we
draw stares from a herd of passing tourists on their way to
Westminster Abbey. I was hoping he’d stay in the coffee shop or
return to his hotel to salvage his loafers, but Alfie’s never been one
to take no for an answer.
“Wait for me, Daisy. You haven’t heard me out.” He slides beside
me and tries to take cover underneath my umbrella. I keep it out of
his reach and yank my arm out from his. He should have planned for
the weather. It’s November in London, for Pete’s sake.
“Why do you care if I go through with it or not? You don’t want
to marry me any more than I want to marry you. Go to Italy, drink
wine, take in art, and jump into the Tiber for all I care. As long as
you leave me alone, I don’t care what you do.” I push him into a
passing man to throw him off balance, weave past a woman pushing
a pram, then head into the closest tube station. With any luck, I’ll
catch a train and cut him loose before he drives me out of my mind.
 I took the easy way out. It was pathetic and cowardly, but truth
be told, I have no heroic aspirations. All I care about is my freedom.
As soon as I left American airspace, Nana and Grandma Grace made
the most badass boss girl moves of their lives. They cut my parents
off from the family coffers and placed them on strict allowances.
Men arrived at my parents’ home to catalog family heirlooms and put
everything in storage. Eyewitnesses claim my mother cried ugly
tears when they carried out her Ming vase and French doll collection.
Before she could find her Kleenex, lawyers served them with a
ninety-day eviction notice. Chaos ensued. Paramedics were called
when my father suffered a panic attack. Thank goodness I was
thirty-six thousand feet in the air and nowhere near a cell phone
tower.
When enough time had passed for them to consider a life of
poverty, my grandmothers arrived and offered to increase their
allowance just enough to pay the rent, if and only if they quit
bullying me. They insisted my parents call off my wedding to Alfie or
face disinheritance. Delilah Ford had no trouble making that call. My
father was too medicated to answer, but I heard he went along with
whatever they decided.
I feel unshackled and free to pursue my heart’s desire. When the
time is right, maybe our paths will cross again. Perhaps we’ll bump
into one another on a busy street or a crowded café and exchange
stories. If my business venture proves successful, I’ll have something
to share. Lincoln asked me to update him when I knew more.
Jesus, I hope he doesn’t tell Cora how horribly I flirted. I’ve
never been so brazen. It was my one chance to let him see me as a
grown woman and not his daughter’s friend. We hardly know one
another. I had no business showing him nasty sketches of panties
and teddies, especially when the figures wearing them look an awful
lot like me.
There’s no doubt he saw right through my shameless act of
temptation. What if he thinks I’m a terrible influence on Cora?
“Daisy!” Alfie finds me at the precise moment the Jubilee Line
comes charging into the station. I clench my fists and growl, furious
with his incessant stalking.
 “What did I say?” I stand by the doors and wait for them to slide
open.
“I heard what you said, but you’re not listening to me.” He stands
by my side and waits for me to enter the train first, following close
until I find an empty seat. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“No,” I answer before he finishes his sentence.
“We don’t have to talk about weddings or engagements. Just
have dinner with me. We can eat as friends---can’t we?” He nudges
his shoulder into mine and smiles.
“No, we can’t.” I remain unmoved. Cutting him loose is the
greatest gift I’ve ever received. I don’t want to tempt fate.
“You’re being unreasonable. I’m supposed to be in Italy right
now. I came here for you.” His quick venture into nice guy ends fast,
and the real Alfie rears his ugly head.
“No one asked you to come here. You’ve been bugging the shit
out of me since you arrived. I didn’t invite you, and I don’t owe you
pleasantries.” I cross my arms and give him my back, satisfied that
I’ve finally told him off. For years, I’ve swallowed my anger for fear
I’d disappoint people who couldn’t show me love. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” He places his hands on my
shoulders, and I shrug them off. “I just think we should get to know
one another before we end things abruptly.”
I turn to face him, genuinely curious by his sudden interest in
me. “Who put you up to this? Your father?”
He smirks, “I have a mind of my own, and I know when I’ve lost
a good thing. Not everyone is smart enough to appreciate what they
have when they have it. I see that now.”
My skin nearly crawls off my bones.
As the train rolls into the next stop, I stand to make my way to
the exit. Before he can follow, I hold my hand out and ask him to
stay behind. “Please back off. You’re ruining this for me. If you’re
going to follow me, give me space. Stay out of my sight. My
grandmothers spent a lot of money on my trip, and it was always
meant to be a solo adventure. If you really want to be my friend,
you’ll leave me alone.”
 Alfie takes a deep breath, then falls into his chair as he exhales.
“I’ll be around. Let me know if you get lonely. I won’t leave London
without you.”
Another random document with
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 This question is so far from needing to be answered by me, that it
is wholly on my side; it confesses all, and proves all that I have said
of the state of Christendom.—For if this is the governing spirit of
Christian kingdoms, that no one of them can subsist in safety from its
neighbour, but by its weapons of war, are not all Christian kingdoms
equally in the same unchristian state, as two neighbouring bloody
knaves, who cannot be safe from one another, but as their murdering
arms protect them? This plea therefore for Christendom’s wars,
proves nothing else but the want of Christianity all over the Christian
world, and stands upon no better a foundation of righteousness, than
when one murdering knave kills another, that would have killed him.

But to know whether Christianity wants, or admits of war,

Christianity is to be considered in its right state.—Now the true state
of the world turned Christian, is thus described by the great gospel-
prophet. “They shall beat their swords into plow-shares, and their
spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up its sword against
nation, (N. B.) neither shall they learn war any more.”—This is the
prophet’s true Christendom, with the same essential mark set upon
it, as when the Lamb of God said, By this shall all men know, ye are
my disciples, if ye love one another as I have loved you.

Would you see when and where the kingdoms of this world are
become a kingdom of God, the prophet tells you that it is then and
there where all enmity ceaseth.—“The wolf, saith he, shall dwell with
the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid. The calf and
the young lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead
them. The cow and the bear shall feed, and their young ones shall lie
down together, and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The sucking
child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put
his hand on the cockatrice’s den.”—For, N. B. they shall not HURT or
DESTROY in all my holy mountain, that is, through all holy
Christendom. Isaiah xi. 6.

See here a kingdom of God on the earth; is nothing else but a

kingdom of mere love, where all HURT and DESTROYING is done
away, and every work of enmity changed into heavenly love.
 As to the present state of Christendom, working under the spirit
and power of the great fiery dragon, it is not my intention, to shew
how any part of it can preserve itself from being devoured by every
other part, but by its own dragon weapons.

But the Christendom I mean, that neither wants, nor allows of

war, is only that where Christ is King, and his holy Spirit the governor
of the wills, affections, and designs of all that belong to it.—It is my
charge upon all the nations of Christendom, that this necessity of
murdering arms, is the dragon’s monster, that is equally brought
forth by all and every part of fallen Christendom; and that therefore
all and every part, as well Popish as Protestant, are at the same
distance from the Spirit of their Lord, and therefore all want the same
entire reformation.

In these last ages of Christendom, many reformations have taken

place; but alas! Truth must be forced to say, that they have been in
all their variety, little better than so many lesser Babels come out of
Babylon the great.—For among all the reformers, the one only true
reformation hath never yet been thought of.

The wisdom of this world, with its worldly spirit, was the only thing
that had overcome the church, and had carried it into captivity. For in
captivity it certainly is, as soon as it is turned into a kingdom of this
world. Not a false doctrine, not a bad discipline, or corrupt practice
ever prevailed in the church, but had its birth from worldly wisdom.

This wisdom, was the great evil root, at which the reforming axe
should have been laid and must be laid, before the church can be
again that virgin spouse of Christ, which it was at the beginning.
 If therefore you take any thing to be church-reformation, but a full
departure from the wisdom of this world, or any thing to be your
entrance into a salvation-church, but the nature and Spirit of Christ,
in you, then, whether Papist or Protestant, all will be just as much
good to you, as when a Sadducee turns Publican, or a Publican a
Pharisee.—And here it is well to be observed, that the church of
Christ is solely for this end, to make us holy as he is holy. But
nothing can do this, but that which hath power to change a sinner
into a saint. And he who has not found that power in the church, may
be assured, that he is not yet a true son of the church.

But this can only be done, just as the change of night into day is
done, or as the darkness is lost in the light.—Something as contrary
to the whole nature of sin, as light is to darkness, and as powerful
over it, as the light is powerful over darkness, can alone do this.—
Creeds, canons, articles of religion, stately churches, learned priests,
singing, preaching, and praying in the best contrived form of words
can no more raise a dead sinner into a living saint, than a fine
system of light and colours can change the night into day.

On this ground it is that the apostle said, Circumcision is nothing,

and uncircumcision is nothing; and on the same ground it must be
said, that Popery is nothing, and Protestantism is nothing, because
all is nothing, as to salvation, but a sinner changed into a saint, or
the apostle’s new creature.
 Many are the marks which the learned have given us of the true
church; but be that as it will, no man, whether learned or unlearned,
can have any proof of his own true church-membership, but his
being dead unto all sin, and alive unto all righteousness.—This
cannot be more plainly told us, than in these words of our Lord, He
that committeth sin, is the servant of sin; but surely that servant of
sin, cannot at the same time be a living member of Christ’s body.—
To suppose a man born again, yet under a necessity of continuing to
sin, is as absurd as to suppose, that the true Christian is only to have
so much of the nature of Christ, as is consistent with Satan’s still
dwelling in him.—If the Son, saith Christ, shall make you free, then
ye shall be free indeed. What is this, but saying, if Christ is in you, a
true freedom from all necessity of sinning is given you. Now if this
cannot come to pass in the faithful follower of Christ, it must be,
because both the willing and working of Christ in man, is too weak to
overcome that which the devil willeth and worketh in him.—All this
absurdity, and even blasphemy, is necessarily implied in that
common doctrine of books and pulpits, that the Christian can never
have done sinning, as long as he lives.

*Preachers and writers comfort the half Christians with telling

them, that God requireth not a perfect, sinless obedience, but
accepteth the sincerity of our weak endeavours instead of it. Here, if
ever, the blind lead the blind. For St. Paul comparing the way of
salvation to a race, saith, In a race all run, but ONE obtaineth the
prize: so run that ye may obtain. Now if Paul had seeing eyes, must
not they be blind, who teach, that God accepteth of all that run in the
religious race, and requireth not that any should obtain the prize.
How easy was it to see, that the sincerity of our weak endeavours,
was quite a different thing from that, which alone is, and can be the
required perfection of our lives? The first, God accepteth, that is,
beareth with. But why or how? Not because he seeketh or requireth
no more, but he beareth with them, because, though at a great
distance from, they are making towards the perfection, or new
creature, which he absolutely requires, which is the fullness of the
stature of Christ, and is that which Paul saith, is the ONE that
obtaineth the prize.
 *The pleader against perfection farther supports himself by
saying, no man in the world, Christ excepted, was ever without sin.
And so say I too; and with the apostle I also add, That if we say we
have not sinned, we make him a liar. But then it is as true to say, that
we make him a liar, if we deny the possibility of our ever being freed
from a necessity of sinning. For the same word of God saith, If we
confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to
cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

*But surely he that is under a necessity of sinning, as long as he

lives, can no more be said to be cleansed from all unrighteousness,
than a man who must be a cripple to his dying day, can be said to be
cured of all his lameness. What weaker conclusion can well be
made, than to infer, that because Christ was the only man, that was
born and lived free from sin, therefore no man on earth can be raised
to a freedom from sinning; no better than concluding, that because
our Redeemer could not find us any thing but sinners, therefore he
must of all necessity leave us sinners.

*The sober divine, who abhors the pride of Enthusiasts, saith of

himself and all men, We are poor, blind, imperfect creatures, all our
natural faculties are perverted, corrupted, and out of their right state,
and therefore nothing that is perfect can come from us, or be done
by us. Truth enough! and the very same truth, as when the apostle
saith, The natural man knoweth not the things that be of God. But
what scripture ever required perfect works from this man, any more
than it requires the Ethiopian to change his skin? Or what an
instructed divine must he be, who considers this old natural man, as
the Christian, and therefore rejects Christian perfection, because this
old man cannot attain to it? What greater blindness than to appeal to
our fallen state, in proof of a corruption, which we must have, when
we are redeemed from it? Is this any wiser, than saying, that sin and
corruption must be there where Christ is, because it is there, where
he is not?
 *To what end do we pray, that this day we may fall into no sin, if
no such day can be had? But if sinning can be made to cease in us
for one day, what can do this for us, but that which can do the same
to-morrow? What benefit in praying, that God’s will may be done on
earth, as it is in heaven, if the earth as long as it lasts, must have as
many sinners, as it has men upon it? How vainly does the church
pray for the baptized person, that he may have power and strength
to have victory, and to triumph against the devil, the world and the
flesh, if this victorious triumph can never be obtained? If
notwithstanding this baptism and prayer, he must continue
committing sin, and so be a servant of sin, as long as he lives?

See how St. Paul sets forth the true church.—Know ye not, that
so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ, were baptized into
his death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death,
that like as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the
Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.—Here we
have the one true church infallibly described.—He goes on. For if we
have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be
also in the likeness of his resurrection. Therefore to be in Christ, or in
his church, belongs to no one, but because the old man is put off,
and the new man is put on.—The same thing is said again in these
words; Knowing this, that our old man is crucified with him, that the
body of sin might be destroyed, That (N. B.) HENCEFORTH we
should not serve sin.

Away then with all the tedious volumes of church unity, church
power, and church salvation. Ask neither a council of Trent, nor a
synod of Dort, nor an assembly of divines, for a definition of the
church. The apostle has given you, not a definition, but the
unchangeable nature of it, in these words. But now being made free
from sin, and become servants to God, ye have your fruit unto
holiness, and the end everlasting life. Therefore to be in the true
church, and to be in Christ a new creature which sinneth not, is the
same thing.
 *Look at all that is outward, and all that you then see, has no
more of salvation in it, than the stars and elements. Look at all the
good works you can think of, they have no goodness for you, but
when the good Spirit of God is the doer of them. For all the outward
works of religion may be done by the natural man, he can observe all
church duties, stick close to doctrines, and put on the semblance of
every outward virtue; thus high can he go. But no Christian, till led by
the Spirit of God, can go any higher than this outward formality; to
which he can add nothing, but his own natural, fleshly zeal in the
defence of it. My little children, saith St. Paul, of whom I travail again
in birth, till Christ be formed in you. This is the whole labour of an
apostle to the end of the world. He has nothing to preach to sinners,
but the absolute necessity, the true way, and the certain means of
being born again. But if dropping this one thing he becomes a
disputing reformer about words and opinions, and helps Christians to
be zealously separated from one another, for the sake of being
saved by different notions of faith, works, justification, or election, he
has forgot his errand, and is become a blind leader of all who are
blind enough to follow him.

The eternal Son of God came into the world, only for the sake of
this new birth, to give God the glory of restoring it to all the dead
sons of fallen Adam. All the mysteries of this incarnate, suffering,
dying Son of God, all the price that he paid for our redemption, all
the washings that we have from his all cleansing blood poured out
for us, all the life that we receive from eating his flesh and drinking
his blood, have their infinite value, their high glory, and amazing
greatness in this, because nothing less than these supernatural
mysteries of a God-man could raise a new creature out of Adam’s
death, which could be again a living temple, and habitation of the
Spirit of God.
 All that Christ was, did, suffered, dying in the flesh, and
ascending into heaven, was for this sole end, to purchase for all his
followers, a new birth, new life, and new light, in and by the Spirit of
God restored to them, and living in them, as their support, comforter,
and guide into all truth. And this was his word, LO, I AM WITH YOU
ALWAY, EVEN UNTO THE END OF THE WORLD.
 An Extract of the

CHRISTIAN PATTERN:
Or, a treatise on the imitation of Christ. Written in Latin by
Thomas a Kempis.

The P R E F A C E.

A S treatise,
it is impossible for any one to know the usefulness of this
I. till he has read it in such a manner as it deserves;
instead of heaping up commendations of it, which those who
have so read it do not want, and those who have not will not believe;
I have transcribed a few plain directions, how to read this (or indeed
any other religious book) with improvement.

II. Assign some stated time every day for this pious employment.
If any indispensable business unexpectedly robs you of your hour of
retirement, take the next hour for it. When such large portions of
each day are so willingly bestowed on bodily refreshments, can you
scruple allotting some little time daily, for the improvement of your
immortal soul?

III. Prepare yourself for reading by purity of intention, whereby

you singly aim at your soul’s benefit; and then, in a short ejaculation,
beg God’s grace to enlighten your understanding, and dispose your
heart for receiving what you read; and that you may both know what
he requires of you, and seriously resolve to execute his will when
known.
 IV. Be sure to read not cursorily and hastily; but leisurely,
seriously, and with great attention; with proper intervals and pauses,
that you may allow time for the enlightnings of Divine Grace. Stop
every now and then to recollect what you have read, and consider
how to reduce it to practice. Farther, let your reading be continued
and regular, not rambling and desultory. It shews a vitiated palate, to
taste of many dishes, without fixing upon, or being satisfied with any:
not but that it will be of great service to read over and over those
passages, which more nearly concern yourself, and more closely
affect your own practice or inclinations; especially if you add a
particular examination upon each.

V. Labour for a temper correspondent to what you read;

otherwise it will prove empty and unprofitable, while it only enlightens
your understanding, without influencing your will, or inflaming your
affections. Therefore intersperse here and there pious aspirations to
God, and petitions for his grace. Select also any remarkable sayings
or advices, treasuring them up in your memory to ruminate and
consider on: which you may either in time of need draw forth, as
arrows from a quiver against temptation, against this or that vice
which you are more particularly addicted to; or make use of as
incitements to humility, patience, the love of God, or any other virtue.

VI. Conclude all with short ejaculation to God: that he would

preserve and prosper this good seed sown in your heart, that it may
bring forth its fruit in due season. And think not this will take up too
much of your time, for you can never bestow it to so good
advantage.
 An Extract of the

CHRISTIAN PATTERN.

B O O K I.

C h a p t e r I.
Of the imitation of Christ and contempt of all the vanities of
the world.

H E that followeth me walketh not in darkness, saith the Lord.

These are the words of Christ, by which we are admonished,
that we ought to imitate his life and manners, if we would be truly
enlightened, and delivered from all blindness of heart.

Let therefore our chief endeavour be to meditate upon the life of

Jesus Christ.

2. What will it avail thee to dispute sublimely of the Trinity, if thou

be void of humility, and art thereby displeasing to the Trinity?

Truly, sublime words do not make a man holy and just; but a
virtuous life maketh him dear to God.

I had rather feel compunction, than know the definition thereof.

If thou didst know the whole bible, and the sayings of all the
philosophers by heart, what would all that profit thee, without the
love of God?
 *Vanity of vanities! All is vanity, but to love God, and to serve him
only.

3. It is therefore vanity to seek after perishing riches.

It is also vanity to seek honours.

It is vanity to follow the desires of the flesh, and to labour for that
for which thou must afterwards suffer grievous punishment.

It is vanity to wish to live long, and to be careless to live well.

It is vanity to mind this present life, and not those things which
are to come.

It is vanity to set thy love on that which speedily passeth away,

and not to hasten thither, where everlasting joys remain.

C H A P T E R II.
Of thinking humbly of ourselves.

* LL men naturally desire to know; but what availeth knowledge,

A without the fear of God?

Surely, an humble husbandman that serveth God, is better than a

proud philosopher, that neglecting himself, studies the course of the
heavens.

He that knoweth himself, is vile in his own eyes, and is not

pleased with the praises of men.
 If I understood all things in the world, and had not charity, what
would that help me in the sight of God, who will judge me according
to my works?

2. Cease from an inordinate desire of knowing, for therein is

much distraction and deceit.

There are many things, to know which doth little profit the soul.

And he is very unwise, that minds any other things than those
that tend to the welfare of his soul.

Many words do not satisfy the soul; but a pure conscience giveth
confidence towards God.

*The more thou knowest, and the better thou understandest, the
more grievously shalt thou be judged, unless thy life be the more
holy.

Be not therefore lifted up; but rather let the knowledge given thee
make thee afraid.

If thou thinkest that thou knowest much; yet there are many more
things which thou knowest not.

Be not over-wise, but rather acknowledge thine own ignorance.

*If thou wilt know any thing profitably, love to be unknown, and of
no account.

4. The highest and most profitable lesson is, the true knowledge
of ourselves.

It is great wisdom to esteem ourselves nothing, and to think

always well and highly of others.

If thou shouldst see another openly sin, yet oughtest thou not to
esteem thyself better than him.
 *We are all frail, but remember, none more frail than thyself.

C H A P T E R III.
Of the doctrine of truth.

H APPY is he, whom truth itself teacheth, not by figures, and

itself.
words that pass away; but by an immediate communication of

Our own opinion and our own sense often deceive us, and
discern little.

What availeth it to dispute about hidden things, for being ignorant

of which we shall not be reproved at the day of judgment?

It is great folly to neglect things profitable, and to think of curious

or hurtful things.

2. And what have we to do with dry notions?

He to whom the Eternal Word speaketh, is delivered from a world

of vain notions.

From the One Word are all things, and all speak that one: and
this is he, who also speaketh unto us.

No man understandeth or judgeth rightly without him.

*He, to whom all things are one, who reduceth all things to one,
and seeth all things in one, may be stable in heart, and remain
peaceable in God.
 *O God, the truth, make me one with thee in everlasting love.

I am weary of reading and hearing many things; in thee is all that

I desire.

*Let all creatures be silent in thy sight; speak thou alone unto me.

3. The more simple anyone is, the more doth he understand

without labour: because he receiveth the light of knowledge from
above.

*A pure, simple, and stable spirit is not dissipated, tho’ it be

employed in many works; because it does all to the glory of God,
and seeks not itself in any thing it doth.

What hinders and troubles thee but the unmortified affections of

thine own heart?

Who hath a sharper combat, than he who laboured to overcome

himself?

This ought to be our business, to conquer ourselves, and daily to

advance in holiness.

4. All perfection in this life hath some imperfection mixed with it;
and no knowledge of ours is without some darkness.

An humble knowledge of thyself is a surer way to God, than a

deep search after science.

Yet knowledge is not to be blamed, it being good in itself, and

ordained by God; but a good conscience and a virtuous life is always
to be preferred before it.

5. O If men bestowed as much labour in the rooting out of vices,

as they do in moving of questions, there would not be so great
wickedness, nor so much hurt done in the world!
 *Surely at the day of judgment we shall not be examined what we
have read, but what we have done: not how well we have spoken,
but how religiously we have lived.

*Tell me, where are now all those doctors and masters with whom
thou wast well acquainted whilst they lived and flourished in
learning?

Now others possess their preferments, and perhaps scarce ever

think of them. In their lifetime they seemed something, but now they
are not spoken of.

6. O how quickly doth the glory of the world pass away! O that
their life had been answerable to their learning! then had their study
been to good purpose.

How many perish in this world, because they rather chuse to be

great than humble? Therefore they become vain in their
imaginations.

*He is truly great, that is great in love.

He is truly great that is little in his own eyes, and that maketh no
account of any height of honour.

*He is truly wise, that accounteth all earthly things as dung, that
he may win Christ.

*And he is truly learned, that doth the will of God, and forsaketh
his own will.
 C H A P T E R IV.
Of prudence in our actions.

W E must not give ear to every saying or suggestion, but warily

and leisurely ponder things according to the will of God.

But alas! such is our weakness, that we often more easily believe
and speak evil of others than good.

Good men do not easily give credit to every thing one tells them;
because they know human frailty is prone to evil, and very subject to
fail in words.

2. It is great wisdom not to be rash in thy proceedings, nor to

stand stifly in thine own opinion.

It is wisdom not to believe every thing which thou hearest, nor

presently to relate again to others what thou hast heard, or dost
believe.

Consult with a wise and conscientious man, and seek to be

instructed by a better than thyself, rather than to follow thine own
inventions.

*A good life maketh a man wise according to God, and giveth him
experience in many things.

The humbler one is, and more resigned unto God, the more
prudent and contented shall he be in all things.
 C H A P T E R V.
Of reading the holy scriptures.

T RUTH, not eloquence, is to be sought for in holy scripture.

*All scripture is to be read by the same spirit wherewith it

was written.

We ought to read plain and devout books as willingly as high and

profound ones.

Let not the authority of the writer, whether he be of great or small

learning, but the love of pure truth, draw thee to read.

*Search not who spake this, but mark what is spoken.

2. Men pass away; but the truth of the Lord remaineth for ever.

God speaks unto us sundry ways, without respect of persons.

Our own curiosity often hindereth us in reading the scriptures,

when we will examine and discuss that which we should rather pass
over without more ado.

If thou desire to profit, read humbly, simply, and faithfully.

Enquire willingly, and hear with silence the words of holy men:
dislike not the parables of the elders, for they are not spoken without
cause.
 C H A P T E R VI.
Of avoiding vain hopes and pride.

H E is vain that putteth his trust in man or creatures.

Be not ashamed to serve others for the love of Jesus

Christ; nor to be esteemed poor in this world.

Presume not upon thyself, but place thy hope in God.

*Do what lieth in thy power, and God will assist thy good-will.

*Trust not in thy knowledge, nor in any living creature; but rather
in the grace of God; who helpeth the humble, and humbleth the
proud.

2. Glory not in wealth, nor in friends; but in God, who giveth all
things, and desireth to give thee himself above all.

Value not thyself for the strength or beauty of thy body, which is
spoiled and disfigured with a little sickness.

Pride not thyself in thy natural gifts or wit, lest thereby thou
displease God.

3. Esteem not thyself better than others, lest in the sight of God
thou be accounted worse than they.

Be not proud of thy good works: for the judgment of God is far
different from the judgment of men.

If there be any good in thee, believe that there is much more in

others.

It hurts thee not, if thou thinkest thyself worse than all men: but it
hurts thee much, to prefer thyself before any one man.