Glorious Angel

Glorious Angel

3.6 23
by Johanna Lindsey
     
 

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She was the beautiful daughter of a dirt-poor Alabama farmer. But Angela Sherrington had a dream: to love dashing Bradford Maitland, the handsome heir to magnificent Golden Oaks.

Glorious Angel

In the satin boudoir of a Yankee bordello, Angela's prayers are answered in the loving arms of the man she lived for. But scandal, cruelty and a shocking family

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Overview

She was the beautiful daughter of a dirt-poor Alabama farmer. But Angela Sherrington had a dream: to love dashing Bradford Maitland, the handsome heir to magnificent Golden Oaks.

Glorious Angel

In the satin boudoir of a Yankee bordello, Angela's prayers are answered in the loving arms of the man she lived for. But scandal, cruelty and a shocking family secret threaten to tear apart two passionate hearts newly joined — imperiling a bold and forbidden romance too overpowering to deny.

Author Biography:

With more than 54 million copies of her books in print and translated into twelve languages, Johanna Lindsey is one of the world's most popular authors of historical romance. Every one of her previous thirty-six novels has been a national bestseller, with several reaching the #1 spot on the New York Times list. Ms. Lindsey lives in Hawaii with her family.

Editorial Reviews

Library Journal
This 1982 historical romance set in the Old South follows the maxim of be careful what you wish for. After dreaming of Bradford Maitland for years, protagonist Angela Sherrington learns that once she has him, he may not be such a great catch after all. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780816152865
Publisher:
Cengage Gale
Publication date:
09/01/1994
Series:
Thorndike/G. K. Hall Paperback Bestsellers Ser.
Edition description:
Large Print
Pages:
317
Product dimensions:
6.12(w) x 9.23(h) x 0.68(d)

Read an Excerpt

Angela Sherrington tossed another tog on the hearth.
"Damn myself, anyhow!" she cursed as she glared at the sparks shooting out onto the floor.


If only she hadn't been so foolish as to waste matches! Now she was forced to keep the fire burning all day and all night. Since the matches had run out last week, the shack Angela called home had been hell to live in.


Angela cast another glowering look at the fire and then she walked out onto the narrow porch in front of the little one-room shack. She was hoping for a breeze, but it was at least eighty degrees. She cursed herself again. In this sorry year of 1862, matches were scarce. The war had made every necessity scarce, and she would just have to be more careful.


The Sherrington farm, if it could be considered a farm at all, was less than a quarter mile from the Mobile River, and about a half day's ride from Mobile, Alabama's largest city. The fields surrounding the farm were newly bare, as was the harvest shed, with its rotting walls and leaky roof.
The house had once been whitewashed, but now it was necessary to strain to see the few patches of remaining paint. Two wicker chairs in deplorable condition and a wooden crate that sufficed for a table were on the porch.
Reluctantly, Angela went back inside the house and began kneading dough at the kitchen table. The heat was wearing her down, what with the fire blazing behind her and the sun pouring in through the windows in front of her. But equally wearing was the worry over her father. He had gone to Mobile yesterday to sell the last of their corn crop. He should have returned yesterday afternoon, but for the fourth time in her life, Angela hadspent the night by herself. It was a sad fact that all four times had happened since the war.
With a heavy sigh, Angela gazed out the cracked window to the red field. The field should have been plowed that morning to make it ready for the new crop of peas and lima beans. She would have begun the task herself if they owned more than one mule. But they didn't, and her father had old Sarah hitched to the wagon. Damn his old leather hide, where was he?


Angela had been up since well before dawn. That was the time she liked to clean house, the only time of day in summer when it was cool enough. Her home wasn't much, but nobody could say it wasn't clean.
Angela wiped at the sweat on her face. She tried to stop worrying, but she just couldn't. The other three times he had stayed away all night had been when he was too drunk to make it back to his wagon. She hoped he was only drunk, and that he hadn't gotten into a fight.


Angela could take care of herself. She wasn't worried about that. Even when her father was home, he was often drunk and lying in bed. She hated it, but there was nothing she could do to stop his drinking. William Sherrington was a drunk.
Of necessity, she had learned how to hunt game. Otherwise she might have starved waiting for him to come out
of his stupors. She could kill a moving rabbit in only one shot.


Yes, she could take care of herself, but that didn't stop her from being uneasy whenever her father was away.
Awhile later the sound of an approaching wagon made Angela's spirits rise. It was about time! And now that her anxiety was over, her anger surfaced. Her father would get an earful this time.


But it was not old Sarah who came loping around the tall cedars. Two gray mares were pulling a dusty, mudsplattered carriage. And the last person she wanted to sex was driving that carriage.

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