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Barbara Taylor Bradford
Her Own Rules
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
HER OWN RULES. Copyright © 1996 by Barbara Taylor Bradford. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Ebook Edition © MAY 2009 ISBN: 9780007330843
Version: 2017-10-25
The right of Barbara Taylor Bradford to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Praise for New York Times
bestselling author
Barbara Taylor Bradford
“She’s the envy of all of us who put pen to paper. Don’t miss her.”
Greensboro News & Record
And for Her Own Rules
“An emotional journey.”
Denver Rocky Mountain News
“Barbara Taylor Bradford can always be relied on to tell a good story, and she does just that in Her Own Rules.”
Chattanooga Times
“Compelling…Certain to join the ranks of Bradford’s other bestsellers, this novel skillfully blends mystery and romance.”
Library Journal
“One can’t help cheering the heroine on as she presses toward self-awareness. The family and friends who support her are particularly likable for their encouragement.”
Christian Science Monitor
“Barbara Taylor Bradford’s Her Own Rules won’t disappoint.”
Dayton Daily News
For Bob, with love
Contents
Copyright
Praise
Prologue Time Past
Part One Time Present
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Two Time Present, Time Past
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Ninteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue Time Future
About the Author
Other Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
TIME PAST
The child sat on a rock perched high up on the river’s bank. Elbows on knees, chin cupped in hands, she sat perfectly still, her eyes trained on the family of ducks circling around on the surface of the dark water.
Her eyes were large, set wide apart, grayish-green in color and solemn, and her small face was serious. But from time to time a smile would tug at her mouth as she watched the antics of the ducklings.
It was a bright day in August.
The sky was a piercingly blue arc unblemished by cloud, the golden sun a perfect sphere, and on this balmy summer’s afternoon nothing stirred. Not a blade of grass or a leaf moved; the only sounds were the faint buzzing of a bee hovering above roses rambling along a crumbling brick wall, the splash of water rushing down the dappled stones of the river’s bed.
The child remained fascinated by the wildlife on the river, and so intent was she in her concentration, she barely moved. It was only when she heard her name being called that she bestirred herself and glanced quickly over her shoulder.
Instantly she scrambled to her feet, waving at the young woman who stood near the door of the cottage set back from the river.
“Mari! Come on! Come in!” the woman called, beckoning to the child as she spoke.
It took Mari only a moment to open the iron gate in the brick wall, and then she was racing along the dirt path, her plump little legs running as fast as they could.
“Mam! Mam! You’re back!” she cried, rushing straight into the woman’s outstretched arms, almost staggering in her haste to get to her.
The young woman caught her daughter, held her close, and nuzzled her neck. She murmured, “I’ve a special treat for tea,” and then she looked down into the child’s bright young face, her own suddenly serious. “I thought I told you not to go down to the river alone, Mari, it’s dangerous,” she chastised the girl, but she did so softly and her expression was as loving as it always was.
“I only sit on the rock, Mam, I don’t go near the edge,” Mari answered, lifting her eyes to her mother’s. “Eunice said I could go and watch the baby ducks.”
The woman sighed under her breath. Straightening, she took hold of the child’s hand and led her into the cottage. Once they were inside, she addressed the girl who was sitting in a chair at the far end of the kitchen, reading a book.
“Eunice, I don’t want Mari going to the river alone, she might easily slip and fall in, and then where would you be? Why, you wouldn’t even know it had happened. And I’ve