How to Rescue a Rake (Book Club

Belles Society #3) 1st Edition Fresina

Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://textbookfull.com/product/how-to-rescue-a-rake-book-club-belles-society-3-1st-
edition-fresina/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Before the Kiss (Book Club Belles Society #0.5) 1st

Edition Jayne Fresina [Fresina

https://textbookfull.com/product/before-the-kiss-book-club-
belles-society-0-5-1st-edition-jayne-fresina-fresina/

Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society #1) 1st

Edition Jayne Fresina

https://textbookfull.com/product/once-upon-a-kiss-book-club-
belles-society-1-1st-edition-jayne-fresina/

Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society #2) 1st

Edition Jayne Fresina

https://textbookfull.com/product/sinfully-ever-after-book-club-
belles-society-2-1st-edition-jayne-fresina/

Political Prick A Hero Club Novel 1st Edition Magan

Vernon & Hero Club [Vernon

https://textbookfull.com/product/political-prick-a-hero-club-
novel-1st-edition-magan-vernon-hero-club-vernon/
Big Baller A Hero Club Novel 1st Edition Katrina Marie
& Hero Club [Marie

https://textbookfull.com/product/big-baller-a-hero-club-
novel-1st-edition-katrina-marie-hero-club-marie/

Corporate Insolvency and Rescue A Guide to Irish Law

2nd Edition Lynch-Fannon

https://textbookfull.com/product/corporate-insolvency-and-rescue-
a-guide-to-irish-law-2nd-edition-lynch-fannon/

Miss Molly Robbins Designs a Seduction (Sydney Dovedale

#4) 1st Edition Jayne Fresina

https://textbookfull.com/product/miss-molly-robbins-designs-a-
seduction-sydney-dovedale-4-1st-edition-jayne-fresina/

Woodsmith 233 Cutting Big Dovetails on the Bandsaw

233rd Edition

https://textbookfull.com/product/woodsmith-233-cutting-big-
dovetails-on-the-bandsaw-233rd-edition/

Rescue Run 1st Edition Don Pendleton

https://textbookfull.com/product/rescue-run-1st-edition-don-
pendleton/
Copyright © 2016 by Jayne Fresina
Cover and internal design © 2016 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Judy York
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic
or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in
writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the
author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
Fax: (630) 961-2168
www.sourcebooks.com
 Contents

Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To Cat Clyne
“We certainly do not forget you, so soon as you forget us. It is,
perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves.
We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us… All
the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one,
you need not covet it) is that of loving longest when existence or
when hope is gone.”

—Anne Elliot, Persuasion

 Prologue

1815
Halfway up a tree…
Sometimes a man had to go out on a limb.
Captain Nathaniel Sherringham, a gambler who had dangled at the
end of a great many theoretical limbs, and frequently lost his shirt
there, was nothing if not persistent. But for once he found himself
quite literally up a tree and potentially about to lose more than a
linen shirt.
Still, if he ripped his breeches and got stuck while climbing this
tree, it couldn’t be for a better cause. Hopefully, the note he carried
in his coat pocket was about to impress Diana Makepiece enough
that she’d give him another chance to plead his case, this time while
he was sober. Whatever his means of getting that note into her
hand, she ought to be moved by it. And should he amuse her by
getting trapped in the branches or savaged by blackbirds in the
process of delivery, all the better.
Despite her haughty manner, Diana had struggled to hide her
chuckles if he walked into a wall, or got poked in the eye by a lady’s
ostrich-feather headdress. With her dark sense of humor, she’d take
delight in seeing him stranded up there, and if he fell a few feet and
broke something, she would be even more amused. Mayhap he
could arrange a black eye too. The hilarity would surely bend her
double, but only when no one might witness her elegant shoulders
relaxing.
“Captain Sherringham,” she would say in her somber voice, and
with her querulous eyebrows on alert, “I would have sewn you some
wings, had I known you were trying to fly.”
Oh yes, Nathaniel’s misfortunes were frequently her source of
private glee. Yet, perverse as it may seem, this was the woman he
wanted and he was not giving up yet. Diana had recently suggested
that his optimism in the face of impossible odds was part of his
“wretched” charm. That was enough to give him hope.
Now here he was, inching along creaking tree limbs, making one
last attempt to win Diana over before he left Hawcombe Prior, risking
his new buckskins in the process.
It was fortunate that although the early morning air pinched his
skin with cold fingertips, frost had not yet set in. There was certainly
little else in his favor as he scaled the oak tree behind the cottage
where Diana and her stern mother lived. Nothing more than reckless
bravado.
He looked down to the gnarled roots where he’d set young Jamie
Bridges on guard. When he whistled sharply, the boy turned his
sleepy face up. Nathaniel jabbed two fingers toward his own eyes
and then pointed at the cottage. Jamie nodded, frowning a little, and
leaned back against the tree trunk, waiting for the penny he’d been
promised and the safe return of his sling. He was possibly the
world’s most disinterested lookout.
Nathaniel couldn’t get much higher in the tree, so it was time to
take his chance. He knew her window; it was open. Diana had told
him once—in a rare, unguarded moment—that she liked to sleep
with fresh air blowing in, even when it was winter.
He took the folded note out of his pocket. The small square of
paper was tied with string to a crab apple, which he estimated would
give it just enough weight. Carefully, he aimed the borrowed sling
and fired. His message flew gracefully across the short distance and
through her window, bypassing any other barriers. Such as her
mother.
All that remained was to wait and see if Diana came to the old
bridge to meet him. If she didn’t, he would set off on his journey
and never think of her again.
The branch across which he stretched gave an ominous creak, and
he suddenly had no need to worry about his descent because the
law of gravity saw to it for him.
“Never seen a grown man climb a tree before,” young Jamie
grumbled, scratching his head and looking down at Nathaniel’s
sprawling form.
“And you haven’t now. Remember?” He groaned. “Not a word to
anyone.”
“Don’t get all aerated, Sherry. I ain’t stupid.” The boy yawned. “I
ain’t the one climbing a tree for a woman already engaged to marry
another.”
Indeed, Nathaniel thought with an inner groan of despair while
brushing dead leaves from his uniform jacket, when would he learn
to give up on a lost cause? But he was a gambler, wasn’t he? It was
what “Sherry” did best.
Which, much to his chagrin, wasn’t saying an awful lot for his
other abilities.
 One

1819
Just when Diana thought she was safe, hidden successfully from the
biggest nuisance in Buckinghamshire, that shrill voice rang out. “Ah,
here I find you, Miss Makepiece, perched in the corner, quiet as a
church mouse.”
For a petite woman, the parson’s wife created a surprisingly large
cloud of dust and a considerable rumpus as she plowed through the
dancing crowd to collapse on a chair beside Diana.
“Gracious, you ought to make some noise and move about once in
a while, or you might fade entirely into the wall plaster.” The lady
chuckled at her own wit. “That won’t improve your sad lot in life, will
it, poor dear?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mrs. Kenton,” Diana muttered. “Sometimes the
idea of invisibility is not without appeal.”
“What’s that? Such a timid little voice you have, when you use it at
all. Your presence is so easily overlooked that I am surprised you
have not been sat upon.”
Apparently Mrs. Kenton paid no heed to her husband’s sermons
about the meek inheriting the earth.
Digging a fork into her slice of cake, she dramatically regaled
Diana, and everyone seated nearby, with the story of her struggle at
the refreshment table. In that place of greed, violence, and malice,
she’d been elbowed in the eye, thumped about the head by a
fiercely wielded reticule, had her slippers stamped upon until she
was certain every bone in her foot was broken, and bravely thwarted
the near theft of her best lace handkerchief. Any listener unaware
that her quest had merely been for cheesecake might think she’d
survived a riot at the Bastille.
Some people underestimated the advantage of being quiet and
unnoticed, Diana mused, gazing up at the rafters. Woodworm larvae,
for instance, were possibly burrowing away up there, munching
tunnels capable of bringing the entire structure down upon the
dancers’ heads. Yet the stealthy little creatures went about their
business without making a sound heard by the human ear.
If only certain people did the same.
The parson’s wife choked on her cake and, in a wheezing breath,
exclaimed, “I am underwhelmed by the selection of refreshments.
Had they invited me to join their committee, I would have set them
straight, but they must have been too afraid to ask me. I am always
so busy with all the other duties I take on, I daresay they did not
want to impose.”
“Naturally. There could be no other reason for excluding you.”
“Two shillings to get in and another sixpence just for tea and cake.
Exorbitant prices for a small town hall! It’s not the Upper Rooms at
Bath, for pity’s sake.” Having set the empty plate in her lap, the
parson’s wife briskly fanned the underside of her chin. “You have
eaten nothing and you are so very thin. It borders on unsightly. A
lack of padding on one’s bones is terribly aging, you know. Will you
not have some cake?”
Yearning only for solitude and for her bones to be left in peace,
Diana shook her head.
“Sarah Wainwright looks very well this evening,” Mrs. Kenton
continued in Diana’s ear after only the briefest of pauses. “Such an
amiable creature, now that I have pried her out of her shell. As I
warned her—and as I tell you—a young lady who is painfully
reserved and too often mute in company risks ending her days
friendless and unloved.”
There was a difference between being mute and choosing not to
say aloud every stream of thought that came to mind, thought
Diana.
The parson’s wife continued. “But Sarah really ought to be told
that shade of yellow does her no favors. With a sallow complexion
one must be so careful, and if only she would take my advice for the
dressing of her hair.”
Oh, why did people feel the need for conversation, even above the
music? Unless someone needed to warn of a fire breaking out in that
crowded place or to inform her of a rampaging madman with an ax,
Diana could think of nothing so urgent that it needed to be howled
into her ear by Mrs. Kenton, who leaned close enough to disturb
Diana’s ringlets with the blast of every annoying word.
“She was such a gaunt little thing when she first arrived. Thanks to
my intervention, she has grown into a handsome gel these past few
years.”
Handsome. Diana’s jaw tightened. That particular tribute always
felt begrudging to her, as if the givers couldn’t bring themselves to
say the object of their discourse was truly pretty. When used as
praise for a younger woman, it was a consolation prize, one of which
she had, on several occasions in her youth, been the recipient. Only
once had a man called her “beautiful.” And then look what had
happened. Unaccustomed to such bold declarations, she hadn’t
known what to do with herself or how to respond.
And where was he now, for all his grand talk? Gone more than
three years without a word to anyone he once professed to care
about. Typical.
 Some would say Diana only had herself to blame. Ha! As if it
mattered to her where the most irritating, unreliable man went or
why. It was no surprise at all that he’d taken himself off in such
dramatic fashion. One could only stir up a modicum of astonishment
that he’d left the place fully clothed, apparently with both boots still
on his feet, and without bloodshed.
In an effort to relieve her headache, Diana relaxed her previously
clenched jaw, tipped her head back very slightly, and let her gaze
seek airy space above. This resulted in her sighting a trapped
sparrow that fluttered about the rafters of the old hall. With every
swoop of the confused bird, her own inner distress grew swiftly.
“Perhaps Miss Sarah Wainwright will have better luck than you,
dear,” Mrs. Kenton continued loudly, every unencouraged syllable
clanging through Diana’s sore head and causing several folk standing
nearby to glance at her over their shoulders in pity and
bemusement. “’Tis a great shame you never had the benefit of my
friendship and advice when we were that age.”
Diana thought that if Mrs. Kenton’s “friendship” had been used
upon Napoleon ten years ago, the war would have ended much
sooner than it did. The lady’s talents were wasted in
Buckinghamshire.
“I would have found you a husband, Miss Makepiece, before it was
too late and you’d lost your bloom. Now here you sit, twenty-seven
and all hope gone.” The lady began to hum loudly along to the
music, causing several folk nearby to turn as if they thought a bee
had invaded the room. Mrs. Kenton paused again and exclaimed,
“That young fellow dancing now with Sarah Wainwright seems very
keen and attentive.”
Suddenly Diana could not sit silently any longer. “But young men
can often appear to be something they are not. When the next
prettier thing crosses his line of sight, probably with a larger dowry
and a significant bosom, he will promptly forget Miss Wainwright and
her amiable handsomeness. All men are duplicitous and fickle.”
The parson’s wife looked at her in surprise, pausing the rapid
motion of her fan.
Diana sighed. “The perils of pushing a quiet person to speak, Mrs.
Kenton. Unfortunately, you might not always want to hear what
they’re thinking.”
After that, the lady kept her vociferous commentary mostly
directed at the ears of the luckless soul on her other side.
Oh dear, thought Diana, I let my temper get the better of me in a
public place. That was not proper and very unlike her. She decided it
must be due to old age and the fault of this hall, where noise and
memories persisted.
Compounding her weariness, Diana was recovering from a spring
cold, which had left her not only in low spirits and with a pimple on
her chin, but also with weakened patience for too much clamor and
vitality. A most unfortunate circumstance since she was now
surrounded by an abundance of both.
“You can take Sarah to the Manderson assembly on Tuesday,
Diana, can you not?” Rebecca Wainwright, Sarah’s stepmother and
one of Diana’s dearest friends, had exclaimed in a hurry as they’d
left church on the previous Sunday. “It is to be the last dance held
there until September, but I have too much to do. With the baby so
fractious and teething, I do not like to leave him…and Luke does not
return from London until Wednesday, so he cannot escort his
daughter. Justina has her hands full with her little tribe and cannot
get out.”
It was, of course, a well-known fact that unlike her friends, Diana
had nothing else to do, having no husband, children, or house to
manage. Unwed and past her youth—halfway to death, if one
listened to the parson’s wife—she was a woman in want of purpose,
always reliable and available.
“Mrs. Kenton insists she can chaperone and she won’t take no for
an answer, as usual,” her friend had added with an urgent whisper,
“so you must go too, for balance, or I fear Sarah will not forgive
me.”
So there Diana was, trying to keep the peace and make everybody
happy—a state for which any decorous, well-raised lady should
always strive.
Diana raised her fan again to hide that stubborn, vexatious pimple.
Still hoping to relieve her pounding headache, she was about to
close her eyes when she heard a woman’s voice above the music
and stamping. A voice other than Mrs. Kenton’s.
“Oh, Sherry! You are so very bad! What can one do with such a
naughty fellow?”
Diana felt time stop. The music faded. Trying to hear more from
the people standing somewhere behind her, she had tipped so
precariously to one side that she almost fell out of her chair when
Sarah Wainwright abruptly shot out of the crowd like an arrow from
a longbow. “I broke my fan!”
Diana stood quickly, feeling as if she’d been caught doing
something she should not. With a quick smile, she exchanged the
broken fan for her own. “I’m sure you need the cooling benefit more
than I do, since you are dancing.”
Sarah thanked her profusely and then exclaimed, “You look very
pale, Diana.”
“Do I?” Raising an unsteady hand to her cheek, she pressed it
there, hoping to encourage some color back again. “Perhaps I was
not as recovered from my cold as I thought.”
“You poor dear,” Sarah exclaimed, grasping her hand. “I shall fetch
you some cake.”
 “No. Thank you. Although cake is the cure for a great many ills, I
have no appetite for it at present.”
“How tired you must be. Your hand is so cold, even through your
glove! We should go home at once. I will ask for our carriage to be
brought around to the steps.”
Cold? How could she be cold in this stuffy hall? Diana assured the
girl that she was perfectly content to wait for the last dance. She
didn’t want to spoil the evening; these events were far too important
for eighteen-year-old girls.
Having urged Sarah’s return to her eager partner, Diana casually
moved back toward the wall until she felt a sturdy beam at her
shoulder.
Her mama was right, as she so often proved to be. Diana should
not have come out to Manderson before she was fully recovered.
She should have—
“Good God, it’s been so long since I was here,” a male voice
exclaimed on the other side of the beam. “The old place hasn’t
changed though. Not a bit.”
Diana froze, clutching Sarah’s broken fan so tightly that the horn
cut into her palm through her glove and would leave a red dent in
her skin. For one startled intake of breath she thought he had
addressed his comment to her, but he had not, of course. He was
not even aware of her presence. Thankfully. She wished for the wall
to absorb her completely, as Mrs. Kenton had warned her it would.
The pimple on her chin throbbed, and she was sure it grew larger by
the second.
“And are your memories of the place sweet, my dear Sherry?” his
companion inquired. “I daresay you charmed many young ladies in
this room, you sly devil.”
“A great many.”
“But never one in particular?” the woman demanded, her tone coy.
 Somehow moving his feet in the other direction, Nathaniel
returned to the refreshment table. But he decided against refilling
Caroline’s beverage or his own. His hands trembled with so much
anger that he might be tempted to smash the punch bowl to the
ground.
“I say, aren’t you that Captain Sherringham?” A woman standing
by the cake was squinting hard at him.
He didn’t recognize her. She was short, plain but well-maintained,
about his age. Her lips gathered in a tight pout as she awaited his
answer—almost as if admitting his name would be the same as
confessing guilt of a crime.
“Captain who?” he murmured.
She stared hard, a deep line forming between her brows.
“Ah, wait!” He held up a finger. “Sherringham. That dreadful,
brazen fellow from whom no innocent young woman was ever safe.
Gambling debts up his backside. No responsibility. No discipline or
willpower. Terrible habit of drinking too much and swearing in polite
society. Never out of bed on the right side of noon, countless women
left ruined in his wake when he runs off.”
She blinked rapidly. “Well, I—”
“Never met him before in my life.”
“But you—”
“And frankly, madam, I am shocked and offended that you would
mistake me for that reprobate.”
Turning swiftly on his heel, he walked away. Whoever she was, let
her swallow that with her cheesecake.
He knew what they all thought of him, but they were about to be
surprised.
Captain Nathaniel Sherringham was no longer the rudderless, jolly
rake everybody loved to mock. He was a man of determination,
purpose, and considerable means.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
espero sino de la muerte que
dellos fue la causa. Y por tanto no
te deues fatigar en dar consejo a
quien no puedes dar socorro. E
no quieras ver más de mi daño,
sino que en sola la muerte está su
remedio. Verdad es que tu
intencion fue sana, mas tu
parecer es falso, pensando que
con hazer mayor tu mal que el
mio, me ponias en él algun
consuelo, y es al contrario; antes
me le quitas viendo que siendo el
tuyo tan pequeño te tenga tan
cegado que no conozcas la clara
differencia que hay del vno al
otro. Quieres tú hazer yguales tus
desseos e sospiros que de sola
passion de bien querer con tus
quexas nacen, con mis lagrimas
que la muerte de aquella por
quien yo alegre biuia lo causa.
¡Qué engaño recibes tan grande
queriendo ygualar con las
angustias mortales los
pensamientos ó congoxas
veniales! Por mi amor, que pues
bien me quieres, mal no me trates
tornando á enojarme con otra
semejante embaxada que tales
razones la acompañen. En
especial queriéndome dar a
entender que mis lastimas con el
tienpo y la razon se harán
menores, pues que es por el
contrario, que ante la razon, como
es razon, las hará siempre
mayores y el tiempo quanto mas
se alargará mas las hará alargar.
Porque quantos mas mis dias
fuesen pues que en todos y en
cada vno he de contino de sentir
nuevos e muchos dolores del bien
que he perdido, más seran las
penas que en ellos sentire. De
manera que quanto mas presto mi
vida se acabe tanto mas presto mi
mal se acabará, e quanto más
durare por el contrario. E si
quieres saber más claras razones
por do conozcas quanto mi
desuentura es mayor que la tuya,
escriueme las causas della e yo
te mostraré las de mi daño e assi
vernás en el verdadero
conocimiento de todo; y porque
conozcas della parte, glosa este
villancico y verlo has.

Si el remedio de mis males

es morir,
¿que vida me es el biuir?
Si en el mal de mi querella
no hay remedio sin la muerte,
claro está que desta suerte
la vicia es ocasion della,
pues si está el bien en
perdella
con morir,
todo el daño está en biuir.

LO QUE FLAMIANO HIZO

DESPUES DE HAUER OYDO Á
 FELISEL E LEIDA LA CARTA
Muy atentamente Flamiano
escuchó todas las cosas que
Felisel le contó y no podia menos
hazer de no derramar infinitas
lagrimas acompañadas de
muchos sospiros, e despues de
hauerle oydo començo a leer la
carta, e leyda como dicho es,
estuvo una pieça callando sin
ninguna cosa dezir; e passado un
poco espacio tornó a preguntar a
Felisel muchas cosas por menudo
particularmente, de las quales
cosas siendo muy bien de todas
informado, publicando lo mucho
que los males de Basquiran le
dolian, començo assi á dezir:
¡Por quantas vias e maneras en
esta misera vida los pesares e
desuenturas á los humanos
saltean de impensadas congoxas,
e aquellos más de perder estan
seguros que menos tienen que
perder puedan y en aquellos
menos los muy lastimados golpes
de la manzilla lastiman que más
gruesso o rudo el entendimiento
para sentirlo tienen! De manera
que en esta vida trabajosa no se
puede reposar ninguno del miedo
del perder sino con el misero
defeto de la pobreza, nin se
puede alcançar de carecer de no
doler sino con la mengua del
saber, e assi los que no tienen
fatigas con la pena del dessear,
los que algo posseen
atormentados del temor de
perder, los de agudo ingenio
lastimados con las vexaciones de
los acontecimientos desastrados,
los rusticos o grosseros
aborrecidos por su defecto, a los
vnos e a los otros nunca jamas
les falta lugar por do el mal entre.
De manera que biuir no se puede
por ninguna via sin penar. Al fin
todos desseamos alcançar las
prosperas vanidades desta que
llamamos fortuna e con este
desseo cegamos nuestro
entendimiento; ella con lo que nos
da turba nuestro juyzio; en
conclusion, quien menos della
alcança más sin remedio bive.
Pues quien no teme no pena,
quien pena no siente contento se
halla, quien contento viue siempre
está alegre, pues do está alegria
no hay tristeza, e quien no está
triste siempre con el plazer rie e
no llora. Como por el contrario
agora este sin ventura Vasquiran
e yo hazemos. El con lo que ha
perdido sin remedio de cobrarlo,
yo con lo que desseo sin
esperança de alcançarlo,
nuestros dias siempre en lagrimas
veremos consumir assi como
hazemos.
Acabado su razonamiento se
voluio a Felisel e dixole: Por mi
amor, que no ayas en fatiga tornar
a ver a tu amigo e mi hermano
Vasquiran, y lleuarle has vna carta
mia, porque aunque con las
razones della enojo reciba, más
vale que mi enojo le ocupe el
tiempo que no que el
pensamiento del suyo le trastorne
el juyzio con su dolor, como
podria acontecer, e aun a mí el
mio.
E ante que mi carta le des le dirás
de parte mia que aunque mis
embaxadas e cartas alguna
importunidad le den, más pesar e
fatiga siento yo de la de la que el
dolor a él le da, e que me parece
vna cosa que le deue a él
contecer assi como a mí, que el
platicar en las cosas de mi
passion tantas passiones me trae
a la memoria que de allí dan en el
pensamiento; del pensamiento
dan en el coraçon, llegados alli la
calor de su fuego haze destilar en
lagrimas por los ojos el pesar y en
sospiros por la boca las
congoxas. E assi andando de la
vna a la otra parte no dexan a sus
ponçoñas que en las entrañas se
reparen porque de tristeza las
ahogan, porque como sabe, dulce
compañia es á los atribulados
estas dos cosas, y que juzgue de
mi voluntad lo que deue y no lo
que le parece, e que ya sabe que
el buen marinero en la mayor
fortuna en medio del golfo busca
saluacion y en la tierra el mayor
peligro. E que assi yo en el golfo
de sus fortunas y en el de las
mias mejor podremos saluarnos
nauegando que no surgendo
sobre las ancoras de la
desesperacion en el puerto de los
agenos plazeres con nuestras
tristezas.
Pues recebida la carta Felisel y
todo su razonamiento bien
entendido, otro dia se partio. E
llegado á Felernisa halló que ya
Vasquiran a la ciudad era tornado,
el qual con mucho amor aunque
con poca alegria lo recibio.
Apeado que fue començaron
passeandose por vnos corredores
que sobre la huerta salian, a
hablar de muchas cosas entre las
quales Felisel le contó todo lo que
en las justas passadas hauia
passado. E despues de mucho
hauer los dos razonado a cenar
se retraxeron. E otro dia de
mañana hauiendo oydo missa
Vasquiran caualgó e Felisel con él
e salidos fuera de la ciudad
tornaron de nueuo al mesmo
razonamiento, en el qual le contó
todo lo que de palabra su amo le
hauia encomendado, y en el fin le
dió su carta, la qual assi dezia.
 CARTA DE FLAMIANO Á
VASQUIRAN EN RESPUESTA
DE LA SUYA
Basquiran, recebida que houe tu
carta e leyda, considerando el
amor que te tengo y la pena que
en ti conozco, aunque mi passion
me tiene atribulado vine en
conocimiento del engaño que con
el pesar recibes, de manera que
me ha sido forçado vsar contigo
tres cosas en mi carta. La primera
será consolarte de tu mal. La
segunda sanamente como amigo,
de tu demasiado sentimiento
reprehenderte e de los estremos
que con él hazes. La otra será
desengañarte del engaño que
recibes de ti mesmo en lo que
sientes, no conociendo la ventaja
que le haze lo que siento. E pues
eres discreto juzga mi intencion
que es sin malicia, y conoceras tu
yra ser demasiada. E has de
saber que a darte consuelo,
piedad me mueue; a reprehender
tu flaqueza, amistad me obliga; a
contradezirte me combida e aun
me costriñe la razon. Una cosa te
ruego, que no te desuies con la
passion de la verdad, porque más
presto vengas en conocimiento
della. E assi digo que para tu
consuelo deues mirar lo primero,
como todos somos más obligados
a loar lo que Dios haze que no a
querer lo que nuestra voluntad
dessea, e que quien esto no haze
como sabes, grauemente yerra
como hazes, en especial en estas
cosas de la muerte y de la vida
cuyos terminos estan en sola su
mano y secreto determinados, ni
como vees ninguno de los
mortales puede escusarse de no
pasar por este trance. Y querrias
agora tú repunar lo que no es
possible, e assi yerras todo lo
possible. A lo que he dicho que
quiero reprehender tu demasiado
quexarte, digo que semejantes
autos a los feminiles coraçones
son atribuydos e aun assi lo
demasiado parece feo, y en los
varones, en especial como tú, son
feamente reprouados. Mucho
llorar es de niños, poco suffrir es
de hembra. Bien sé que si a otro
lo viesses hazer, lo mismo e mas
le dirias, e libre que te haya
dexado la passion en ti lo
conoceras; pues corrige por Dios
con discrecion lo que los que
como yo no te aman te afearán
con razon e algunos con malicia
te juzgarán con menoscabo de tu
honrra, que ya sabes quanto mas
que la vida e todas las otras
cosas te deue ser cara. Lo tercero
que dixe que desengañarte queria
y contradezir, por tantas partes lo
puedo hazer que no sé por qual
començar. Te quexas porque
gozauas la cosa que en el mundo
mas amauas y que la has perdido
posseyendola; ninguna cosa se
possee segura, mas pareceme a
mi que pues que gozaste no
perdiste, sino que se acabó tu
gozo. Todas las cosas han de
hauer cabo, e aun a ti del gozo te
queda la vanagloria de lo que
alcançaste y la gloria de lo que
has gozado. Por la menor cosa de
las que tú has hauido que el
encendido fuego de mi deseo
alcançasse, sola vna hora, no
pediria más bien ni temeria más
mal e daria mill vidas en cambio,
e con tal morir me contaria más
glorioso que con biuir como biuo.
Bien sabes tú quanto más cara es
la cosa desseada mayor gloria es
alcançalla, e no hay más bien en
el desseo de complirlo e complido
ningun recelo queda dél; pues
¿qué te quedaua que pedir, ni qué
tienes de que quexarte si todo lo
que dessear se pudo alcançaste y
gozaste? Quissieras que no
houiera cabo? Aqui está tu yerro;
querer lo que no puede ser,
hauiendo gozado lo que puede
ser. Yo te ruego que te acuerdes
quál cosa te daua mas pena en el
tiempo que penando amauas; el
desseo de ver el fin de tu desseo
no teniendo esperança o agora el
dolor de la memoria del plazer
pasado. Sola vna cosa te
condena a que nunca deuieras
ser triste; esta fue el dia que
alcançaste lo que agora plañes,
porque claro manifiestas en el
dolor que muestras de lo que has
perdido el gran bien de lo que
ganaste en ganarlo, porque no
pudo menos ser el plazer que es
el pesar sino ante mas. Sin
ventura yo que todos los males sé
y padezco e para ninguno de
ningun bien tengo esperança. A ti
tu ventura te endereçó a lugar
donde el sobrado plazer plañes; a
mi mi desuentura me guió a parte
donde todas las esperanças e
razones no solo de gloria me
despiden, mas aun donde con mi
pena no me dexan viuir contento.
Assi que tú plañes hauer visto de
tu bien el cabo, yo desespero de
nunca verlo en mi mal. Tú plañes
agena muerte, yo desseo la mia
como esta cancion lo muestra.

Quien viue sin esperança

de ver cabo en su querella,
¿que puede esperar enella
pues remedio no se alcança?
¿Que vida puede viuir
quien viue desesperado?
pues no espera en su cuydado
mas remedio de morir,
con el qual esta en balança
de la vida por perdella
viendo que de su querella
ningun remedio se alcança.
RESPUESTA DE VASQUIRAN Á
FELISEL
Acabada de leer Vasquiran la
carta, hauiendo yo oydo el
razonamiento de Felisel se boluió
a el e dixole: Verdaderamente,
Felisel, más descanso siento
contigo que consuelo con las
cartas que me traes, porque tu
buena criança y el amor que me
tienes, e la voluntad que te tengo,
dan causa para lo vno; lo poco
que las cartas me aprouechan
quitan el aparejo á lo otro; e assi
huelgo más de verte a ti que de
responder a quien te embia,
porque tu buen seso, mi mucho
mal, tu reposo y buena razon con
mi fatigado e lastimado hablar, tu
mucha criança con mi poca
paciencia, mejor cierto las vnas
cosas con las otras se templan
que no hazen las ansias de
Flamiano con las mias. Las suyas
baylan e cantan, las mias gimen e
lloran; al templezillo sonarán
juntas. ¡Qué ensalada se hará de
su morado y encarnado e blanco
con mi pardillo e negro e amarillo!
El entre canciones, yo tras
lamentaciones, él haciendo
cimeras para justar, yo
inuenciones para sepulturas; casi
juntos andamos, el vno cantando,
el otro llorando e los dos
sospirando; de ti me pesa que
padeces sin merecello, porque él
con su porfia de embiarte te da
trabajo, yo con mi poca alegria te
do tristeza, de manera que los
dos te damos fatiga. A la verdad
porque tú me vengas a ver so
contento de responder a él, y assi
te ruego que aunque algo lo
sientas graue, que por mi amor lo
sufras e no dexes de venir
muchas vezes con la
importunidad de sus vanidades a
ver la de mis lástimas. E por esta
vez de palabra de mi parte no le
dirás ninguna cosa, porque vna
carta que le lleuarás le dirá lo que
no querra hauer oydo quando la
aya leydo.
Pues otro dia de mañana ante
que Felisel se leuantase vino a él
el camarero de Vasquiran el qual
le dixo como dos horas antes del
dia su señor se era partido para
aquella heredad donde la primera
vez lo hauia hallado, e diole la
letra que para Flamiano hauia de
lleuar, e con ella vna ropa suya
forrada en armiños de raso
carmesí, vn sayo de terciopelo
morado con vnas faxas de raso
blanco bordadas encima dellas de
oro e de grana vnas madexas,
con vna letra que dezia:

No m'a dexado alegria

que dexe su compañia.
Diole vn jubon de brocado que
con aquel atauio Vasquiran se
hauia vestido vn dia poco ante de
la muerte de su señora
acompañandola a vnas fiestas de
las bodas del conde de Camarlina
que cerca de la ciudad de
Felernisa se heran hechas, a las
quales ella fué combidada e
nunca quiso yr sin él; e diole vna
hacanea en que él hauia
caualgado aquel dia con vna
guarnicion de terciopelo morado,
con vnas franjas de hilo de plata e
bordada con la mesma bordadura
e dixole:
Esto te ha mandado dar mi señor
para en satisffacion de alguna
parte del trabajo que passas en
venirle á ver e para en señal del
amor que te tiene e aun por
respecto de quitar el
inconueniente de ver estas ropas
porque no le traya a la memoria el
dia que se las vestio que fue el
ultimo de sus plazeres y
contentamiento. E hauiendolo
todo Felisel recebido con la carta
de Vasquiran se partio para
donde su señor estaua. Llegado a
Noplesano donde le halló,
despues de muchos
razonamientos passados le
mostró todo lo que el camarero de
Basquiran de su parte hauia
dado, e diole su carta la qual
Flamiano començo luego a leer, e
dezia en esta manera:

CARTA DE VASQUIRAN A
FLAMIANO
Si ansi como te puedo responder
e condenar tu razon pudiesse,
Flamiano, conortarme e dar
remedio á mi mal, quan presto los
dos seriamos satisffechos! A tus
consolaciones no quiero
responder pues que no me dan
consuelo; a tus reproches e
castigo, aunque á mi proposito
hazen poco, digo que no desseo
ni reprueuo lo que Dios haze e
ordena, ante por ello le doy
alabanças, pero esto no me
escusa a mi que no pueda plañir
lo que su juyzio me lastima con el
dolor que siento de lo que pierdo,
lo que si no hiziesse mostraria
menospreciar lo que él haze, o
seria juzgado por irracional. Dizes
que es fragilidad o poquedad casi
de niño o de hembra semejante
estremo. Mayor estremo seria
semejante crueldad que la que
dizes, porque si miras el estremo
de mi pérdida poco estremo es el
de mi lloro. Temes que no sea
juzgado por lo que hago, mas
temeria serlo si esso hiziesse, en
especial que ya tú me embias á
dezir que lagrimas y sospiros son
descanso de los males. Pues
¿cómo me consejas vna cosa en
tu razon y escriuesme otra
contraria en tu carta? Bien
muestras en lo que hazes lo que
dizes, que tu passion te tiene tan
desatinado que no sabes de ti
parte e quieresla saber de mi. A lo
tercero te respondo que dizes que
no perdi sino que se te figura que
se me acabó mi bien; pues tú lo
dizes ¿qué quieres que
responda? si te parece que es
pequeño mal acabarse el bien, tú
lo juzga pues que sabes que a
esta razon el Dante respondió:
Quien ha perdido el bien...
Dizes que me deue bastar la
vanagloria de lo que alcancé e la
gloria de que gozé; dizes verdad
que estas me bastan para sentir
lo que yo siento e mucho más,
porque si quanto la gloria de lo
ganado fue grande y el dolor de
hauerlo perdido fuesse ygual, no
bastaria mi juyzio a sofrirlo como
el tuyo no basta a entenderlo.
Dizes que por la menor cosa de
las que yo gozé que tu
alcançasses, contento darias mill
vidas, tú darias mill por hauerlo
¿e no quieres que pierda yo vna
por perderlo? Dizes que no hay
más bien en el desseo de
complirlo; dizes verdad; mas
tampoco no hay mayor mal en el
bien que perderlo; dizes que
alcancé todo lo que se pudo
dessear, también perdi todo lo
que se pudo recelar; e dizes que
gozé de lo possible, tambien peno
lo possible. Dizes que me
acuerde del tiempo que penando
desseaua sin esperança; ¿no te
parece que peno agora con
menos esperança? pues si
entonce me penaua la poca
esperança del desseo, ¿no me
dará más pena agora la
desesperación de no cobrar lo
que he perdido? Quexaste que
penas sin esperança e que
desesperas della; si no esperas lo
que ganar se puede no recelarás
perderlo como yo hize; no deuio
ser tuya la letra que dixo: todo es
poco la possible. Pones por
dificultad los merecimientos e
virtudes e noblezas de Belisena,
que son las cosas que
contentamiento te deuen dar. Esto
es querer con el defecto de tus
flaquezas dar culpa á tus virtudes.
E señalaslo en vna cosa que
dizes: que por sola vna hora que
gozasses darias mill vidas; más
razon seria ofrecerlas porque ella
viuiesse mill años como es razon.
No te oya nadie tal razon; que
parece que desseas poco, o
mereces poco, o tienes tu desseo
en menos, porque la cosa cara
ante de hauerse dessea
alcançarse, despues de hauida
dessease posseer, de manera
que nunca el deseo pierde su
oficio. Pluguiera a Dios que sin
alcançar lo que he perdido,
perdiera yo la vida, porque ella
viniera e yo no gozara, porque
agora no plañera, o que de nueuo
pudiesse con la que me queda
conprar la que ella perdio, que
con esto seria mas contento que
con viuir como viuo, como esta
cancion mia te mostrará.

Yo no hallo a mi passion
comienço, cabo ni medio,
ni descanso, ni razon,
ni esperança, ni remedio
Es tanta mi desuentura,
tan cruel, tan sin medida,
qu'en la muerte ni'n la vida
no s'acaba mi tristura,
ni el seso ni la razon
no le pueden hallar medio,
ni tiene consolacion
ni esperança ni remedio.

FLAMIANO A FELISEL
Leyda que houo Flamiano la letra
mandó llamar a Felisel e dixole.
Pareceme que segun Vasquiran e
yo con nuestras passiones te
tratamos que con mas razon te
podras tu quexar de nosotros que
nosotros de nuestras quexas, o
mejor será que te consolemos de
la fatiga que te damos que no tú a
nosotros de lo que sentimos. Esto
te digo porque agora que hauias
menester descansar con algun
reposo del trabajo que has
passado en estos caminos que
has hecho, te tengo aparejado de
nueuo otro trabajo en que
descanses. Esto es que yo he
sabido que la señora duquesa va
a caça la semana que viene con
otras muchas señoras e damas
que para ello tiene combidadas;
ya vees qué jornada es para mi,
pues que mi señora Belisena va
allá. Es menester que tomes por
descanso esta fatiga; da recaudo
a mi necessidad con tu diligencia,
e mañana daras orden como se
haga para mi vn sayo e una capa,
e librea para estos moços e pajes
de las colores que te dare en vn
memorial, e que hagas adereçar
vn par de camas de campo e mis
tiendas e algunas confituras e
todas las cosas que te pareceran
que son necesarias para tal
menester, porque su señoria
estara allá toda la semana y es
necessario que para estos
galanes que alla yran vayas bien
proueydo, en especial de cosas
de colacion; por causa de las
damas te prouee sobre todo. Assi
que reposa esta noche y de
mañana sey comigo e acabarte
he de dar la informacion de lo que
has de hazer.
AQUI EL AUCTOR CUENTA LO
QUE FELISEL OTRO DIA
PUSO EN ORDEN, E TODOS
LOS ATAUIOS DE LAS
DAMAS E CAUALLEROS
QUE A LA CAÇA FUERON, E
ALGUNAS COSAS QUE EN
ELLAS SE SIGUIERON

Otro dia de mañana venido a la

camara de Flamiano Felisel,
Flamiano le mandó que para el le
hiziesse hazer vn sayo de
terciopelo encarnado con vnas
faxas de raso blanco e vnos
vasariscos[286] de oro bordados
en ellas, con vna letra que
dixesse.

Lo que este liaze hazeys

a quantos veys.

E dixole mas. Harásme hazer vna

capa de paño amarillo con vnas
tiras de raso blanco y encarnado
antorchadas vnas con otras de
tres en tres tiras, guarnecida toda
la capa con vna letra que diga.

Son de vuestra condicion

porque s'espere de vos
la color do van las dos.

Harás más para los pajes ropetas

de paño encarnado guarnecidas
de raso blanco, y a los moços de
espuelas vnos capotines
encarnados e la manga yzquierda
blanca; las calças la derecha
blanca y encarnada, la yzquierda
amarilla, e harás para todos
jubones de raso amarillo e en las
mangas derechas vna letra
bordada que diga.

¿Qué se puede esperar

dellas
sino lo que va con ellas?

Acabado de darle la informacion

de lo que hauia de hazer, con
mucha diligencia Felisel dio en
todo complido recaudo.
Assimesmo todas las damas e
muchos caualleros que a la caça
hauian de yr se atauiaron de la
manera que adelante vereys; e
fue assi concierto entre todas las
damas que no pudiessen
atauiarse para esta jornada sin
que cada vna llevase en las ropas
o guarniciones sus dos colores
principales, las quales en las
inuenciones se señalarán. Sabido
esto los caualleros todos se
vistieron de los colores de las
damas que seruian con alguna
otra color que les hazia al
proposito de la letra, como arriba
haueys oydo que Flamiano
añadio lo amarillo a las dos
colores de la señora Belisena.