Halfway To Heaven
At a glittering White House gala, Abigail Cabot discovers the man of her dreams. Only, he's not interested… yet. So the gifted lady astronomer, whose passion for measuring stars has left her woefully lacking in social graces, seeks someone to educate her… someone who is a master at the art of seduction.Jamie Calhoun's handsome looks and easy charm have made him as popular on the Senate floor as he is with the capital's most attractive women. But secretly he loathes the cynical, manipulative man he's become. Initially, he befriends Abigail as a means to a political end. But somewhere along the way the plan goes awry. First laughter and then love take them completely by surprise in this wildly romantic story.For a man convinced he's incapable of love and a woman who believes she can reach the stars, could this be a match made in heaven?
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Praise for the novels of
SUSAN WIGGS
THE FIREBRAND
âWith this final installment of Wiggsâs Chicago Fire trilogy, she has created a quiet page-turner that will hold readers spellboundâ¦.â
âPublishers Weekly
THE MISTRESS
âSusan Wiggs delves deeply into her charactersâ hearts and motivations to touch our own.â
âRomantic Times
THE HOSTAGE
âOnce more, Ms. Wiggs demonstrates her ability to bring readers a story to savor that has them impatiently awaiting each new novel.â
âRomantic Times
THE HORSEMASTERâS DAUGHTER
âIn poetic prose, Wiggs evocatively captures the Old South and creates an intense, believable relationship between the lovers.â
âPublishers Weekly
THE CHARM SCHOOL
âThe Charm School draws readers in with delightful characters, engaging dialogue, humor, emotion and sizzling sensuality.â
âCosta Mesa Sunday Times
THE DRIFTER
âA smart, unorthodox coupling to which Wiggs adds humor, brains and a certain cultivation that will leave readers anticipating her next romance.â
âPublishers Weekly
Susan Wiggs
Halfway To Heaven
To Alice Borchardt,
dear friend and gifted writer
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
This novelâs journey from writer to reader made a lot of stops along the way. A number of truly generous people took the time and care to read over the manuscript, and I thank them from the bottom of my heart: Barb and Joyce, of course, and my Port Orchard pals, Anjali, Kate, Janine, Lois, Rose Marie and PJ. My editor, Martha Keenan, offered many sharp insights, and my agent, Meg Ruley, added that crucial element of fun along with her valuable opinions regarding book titles.
Special thanks to Phil Plait, the original Bad Astronomer, for technical information. Any astronomical badness contained herein is my own.
Contents
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Three
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Part Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Part Five
Chapter Thirty-Four
Part One
A lady should always have an easy, becoming and graceful movement while engaged in a quadrille or promenade. It is more pleasing to the gentleman.
âLucien O. Carpenter,
The Universal Dancing Master, 1880
One
The bridal bouquet sailed past a dozen outstretched arms, hitting Abigail Beatrice Cabot smack in the face before it dropped into her unsuspecting hands. Just for a moment she saw stars; her eyes watered and her nose stung from the cloying sweetness of gardenias. She blinked twice, then exploded with a terrific sneeze.
First, a deathlike pall fell over the boisterous crowd of well-wishers. Then titters rose from the young ladies nearby, and a flurry of whispers erupted from the wedding guests gathered in the East Room of the White House.
âIâm allergic to gardenias,â Abigail muttered in an agony of humiliation. Tattered petals drifted down her face and over the front of her dress, leaving behind a powdery yellow residue. A comb dislodged from her hair, and she felt her braid coming undone.
Dropping the bouquet, she didnât look to see where it landed, but sought escape, shedding the occasional torn flower as she went. A rustle of speculation stalked her across the polished marquetry floor. With each painful step, she tried not to hear the whispers, but couldnât avoid catching a few all-too-familiar phrases: What a disgrace to Senator Cabot. His daughterâs always been a little odd, hasnât she? Must be such a trial to himâ¦.
At the moment, her father stood to one side of the room, regarding her with a crushing look of disappointment. Instead of enhancing his image as the senior senator from Virginia, sheâd managed to remind everyone in the room that all of his money and power could not buy him a proper daughter. Suddenly, she wanted to die. His expression, the snickering of the guests nearbyâit was all too much. In her haste, she nearly stumbled and fell, lurching a little and further undermining the stability of her coiffure.
Everyone passed in a blur: the strapping bridegroom in his military dress uniform and the dainty bride in her pearl-encrusted gown, trying to see what had become of her bouquet; the cluster of gentlemen gathered around the president, vying for his attention; the first lady and her bevy of gossips, avidly discussing the latest disgrace of Senator Cabotâs daughter.
Although the guests parted like the Red Sea before her, Abigail couldnât avoid the impression that they had all gathered for the sole purpose of witnessing her faux pas. Feeling the darts of a dozen pairs of eyes, she wove an awkward path across the ballroom, hoping to reach the glass doors at the northeast gate before she sneezed again.
