Denying the Mischievous Lord – Get Extended Epilogue
Denying the Mischievous Lord (Preview)
Prologue
Brook’s, London
April 1816
“Now, Francis,” Matthew Denning raised his whiskey to his lips, a sly grin playing on his features, “do you agree that the benefits of being a younger son of a gentleman are better than that of an heir?”
“I did not share my woes with you so you can make a point.” His dearest friend, Francis Langley, Viscount Lyndhurst, rolled his eyes and tossed back the contents of his own glass.
The other man in their trio, Richard Winchester, laughed before saying. “Come now, the season has barely begun. If you are this sullen at its start, I shudder to think of what you would become at the end of it.”
“Likely married and miserable,” Francis grumbled, shaking his blonde head.
“Have you already found a wife?” Matthew cocked a brow.
Society might value heirs more than the other sons in a family, but Matthew found freedom in such a convention. Unlike his brother and Francis, he was not pressured to marry to continue the family line, and he had the liberty to follow whichever path suited him.
“If only it were that simple. Every lady I have met thus far has not a clever head on her shoulders. I cannot harm the children I am yet to sire in my choice of a wife.” Francis raised his chin to call the waiter to refill their glasses.
“I agree with you,” Matthew said, “and you have my sympathies.”
Francis inclined his head and smiled. “I seem to recall you and Richard laughing at me.”
“To cheer you up,” Richard inserted. “Now, tell us what you seek in a wife. Perhaps we might be able to help.”
Francis picked up his refilled glass and took a sip before setting it back down. “Intelligence is important. She also needs to be from an excellent family and decent-looking.”
That drew another sly grin from Matthew. “I see we don’t want bedding her to become a chore.”
“Precisely!” Francis returned his grin.
Matthew had never imagined himself married. He quite loved his life as it was, and if at all he was going to marry, then it would likely be much later in his life.
“Such a woman is not impossible to find.” He clapped Francis on the shoulder. “You only have to attend more balls and ride in Hyde Park more often.”
“You rascal!” Richard laughed.
Matthew remembered the news he had to share with his friends and smiled.
It caught Francis’ attention, and he asked, “What are you so jolly about, Matthew?”
“I am glad you asked.” He sat straighter in his chair. “I shall conclude my pupillage in four months and after that…” He paused, watching their anticipation with satisfaction before finishing with, “I shall be a barrister in the Head Office.”
“Surely, you jest!” Francis clapped his hands together. “You got the position?”
“Yes, I did. My new position at the Head Office was confirmed this morning.” Joy swelled in his chest even more as he spoke. He had worked tirelessly for years to become a barrister, and he was very close now. He could almost taste the victory.
His friends raised their glasses in unison, and Francis spoke first. “You deserve this, Matthew, and I am thrilled for you. To getting justice for the disadvantaged and to a lifetime of friendship.”
Richard echoed the toast, and they clinked their glasses. They’d been with him on his journey to become a barrister, thus, if anyone could understand and appreciate the effort that led to this victory, it was them.
They cheered and teased each other for a while before parting ways for the night. Matthew hailed a hackney in front of the club and was conveyed to his bachelor lodgings in Bloomsbury.
The smile on his face and the spring in his step never once wavered that night, for he felt almost complete. His life was going as expected, and while he sympathized with his brother, Arthur, who was burdened with being the heir to the Earldom of Dorchester, he relished his freedom.
“This arrived while you were out, my lord.” Tanner, his valet of several years, gave him a missive, and Matthew immediately recognized the seal.
Only his father used the Dorchester crest on the seals of his missives, and the man seldom wrote to him. Something turned in his stomach, and he swallowed, his finger poised to break the sealing wax.
His heartbeat quickened as he opened the letter, and his world began to fall apart with the first words he read:
Dear Matthew,
It is with a broken heart that I write you this letter. Arthur died yesterday from wounds caused by a carriage accident. He will be interred in the family tomb today.
His responsibilities are now upon your shoulders, and I wish for you to return to Dorset at the earliest opportunity.
I pray that you are well.
Sincerely,
J. Denning
“My lord?” Tanner called, and Matthew blinked.
His entire body was numb, and his mind could not process what he’d just read. No! This couldn’t be happening! He was only five-and-twenty, too young to suffer such a fate.
“My lord?” Tanner called again. “Did something happen?”
“Arthur is dead,” he said, his voice coming as if through a tunnel. His life as he knew it would now be changed forever, his dreams shattered.
Chapter One
“Bloody hell!” Matthew cursed and quickly lifted the toppled inkpot before all of the ink could run out and ruin his work. Then he lifted the papers from the path of the ink with his other hand. “Tanner!”
“Yes, my lord?” Tanner appeared in the doorway almost immediately, and once he registered Matthew’s needs, he came to help him, taking the papers from his hand and placing them on a side table near a bookshelf.
Matthew pushed his chair back and rose, striding out of the sitting room to his bedchamber to allow Tanner to clean the table while he washed the ink off his hands.
The last months had been surreal, and he had moved through each day as though he were in a trance. He looked up at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing the man looking back at him with shadowed eyes.
“We should tend to that shirt, my lord,” Tanner said quietly from the doorway. Matthew straightened, looking down at himself and noticing the ink stain on his shirtsleeve for the first time.
There was no telling how long he had been standing in front of his washbasin, staring at himself in the mirror. “Right,” he murmured, his hands going up to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.
After changing into a clean shirt, he returned to the living room, and something caught his eye on his way to his desk: a small stack of letters—all from his father—on the side table that he had been avoiding. One part of him knew that it was time to face them, while the other continued to deny his loss and his new responsibilities.
Giving into reason, he walked over and picked them up before sitting down behind his desk. Some had been opened and read, and some had not.
He opened the most recent one and read it. The earl wanted him to return to their ancestral seat in Dorset. He set it aside and read the next one. It had the same content with only different wording. He passed a hand over his brow as grief washed over him anew.
Six months should have eased the pain, but it appeared as though time was not inclined to heal him… if it would heal him at all. His father had called him home in the first letter that announced Arthur’s death, and many more had followed. But Matthew had been unable to bring himself to go back. It would make his loss real. Besides, he would not have been able to see him because he was buried the day after he died.
He and Arthur had been more than brothers. They had been friends and done everything together when they were children. Their lives had taken different paths, but their bond had remained strong.
Setting the letters down and leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, a thousand thoughts fighting for dominance in his mind. His plans were no longer plans because he was expected to fill Arthur’s shoes. He was Viscount Shaftesbury now.
“Dinner is served.” Tanner’s voice broke into his thoughts some time later.
“I shall be right over,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Tanner turned to leave but stopped when Matthew called him. “Send word to Dunstowe Manor. We journey to Dorset in two days.”
The only indication of his surprise was a slight rise of his brows. “Of course, my lord. I shall begin the preparations.” He bowed.
It was time to bid Arthur a proper farewell.
*****
Matthew gave his gelding a pat on its crest before dismounting and handing the reins to a waiting groom. The servants were gathered in front of the manor to greet him while his father stood at the top of the marble steps, his shoulders straight and his jaw firm like the proud lord that he was.
He gazed up at the imposing Dunstowe Manor. It did not feel like home anymore. Not without Arthur.
Matthew acknowledged the servants’ bows and curtsies with a nod, then stepped up to meet his father.
“Father,” he said, bowing slightly and not allowing his gaze to linger on his face. There would be immeasurable grief in them, and he was not ready to see it just yet.
Jasper Denning laid a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome home, son.”
His voice caught in his throat, and he could only nod.
“Come,” Jasper said, leading him into the manor, “we have much to discuss.”
They entered his father’s private salon, and Matthew sat down in the chair closest to the fireplace. The air was cold, and he had ridden for the most part of the three-day journey; thus, some warmth was most welcome.
“Port will warm you faster than that fire,” Jasper said as he went to a liquor service on a table on one side of the room. On Matthew’s nod, he began to pour him a glass. “I trust your journey was fair.”
“It was.” Matthew accepted the glass with a murmur of thanks. One sip, and warmth swirled in his stomach. This part of the country was much colder than the one in the town, and the proximity to the sea only made it much more so.
“See? It works better than the fire, does it not?” Jasper settled in the chair opposite him.
“Yes…” A question hung between and with a deep breath, Matthew began to answer it. “I grew up in this manor with Arthur. I couldn’t come… it was too much.”
“Every man is allowed the liberty to mourn, and everyone mourns differently,” his father said sagely. The last time Matthew had seen him had been at Christmas time, and he had aged considerably since then. He was much thinner, too.
That response surprised him. He thought he would be reproached for not leaving London since Arthur’s death. He appreciated his father’s understanding.
“Thank you, Father.” He took another warming sip of his port, and it fortified him for the question he was going to ask. “Where was Arthur going when he had the accident?”
Jasper sighed, and his shoulders slightly slumped. His blue eyes, which were very much like Arthur’s, met Matthew’s, and the grief he had been avoiding was shown to him.
When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “He was on his way to visit Lady Anne Farbridge. Coachman John survived, but with severe injuries that nearly cost him his life. According to him, the horses were spooked by a deer and bolted, overturning the carriage. Arthur died within minutes of the accident.”
Lady Anne Farbridge had been Arthur’s betrothed, and there had been talks of a wedding happening toward the end of the year.
Matthew’s heart twisted with that revelation. None of them had been given the chance to bid each other farewell. How cruel of fate to bring upon them such pain, he thought.
“Arthur injured his head,” his father continued. “I cannot tell you of my shock when he was brought to me.” He took a long draught of his drink and followed it with a heavy sigh. “You must understand why we had to bury him quickly.”
Matthew closed his eyes and wondered how he would survive his stay here. He was yet to give up his bachelor lodgings in London, but he would have to do that eventually, for he had come back to Dunstowe Manor to stay.
“I hear you work at the Head Office now.” Jasper’s voice broke into his thoughts.
When Matthew had received the news of his position at the Head Office, Arthur was the first person he had written to, but he never got the chance to read it. He was already gone when the letter arrived.
“You read the letter I sent Arthur?”
“Yes. I had to read all of his missives after the incident.” He leaned forward in his chair, and his expression grew very serious. “I hope you understand that you have to give up your career. You are the heir to Dorchester now.”
Matthew winced at his father’s words. Was that all he was to him? An heir?
“I gave my notice to the office,” he said, drinking the last of his wine in one gulp.
“You should not have begun work with them,” Jasper said, his tone criticizing. “Concluding your pupillage was a waste of time.”
“It was not a waste of my time, Father,” he defended. “I worked too hard to quit in the final stages.” And he needed to keep himself occupied while he mourned.
Jasper shrugged. “That is no longer any concern of yours. My strength wanes by the day, and the earldom will be yours when I die. You are the last remaining heir in our family, and you must continue the bloodline. You must marry as soon as possible.”
Matthew’s eyes widened with disbelief. “My brother is not dead a year and you wish for me to wed?”
“You have a responsibility to Dorchester, and it comes above your sensibilities. I loved Arthur, and would give anything to have him back, but I must ensure the continuity of our line.”
“Why don’t you marry, then?” Matthew snapped, bolting to his feet and walking to the window that overlooked the gardens.
Jasper’s face grew red, and he stood slowly from his chair. “You would disrespect your mother’s memory?”
“You want me to marry before I am reconciled to my loss.”
“I lost Arthur, too.”
“Then why can’t you allow me more time?” Matthew ran his hand through his hair, releasing a strained breath.
His father had not married since his mother’s death twenty-three years ago. He loved her that much.
“I am an old man, and there is no certainty in my ability to sire another heir,” Jasper said in a calmer tone. “Arthur lived up to his responsibilities. You are in his shoes now, and the same is expected of you.”
He had been compared to Arthur his entire life, but it had never wounded him as it did now. Cursing under his breath, he stormed out of the room. He needed to be anywhere but in the same room with his father.
Perhaps the cold air outside would show him more mercy than the man that sired him. He had a horse saddled, and he rode out without any destination in mind, losing himself in his thoughts.
*****
“Letter for you, Miss Henley!”
Bridget smiled when she heard the voice of the boy that delivered messages to her, and she rose from her chair to open the door for him.
“Good morning, Miss Henley!” He beamed up at her, holding out a letter.
“Good morning, Simon.” She returned his smile as she accepted the letter from him, then fished in her pocket for a sweetmeat that she gave to him as a reward.
She would have given him money if she had enough to give, but some sugar would suffice. Besides, the boy loved them.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Henley! And do have a lovely day!” He waved as he ran.
“You, too, Simon,” she called after him.
Bridget looked down to find the letter was from her dearest friend, Eloise Gardner. She was rather surprised to receive her letter because they had seen each other only yesterday, and she wondered what it contained. She closed the door and went to sit in the chair beside the bed her mother was lying on.
“Who is it from?” Emma Henley asked, then raised a handkerchief to her mouth, coughing.
Bridget shoved the letter into her pocket and went to help her mother, lifting her back so she could be more comfortable. It seemed to ease her coughs, too.
“Better now?” she asked, tucking a small pillow behind her.
“Yes, my dear,” she replied weakly. “Thank you.”
Bridget sat down and pressed a hand to her mother’s forehead. She had had a fever last night.
“You worry too much, Bridget.” Emma smiled.
“It is my responsibility to worry and take care of you, Mama.” A small sigh punctuated her statement. She was failing at caring for her ailing mother now that she had no employment and almost no savings left.
If she did not find work soon, she might lose the only parent she had.
“But you worry too much. You have not been yourself since you were relieved of your work.”
No matter how much Bridget tried to hide her emotions from her mother, the woman always found a way to perceive them. She knew her very well. And it was only a matter of time before she discovered how little they had left. They had been well when she worked as a maid at the home of Baron Hamilton, but after his wife’s death, she had been dismissed because her services were no longer required.
Emma’s health was worsening by the day, and she could not lose her. She had helplessly watched her father lose his life to a long illness. To have history repeat would destroy her. She had not been able to afford a physician for him, and at that time, her mother’s health was already failing. Being the only healthy person in the family, she blamed herself for her inability to afford their treatment.
She recalled the pain of her father’s death and winced. She had loved him so much, and she could have cared for him. If only she had accepted that gentleman’s offer…
“Finding work is more difficult than I anticipated, Mama,” she said, gently brushing her mother’s hair away from her face.
“I know, but I have faith that you will succeed. You have a good reference from him, and you are a great girl.”
Bridget chuckled. “You flatter me, Mama.”
“No, my dear. You have taken care of me since I fell ill, and you never once complained.”
To complain was to be ungrateful, she thought. And what manner of person would she be if she did?
“Who is the letter from?” Emma asked, curiosity shining through the dullness in her eyes.
She retrieved the letter from her pocket. “Oh, it’s from Eloise. I wonder why she wrote.”
“Well, read it and find out.” Emma smiled.
Bridget opened the letter and read it aloud. When she reached the part where Eloise apprised her of a vacant position in the home of the Earl of Dorchester, she gasped.
“Mama, they are looking for a maid!” she exclaimed, hope beginning to swell in her chest. “Eloise has always spoken well about the earl. Perhaps I should go and inquire.”
Emma beamed and encouraged her. “You should, Bridget.”
When she was certain her mother was comfortable in the early afternoon, she set out to Dunstowe Manor with her reference letter in hand. She was hopeful.
Her jaw nearly dropped when she beheld the grand manor. It was at least thrice the size of Lord Hamilton’s, and she had never seen such well-tended grounds in her life. The hope she had felt earlier began to falter. An estate this large and grand would have very high expectations, and she was not certain she was qualified.
Still, she pushed on, locating the servants’ entrance on the side of the building and knocking. A maid about her age, around twenty years old, opened the door with a kind smile on her face.
“I am here to inquire about the position of a maid,” Bridget said.
“Are you Bridget, Eloise’s friend?” the maid asked.
“Er… yes, I am.”
“Oh, she has been full of praises for you and recommended you to the housekeeper, Mrs. Foster. Please come in.” She stepped aside to allow Bridget to enter.
It appeared as though she was expected. This was a good sign, she supposed. She was led to a small room to wait for the housekeeper, and her foot tapped against the wooden floor, growing more anxious as the minutes ticked by.
At last, a tall, slender woman walked in. Bridget began to rise, but the woman stayed her with a small gesture.
“There is no need to stand,” she said, her eyes sharp and assessing. “I am Mrs. Foster. Eloise speaks highly of you.”
“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” Bridget said with reservation.
Mrs. Foster sat down in a chair opposite hers. “Do you have any references?”
“Yes, from Lord Hamilton’s estate.” She proffered the letter she was putting a lot of faith in to vouch for her.
Mrs. Foster took it and perused it with a critical eye before handing it back to her, seeming satisfied with what she saw. “This is a large household, and sometimes we work well into the late hours of the night. Things have been quiet recently, but I have it on good authority that we are going to be very busy again.” She waited for Bridget to speak.
“I don’t mind work no matter how much it is.”
“Good.” She asked her a few more questions, and when she was satisfied, she said, “You will be taking the place of the girl that left us recently. You may begin work tomorrow, and Eloise will show you around.” She rose. “I shall better acquaint myself with you at another time. I must return to work.”
Bridget trembled slightly as she rose to her feet. She could not believe how fortunate she had been. She had employment now, and she would begin work as early as tomorrow. Her mother would be pleased.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Foster.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You will need to prove yourself despite the very good reference you have. Mary will show you out.”
Mary was the maid who had admitted her into the manor, and she showed her to one of the manor’s exits. Bridget thought she would see Eloise, but she supposed she was occupied. She was certain Eloise would be informed of her employment at the earliest opportunity.
Once outside, a broad smile split across her face, and she looked up at the overcast sky, sending up a silent prayer of appreciation. Her fortune was turning around. She almost skipped as she walked. Such was the extent of her joy.
She was walking down the dirt road back to her village of Belwick when the sound of hooves beating the ground startled her. She turned around to see the rider heading toward her without slowing.
Every fiber in her body screamed for her to move out of the way, but she was paralyzed by fear. Bridget was about to be trampled.
Chapter Two
“Easy, there!” the rider called, reining his horse.
Bridget blinked, recovering from her momentary paralysis, and she quickly stumbled out of the way. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest.
The rider dismounted and approached her. Cautiously, she pulled the lapels of her cloak together and took a retreating step.
“Please forgive me,” he said, his voice strong yet calm and kind. “I did not see you there, I swear it.”
“You should be paying more attention when you ride,” she reprimanded him, taking another step back. “You could have killed me.”
“Wait.” He took off his hat, and her breath caught. The man that was revealed to her had the most startling green eyes she had ever seen; yet, they were only one part that made up his handsome face. Bridget quickly dismissed the admiration she was having for his appearance. He had nearly knocked her over.
She shook her head. “I must remove myself from harm’s way. If you are not clever enough to pay attention to where you are going, then it falls upon me to think for the two of us.”
His brows rose at her curt reply, but then his features smoothened. “Are you injured?” he asked, approaching her again. There was sincere concern in his eyes, and she stopped.
“No, I am not, but you gave me quite the fright.”
“And I profoundly apologize.”
Bridget’s shoulders relaxed a little, and she felt as though she could believe he was truly remorseful. “I accept your apology.” Then she turned to leave.
“Will you allow me to escort you to where you are going?” he called after her.
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Certainly not.”
“You sound as though you have not forgiven me.”
“I have.” She quickened her pace to get away from him.
“Viscount Shaftesbury!” someone called.
This made no difference to Bridget until she heard the rider answer, “What is it? Why are you following me?”
Her body grew rigid at the realization of whom she had spoken to without regard for his rank. This man was her employer, and if he knew who she was, she was likely to lose her job. She had to leave.
Pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders, she began to run.
“Miss!” the viscount called after her.
She did not stop until she was near the village and her lungs were threatening to fail her. She breathed in loud gasps and bent over to catch her breath.
Lord! What have I done?
Some moments later, she walked to the tiny house she shared with her mother. She was awake when she entered.
“Did you have any luck, dear?” Emma asked.
She did, and she did not. “I did,” she announced, her voice uneven. “I am going to begin work at the manor tomorrow.”
“Oh, that is wonderful, Bridget!” She held her hand out to her. “There is something else though, isn’t there?”
“I…” Bridget paused, contemplating whether or not to tell her about her encounter with the viscount. She took Emma’s outstretched hand and sat down beside her. “I met the earl’s son on my way back. His horse nearly knocked me over, and I spoke harshly to him before I knew who he was.”
“Was he offended?”
“No.”
Emma gave her a gentle smile. “Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You have employment now, and this is a fortunate thing, indeed.”
Bridged smiled, deciding to put aside her worry for now. “Indeed, Mama.”
Her wages were meager, and she still could not afford a physician, but she could buy medicine for her.
“I shall be living at the manor, but I will see you every Sunday,” she told her mother. “Lizzy will stay with you while I am gone.”
Lizzy was their neighbor’s teenage daughter, and she was happy to take care of Emma for a pay. She cared for her when Bridget worked at Lord Hamilton’s manor.
“I shall miss you, and I hate that you have to do this.”
Bridget wrapped her arms around Emma’s frail shoulder. “Please don’t say that, Mama. I shall miss you, too, but you will be well again in no time.” She gave her a gentle squeeze.
“All shall be well again,” Bridget murmured, more to convince herself than anything.
*****
Matthew ate his breakfast alone the following day in his bedchamber instead of in the breakfast room, disinclined to be in his father’s company. They had not spoken again since he stormed out, and he was certain the man would have a word or two to say about it.
Scooping a generous amount of jam, he slathered it on his toast and took a big bite. As he chewed, an image began to shimmer in his mind. The image of a lovely woman with vivid blue eyes and a stubborn set to her chin. He smiled.
He still had not been able to comprehend why she had run away from him or what she was doing close to the estate. He certainly had never seen her before, and her modest attire marked her as a commoner. Still, she was lovely, like a woodland sprite. And she had been unafraid as she spoke her mind.
“My lord,” Tanner spoke, and Matthew’s thoughts were interrupted.
“Yes?” He looked up from his breakfast.
“His Lordship has requested that you join him in the stables.”
Matthew groaned. “Am I, at least, allowed to finish my breakfast?”
“I believe so, my lord,” Tanner replied, straightening his crisp cravat.
Matthew felt some regret about storming off the way he had. He was not naturally predisposed to strong displays of emotion, but he had been pushed to it. The turn of events in his life had shattered his plans and his dreams. The whole reason he had worked diligently to become a barrister was to fight for justice for the disadvantaged.
The law was unfair sometimes, and he wanted to ensure innocent people did not suffer. It gave his life meaning.
He finished his meal and strode through the house. It bustled with activity as the servants milled about to carry out their tasks. He wished to walk about and reacquaint himself with his childhood home, but that would have to be at another time. Still, he poked his head into his favorite drawing room and found two maids working there. Without paying them any mind, he looked about the room with a smile on his face before continuing on.
He found his father in the stables, mounting a bay stallion. Another one was saddled alongside it.
“Good morning, Father,” he greeted.
“Yes, good morning. It is good to see your spirits have improved.” He motioned to the horse beside him. “Now, get on the horse, and let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Come along, and you shall find out,” his father replied, a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.
If you want to stay updated on my next book, and want to know about secret deals, please click the button below!
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub
Healing the Tempting Lady – Extended Epilogue
The sun was bright over Durham manor, riding high in the sky. Beatrice tilted her head back to enjoy its warm rays as she sat on the picnic blanket on the lawn. The air was filled with the happy shrieks of her nephew and niece, and she giggled at their antics. They seemed to be growing so fast and time itself had flown by over the past year since she and Charles had married.
Seated on a second picnic blanket, Phillip and Tereza laughed along with their children as Ellis, their oldest, ran circles around his poor governess. “I feel for the woman,” Beatrice’s brother whispered to her. “I don’t think she expected such a rambunctious child when she came to work here.”
Tereza nodded in agreement, holding her one-year-old girl in her arms. The little girl shrieked in laughter as she watched her older brother. Beatrice thought the girl was the cutest thing she had ever seen with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “It won’t be long until you experience this, too,” Tereza commented.
Relaxing back into her husband’s arms, Beatrice smiled. Charles wrapped one arm more tightly around her shoulders and brushed the other over her protruding belly. “I cannot wait,” she cooed contentedly, wincing when the baby kicked inside her tummy. “I feel like I have been with child for the longest time. I am more than ready to meet his little one now, I can assure you.”
“As am I,” Charles agreed, nibbling on a sandwich.
“Ah, you will make a wonderful mother,” Tereza said with a wide smile. “That baby is very lucky.”
“As yours are,” added Charles. “Ellis and Mary are the luckiest children in the world.”
“Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” Tereza inquired.
Beatrice furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “I don’t think that either of us mind. We just want a healthy and happy little baby. We can always have a few of each.”
Charles chuckled, brushing his lips across her cheek, and sending a shiver down her spine in the process. “I second that,” he whispered lasciviously into her ear, too low for the others to hear.
“Well, boys are certainly more work,” Tereza sighed, her gaze darting over to her boisterous son as he threw himself around on the grass, much to the chagrin of his harrowed governess. “But girls are more demanding.”
Just as Tereza’s words hut the air, little Mary fussed in her mother’s arms and the foursome laughed, watching as she toddled away in search of her brother.
“Ellis simply adores his little sister. I cannot believe how fast he’s growing. He becomes more mature every single day. It almost seems like he’ll be ready to set off on the Grand Tour tomorrow!” Tereza exclaimed.
Phillip shook his head. “Do not worry, dearest,” he soothed his wife. “We still have some time before we wave him off into adulthood.”
Tereza nodded and propped herself up on one arm. “So, tell me about the charity event, Beatrice,” she said. “I hear that it’s going to be the event of the Season.”
Smiling, Beatrice nodded eagerly. “Every member of the ton is to attend,” she replied, excitement in her voice. “We are hoping to raise enough money to help those poor orphaned children. It breaks my heart to think of so many of them without the love and support of a family.”
With a sigh, Phillip’s face contorted into sympathy. “It is our duty to help them,” he agreed. “I hope my future nephew or niece will be patient enough to wait until after the event, however.”
“As we all do,” Charles chimed in. “My wife has refused to slow down whilst she has been with child. Beatrice will not allow anything to stop her. She’s a force of nature, as always.”
Giggling, Beatrice basked in her husband’s compliment. “You’re too kind to me, Charles.”
“There is no such thing as too kind when it comes to you, my love,” he replied, hugging her tighter.
Beatrice melted in his arms, smiling when she saw her brother and sister-in-law exchange a heartfelt glance with each other. She knew that they were both profoundly happy for her and her husband. Phillip knew how much she had been through, and she was glad that he found happiness in her bliss.
“You are both coming to the ball, are you not?” Beatrice asked.
“Of course, we will be there,” Tereza said. “After missing out on so many whilst I carried my child, I still feel like I have a lifetime’s worth of missed parties to make up for.”
“Ah, you didn’t miss much, I assure you,” Phillip chuckled. “They will simply pale in comparison to Beatrice’s party which will be the talk of the town and I’m sure that is the only event we ever need to attend.”
Rolling her eyes, Beatrice giggled. “You flatter me too much, dear brother. Besides, it is not just my party,” Beatrice corrected her beloved brother. “Charles has put so much time and energy into this that I think he could easily claim it as his own.”
Nodding, Phillip glanced over at her husband. “Well, I suppose that my sister is lucky to have found a man who will devote so much attention to fulfilling her needs.”
Beatrice blushed when she thought about just how much time Charles devoted to her needs. Every night, he never failed to take her to the highest heights of pleasure. Never had he left her wanting and always ensured that she reached her completion before he even contemplated his. During the past year, he had proved to be the most perfect husband and she was sure that she would never want for anything while he was around.
Being with Charles was an adventure that refreshed her soul every morning. He completed her in a way that she didn’t know she longed for until she had found him. Charles was always there to support her and had spent many months giving her all the time she needed to get over the trauma of Nate’s acts. It was only several weeks after the incident that Beatrice had started to experience nightmares and they had persisted for several months. Yet Charles never waned in his support, sitting with her when she woke in the night until the night terrors finally dissipated, and she felt renewed.
Suddenly, the foursome heard a rustling from the doors to the house and they saw Ida rushing across the lawn. With a few stray hairs, Ida looked extremely flustered. Her cheeks were burning brightly as she greeted them. “Oh, what a to-do,” she chirped.
“Ida,” Beatrice said with a smile. “What has happened? You look so flushed.”
Ida seated herself on the blanket beside the two couples and smiled. “I have brought some news for all of you. I can hardly quite believe it myself and I’m sure all of you will be shocked when I tell you.”
“I hope you come bearing good news,” Charles said.
“Oh yes,” replied Ida with a firm nod. “It is the best news I could ever deliver.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “But first, I simply must eat and then I will tell you all every detail.”
“You cannot keep us in suspense,” Beatrice protested with a frown.
Ida shrugged as Tereza handed her a plate of small cakes. “Patience is a virtue, my dearest friend,” she giggled. “You know that I am never one to stay too long with an empty stomach.”
Playfully rolling her eyes at Ida, Beatrice glanced around at her brother and his wife, her husband, and her best friend. She knew they had all come a long way. Each of them had lived their own journeys but it made her happy to know that they could all rely on each other through the good times and the bad times. She couldn’t imagine having a better family and soon she would welcome her newest addition.
The future looked bright for all of them, and Beatrice was glad of that. Above all, she wanted the people she cared for to enjoy the best lives possible. As Charles wrapped his hand securely around her shoulders, Beatrice melted. She knew one thing for sure. Her life was better than she had ever imagined. Who knew that a random collision with a stray horse could lead her to such a place of bliss? This was all she had ever wanted from life and more.
This was perfection.
If you haven't already, feel free to leave an honest review here!
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
Love is a distant dream for Genevieve Huntley, shattered by the demeaning comments of Edward Warwick and his cohorts at her coming-out ball. When Edward, the future Duke of Rutherford, stumbles across her intimate musings in the library, an unlikely and scandalous exchange ensues. Their mutual dislike transforms into a smoldering passion, and their love ignites their worlds. But their happiness is not to be; with Edward’s future hampered by an unwanted engagement and Genevieve’s insecurities fraying the fragile fabric of their bond, they must decide whether the all-consuming flame that binds them is worth risking everything for…
Healing the Tempting Lady – Get Extended Epilogue
Healing the Tempting Lady
Healing the Tempting Lady (Preview)
Prologue
He was only ten-and-nine. That fact weighed on his shoulders the entire ride to the luxurious townhouse of Baron Vanstone. He had his entire life still ahead of him, and it felt as if he couldn’t truly begin it until he did what he’d set out to the townhouse to do.
He had been tapping his foot against the floor of the hackney carriage he’d hopped into, and the sound was slowly beginning to grate on his nerves. Or perhaps it was simply bolstering the nervousness that dug its draining claws deep into him. Whichever it was, he was not rid of that sinking sensation when the carriage finally pulled to the front gate of the townhouse. He reached into his pocket for the coin to pay the driver, and it nearly slipped from his sweaty fingers. The driver only looked at him with pity, clearly seeing that a man like him should not be in a place like this.
This, after all, was West London where only the wealthy and the noble-born resided. In his worn breeches, faded white shirt, and waistcoat the color of the dirt under his feet, it was clear that he did not fit in a place like this. But he didn’t care, and so he ignored the driver’s silent judgment as he turned his back to the carriage and faced the wrought-iron gate.
He brushed his hands over his waistcoat, drawing in a deep breath. Behind him, the carriage began to pull away.
He approached the gate and slipped through, letting the cool metal under his palm steady him for a few seconds. Then, he began the short trek through the driveway up to the front door of the townhouse. Thankfully, the front yard was devoid of people, but as he made his way up the steps and knocked on the front door, he didn’t feel any more comforted.
He couldn’t turn away. He would see this through. He would fight for the woman he loved.
The door opened to reveal a pinch-faced butler dressed in all black, looking down his narrow nose at him. He pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and said, “My name is Charles Moore, and I am here to see Baron Vanstone.”
Maybe the butler was impressed by the authoritative baritone in Charles’s voice—which he had spent hours practicing in front of his mirror before leaving his home—but he regarded him for a few seconds before he took a step back. “Come in,” he said. “I shall inform Lord Vanstone.”
Charles didn’t let the façade drop until he was inside the foyer of the townhouse and the butler was walking away. Only then did he let out the breath he was holding in, his eyes scanning his surroundings. Chandeliers hung above his head, and the staircase that stretched out before him was bordered by shining banisters and railings. A few tables stood by the walls of the foyer and atop them were vases and sculptures Charles didn’t know how to appraise. He kept as still as stone, feeling more out of place than ever before.
Will she know that I’m here? he wondered. Will she come to greet me?
Charles’s eyes wandered to the top of the staircase, hoping he would catch sight of her golden blonde hair. He moved a little to the left then to the right, as if that would give him a better view of the staircase landing that remained disappointingly empty. Yet, he kept searching, hoping he would see her just once. It was all the encouragement he’d need.
Sadly, only the butler showed up, looking as unimpressed as ever. Without saying a word, he tilted his head to the side as an indication that Charles should follow him. Then he turned and led Charles to a door at the end of a hallway located off to the side of the staircase.
Charles’s heart stopped dead in his chest when he spotted the baron himself already seated inside.
“Sit,” the man urged.
Charles did just that, sinking onto a stiff persimmon-colored sofa across from the Baron’s armchair. He wanted to look around the place, what appeared to be a drawing-room, but he could not find the energy to look away from the overbearing man before him. The Baron was clearly tall, even while seated, with broad shoulders and a head of white hair. Among lithely built Englishmen, he clearly stood out.
“You wished to speak with me?” The Baron asked.
“Yes,” Charles began, his commanding tone faltering just a bit. “I would like to introduce myself. I am Charles Moore and I am an apprentice physician. I wish to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“My daughter?” The Baron’s face hardly moved, as if he was not surprised. Charles’ trepidation grew. “My beautiful daughter, Linda?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“You must be a madman.” And then the Baron laughed. The sound was as unnerving as the sight. “I do not care if you are the most renowned physician in all of England, lad. Linda will not marry a peasant.”
“But—”
“And even if I were to consider it, I’m afraid it is already too late for you. She is already betrothed to someone else.”
The world shifted around him. The breath whooshed out of his lungs, leaving him gaping at the baron like an idiot. After a few seconds, Charles found his voice. “Betrothed?” he breathed in disbelief.
The Baron rose to his feet, stretching to his full height. “You should take your leave now that you know the truth. My advice to you would be to marry someone that you stand a chance with. My butler will see you out.”
With that, he began making his way to the door. Charles still couldn’t believe what he’d heard, still staring at the chair the baron had vacated. He didn’t act until he heard the click of the door opening behind him.
“Let me see her,” he demanded, shooting to his feet. He whirled to face the baron, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Please. Allow me to see her just once.”
The Baron didn’t bother to look back at him and, for a moment, Charles was certain he would be turned down. But then, the Baron said, “You will only have a few minutes.”
He left before Charles could find the strength to thank him. Alone once more, his legs gave way and he sank back into the sofa, staring unseeingly at the rug under his feet.
Betrothed… no, that can’t be, he thought. She said she would…
He wouldn’t allow himself to finish the thought, apprehension threatening to choke him from inside. He stood once more and began pacing back and forth, trying to think of a logical explanation for this. Perhaps she had no choice. She was the daughter of a baron, after all. There are expectations of her. He should try to convince her father to break the betrothal so that she could be with the one she truly loved.
“Mr. Moore.”
Charles whirled at the sound of her voice. She stood at the door with a maid by her side, in all her golden beauty. Except… the disdainful look on her face was nothing he’d seen before. It stopped him from rushing to her side.
“Linda… your father has informed me that you—”
“That I am betrothed to someone else? Yes, that is right. And I intend to marry him.”
A piece of his heart fell from the whole. He was struggling to maintain his composure, to keep from tearing up. “But what about what you told me? I thought you loved me.”
Linda curled her upper lip, waving her gloved hand in dismissal. “I only said that because it was fun at the time. Being with you was only because I wanted to experience a bit of passion before I settled down. I didn’t think you were foolish enough to believe I would marry a title-less man. Are you mad?” She laughed. His heart shattered. “Father has been taking care of my marriage arrangements this entire time, so I had enough freedom to sneak around with you. However, I’m afraid that must all come to an end. You should move on, dear Charles. And please, try not to be so naïve next time, yes?”
She didn’t bother to wait for his response. Like her father, she turned and left him, laughing to herself. And when he was alone once more, the remaining pieces of his heart blew away into dust.
Chapter One
Charles opened his eyes to dust motes float before a stream of sunlight. He’d slept too late, once again. No wonder that horrifying dream had stretched on.
But he didn’t move, even though he had so much he needed to take care of today. He stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, tucked on arm under his head, and let out a sigh. He was still angry. Eight years later and he was still very angry.
Not at that situation only, but at nobles entirely. Their self-serving attitude led to them stepping on those below them, without a care in the world. His mother had suffered at the hands of such treatment and as a young and foolish man, he’d suffered the same. He’d sworn from that day that he would never trust any person that held a title again.
The dream was a reminder of his convictions, he told himself. And by his hand, he was going to stick by it.
He didn’t move for a while, hoping that the memory would fade. But it was a stain that he could not be rid of, tattooed into the bits and pieces of his heart that he’d managed to put back together. It was, however, the first time in a long while since he’d last dreamt of it in such detail, and he supposed that was one reason why he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling it came with.
“There’s no use milling around here,” he groaned aloud as he pulled himself to a sitting position, wincing through the rest of his sentence. He was only seven-and-twenty but after the long night he had last night, he felt as if he was going on to fifty. His body creaked with pain and discomfort, reminding him just how strenuous it can be to fix a bone.
Perhaps I am only out of shape, he thought as he got out of bed and stretched his back. I should try to do some exercise instead of returning home to a bottle of whiskey every night.
Charles chuckled to himself as the thought crossed his mind, padding over to the long-looking glass positioned on the other side of his bed. He could take up fencing, but that would inevitably lead to far more contact with the upper class than he wished. He’d rather avoid them whenever he could.
But his bones and muscles continued to resist as he ran his fingers through his hair and prepared his clothes for the day. Within ten minutes, he was dressed in a pristine white shirt with trousers and a fitting black waistcoat atop his shirt. He was considering wearing a jacket, despite the past few warm days of April London had been experiencing when there was a heavy knock on his door.
“Who’s there?” Charles called as he slipped his watch into his pocket.
“Mail!” came an undeniably young voice.
Charles left his bedroom and made his way through the living area of the decently sized loft, pulling the front door open. As he expected, a young boy—Billy, who was about the age of eleven or twelve—stood at his doorstep clutching a piece of paper in his left hand.
Charles ran his eyes up and down the boy, who stared back unabashedly. “You need a wash,” Charles stated.
“Aye, I do,” Billy responded honestly, his accent as thick as ever. He wiped a hand over his grubby cheek and then held out the letter. “But I got work to do.”
“I’m sure you do.” Charles accepted the letter and looked back at the boy, contemplating giving him a shilling. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”
“I sure have, Mr. Moore,” Billy responded without a lick of emotion. Even though he didn’t make it obvious, Charles could tell he was waiting for the go-ahead to leave, clearly too busy to stand there having uncomfortable pleasantries.
Charles only met the youngster a year ago, when Billy first began delivering letters as a local pageboy for wealthy merchants. Charles’s first impression of the lad was that he worked harder than most adults he knew. And that impression lasted even now.
Suppressing a smile, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He glanced at Billy as he began to fish out a shilling and didn’t miss the way the boy’s eyes lit up, even though the rest of his face didn’t move.
“Spend this on something nice for yourself,” Charles said to him, pressing the coin in Billy’s small hand.
“I will. Thank you, Mr. Moore.”
“Go on now.”
Billy nodded and then took off, his feet thudding heavily against the wooden floorboards. Charles chuckled to himself as he watched the boy’s retreat but when he looked down at the letter in his hand, the smile faded.
“That’s odd,” he mumbled, closing his front door. “He’s never been one to send letters.”
Mr. Arthur Black was scribbled across the front of the letter in his mentor’s terrible handwriting. There was no seal and so Charles only had to unfold the letter to read what it said.
Meet me in Hyde Park at noon – Arthur Black.
Laughter bubbled up his throat at the simple message. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected his old mentor to explain himself since he’d never been one to do so before.
The good news was that he didn’t have to see Mr. Black until noon, which mean that Charles could still do the house calls he’d planned on partaking in for the moment. The not-so-good news was that the vagueness of the message would follow him for the entire morning until he found out the purpose of this meeting.
There’s no use thinking about it now, Charles thought as he proceeded to leave his loft. I have a long day ahead of me as it is. I should just worry about whatever Mr. Black has to say when the time comes.
*****
The time came far more quickly than he’d thought. His house calls went over well. The young lady from the Braithwaite household was recovering from her fever nicely and even had enough energy to speak and drink a bit of soup before sleeping the rest of the day away. Mr. Callaghan, the old blacksmith who broke his wrist while at work, seemed to be sitting still and waiting for the bone to set as Charles had ordered, even though it was driving him mad to do so.
Considering the night he’d had, the morning was quite calm. Charles found a little extra time on his hands by the end of it and so he decided to leave his medical bag back at his loft and then head over to Hyde Park before noon came rolling around. He took a hackney carriage half of the way there then decided to walk the rest, simply to bide his time.
During his stroll, his mind wandered restlessly to what Mr. Black could possibly have to say to him. He couldn’t help the pinch of anxiety he felt. Mr. Black was a quiet and cryptic man. He never said many words when Charles had been learning under his tutelage and much of his time studying to be a physician had been spent simply watching him. When they did speak, Mr. Black would give him proverb after proverb, letting Charles glimpse the philosophical man that laid underneath it all.
To be perfectly honest, Mr. Black was the closest thing Charles had to a father and so the attachment he’d formed to the older man formed far before he was taken under his wing. Charles owed so much to him, from teaching him the basics of medicine to assisting with getting Charles into the Middlesex Infirmary for a formal education and everything in between. All Mr. Black had to do was call and Charles would come running.
Though, he couldn’t say that he appreciated Mr. Black’s cryptic communications sometimes. He let out a long breath as he arrived at Hyde Park, the familiar sound of horses, carriages, and chatter permeating the air. It was not quite the fashionable hour for nobles to be out and about, which meant quite a few commoners were present instead. However, for the few nobles that were here, they stayed to themselves, standing by their carriages as they chatted with each other. Charles made surer not to pay them any mind and steered clear.
Hyde Park, for obvious reasons, wasn’t his favorite place to be in London.
But it was Mr. Black’s favorite park and whenever they met, it would be here. The bench they would often sit at was on the other end of the massive park, which meant Charles still had some walking to do. Hopefully, by the time he arrived, Mr. Black would have as well.
Suddenly, he heard a low thudding sound, like the rapid beat of a horse’s hooves from the distance. Charles paid it no mind—not until the sound grew louder and more pressing. He looked behind him to see that it indeed was a horse coming from the distance—and coming fast.
“Get out of the way!” someone shouted but Charles didn’t see who it was when he quickly stepped out of the way of the stampeding horse. The horse kept going, neighing madly as it charged its way deeper into the park. Deeper… where the picnicking families and playing children were.
Charles didn’t think twice. He rushed up to a nearby gentleman and grabbed the reins from his hands without a word. His heart pounding in his chest, he mounted the black steed and took off towards the stampeding horse.
Chapter Two
Goodness, I do not think I have ever been as bored as I am right now.
Beatrice resisted the urge to sigh, lamenting the lazy air and the heavy weight of the sun above her head. She played with the strings of her blue bonnet, her matching baby-blue walking gown swishing around her legs as she strolled along the path of Hyde Park. Her dear brother—bless his kind heart—had gifted her nearly a dozen new dresses for the upcoming Season even though there were still a few in her wardrobe from the last one that she had yet to wear. The one she had on now happened to be one of the dresses and she was already regretting choosing today to wear it. There weren’t many gentlemen around this afternoon to admire it after all.
She let the sigh loose this time as she continued along the trail, her lady’s maid on her heels. She’d decided to come out to Hyde Park simply because she could not stand being cooped up in her aunt’s manor any longer. Usually, she enjoyed staying in the library with her nose buried in a book whenever she had no one else to entertain, but the thought of doing that today only irked her. A walk was what she’d wished for, but now that she was here, she was bored again.
Beatrice sighed again. At the sound, her lady’s maid, Carla, drew closer. “Are you all right, Miss Beatrice?” she asked in a worried tone.
Beatrice glanced at the maid, who was a few years above Beatrice’s twenty years. “I’m just fine, Carla.”
“You have been sighing for some time now. It is as if the entire world is on your shoulders.”
“It sometimes feels that way, don’t you think?” Beatrice asked, smiling ruefully. “But never mind me. It’s only that I’ve never been very good at dealing with having nothing to do.”
“Would you like to visit the teahouse then? I know you like that place.”
Beatrice let out a surprised giggle. “I do not actually like that place, Carla. I only said that because Lord Jonville asked if I did, and I simply didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t. I think he would have broken down in tears had I dared to say such a thing.”
“Truly?” Carla sounded genuinely surprised, which made Beatrice laugh again. “You sounded so convincing that…”
“Yes, well, a lady must know how to stroke the egos of the man she is with or else she will never get anywhere with him.”
“Ah, I see. Then, does this mean that you fancy the Earl of Jonville?”
Beatrice shook her head and could sense her lady maid’s confusion without having to look at her. “Perhaps I did at first,” she answered, fibbing just a little for Carla’s sake. “But you know how fickle the heart can be.”
“Yes,” Carla mused aloud. “I suppose it can be.”
Beatrice hid her smile. There was no need for Carla to learn that Beatrice enjoyed playing with the emotions of gentlemen. They’d only met a month prior to today when Beatrice had first come to stay at her aunt’s manor. Carla was appointed as her lady’s maid and it took a few days of warming up for the girl to say a single word to Beatrice, despite Beatrice’s efforts from the very beginning. Over time, however, Carla’s shyness began to abate in light of Beatrice’s friendliness, and Beatrice didn’t want the maid to go back to being reserved.
If she were to find out that Beatrice didn’t care for any of the men who might want to court her, there was no telling how the polite lass would react.
But she supposed she should try to put aside that type of behavior. It was about to be her third Season after all. The rumors were already beginning to mill around the ton about her unmarried state. If she failed to secure a husband this Season, she would become a spinster.
“Are you excited for the Season, Miss Beatrice?” Carla spoke up after a few seconds of silence, cutting into Beatrice’s thoughts.
“No,” Beatrice responded. “Not in the slightest.”
“Is it because you have attended the last one?”
“And the one before, I suppose. After a while, it all gets dreadfully disinteresting. Especially since my dear friend will not be able to attend any of the events with me, as she is now with child.”
“Ah, I see.”
Beatrice heard the curiosity in Carla’s voice, despite her response. It was interesting to see how much the girl opened up now that they’d spoken on numerous occasions over the past month. Any other maid would have taken care not to let it be too obvious.
Beatrice didn’t mind at all, however. She was happy to have someone to talk with, especially since there were no gentlemen around that caught her eye. The ones that watched her were not interesting at all.
“She is my closest friend, you see,” she began to explain to Carla, who was obviously listening intently. “And just last Season, she fell in love with my brother, the Baron Herbert. Now she is far too with child to be my chaperone for this Season, let alone attend an event with me. I truly am happy for her, even though I fear it means this Season will be dreadfully dull.”
“I hope it is not, Miss Beatrice, for your sake.”
“As do I.” But she didn’t have much hope. Since Tereza was not able to host her during this Season, it meant her dowager aunt, Lady Dorset, would do the honors. Her aunt was getting up in age but was still influential enough to lend Beatrice some prestige during the Season. Since it was her third Season, Beatrice needed all the help that she could get. It was a good thing she was still rather young, though that wasn’t saying much for her.
“If it is any consolation, Miss Beatrice,” Carla said, drawing closer as she dropped her voice to a near whisper, “I do not think you will have many issues finding a husband this Season. Even as we walk along right now, all eyes are on you!”
“Thank you, Carla. I hope you’re right.”
Though it was not as simple as that. If attracting a gentleman was all it took for her to get married, then Beatrice would have signed away her freedom a long time ago. She did not simply wish to be married, however. She wanted to be in love.
When she looked at Tereza and Phillip, she realized how badly she wanted what they had. The love that existed between them, as clear as day to even a stranger. The family they would raise as they dedicated their lives to each other. Beatrice remembered listening to Tereza confess to Beatrice that she loved her brother, and the raw longing in her voice was enough to convince Beatrice that she wanted that very same love.
She would rather be a spinster than marry someone she did not love. Though, she wouldn’t dare to say that to her aunt.
A sharp neighing sound broke through her thoughts. Beatrice came a halt as the sound of heavy hooves grew louder. She frowned, looking around for the source and she didn’t find it until she looked behind her.
“Miss Beatrice!” Carla cried out.
But it was too late. Beatrice saw a flash of a brown mare, a massive mouth, and thundering legs making charging towards her. And then, the next second, she was no longer on her feet, flying through the air like a tossed ball. She was already unconscious before she hit the ground.
*****
When she opened her eyes next, stars danced before her vision. Beatrice’s eyes rolled to the back of her head a few times before she managed to keep them in place, focusing her eyes and blinking the stars away. She was moving, she realized. But how?
Clouds drifted lazily through the sky above her. The sun was hidden behind a particularly fluffy one and a gentle wind drifted over her face. She should be cool, she thought, and yet her body felt incredibly hot, as if she had been tossed into a furnace. Her right shoulder was pressed against something hard, something that moved when she moved, something that had something else beating on the other side of it.
“What…what happened…?” she groaned, trying to straighten. Her legs wouldn’t move, dangling uselessly. Beatrice tried to gain some sense of her surroundings—and how in heaven’s name she was moving even though she couldn’t move her legs—but her mind would not focus. Dark splotches would fill her vision, and her head would become so heavy that she couldn’t stop herself from resting it on the heavy brace under her neck.
“Don’t speak. But keep your eyes open.”
The order was brusque, deep enough to shock her. Beatrice blinked the dark spots away and shifted her eyes away from the sky to the face right above hers.
Oh, dear.
His jaw tight, his lips drawn into a thin line. The aquiline nose, the brown eyes, the tawny hair that was pulled to the back of his head. He was, quite literally, the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
“God?” she whispered, reaching out a feeble hand. He was the one carrying her, she began to realize. Was she dead? Was she being brought to heaven?
The man looked down at her, his face unmoving. “Life would have been far easier if I was, I’d say. And I told you not to speak.”
“How can I not when God is before me?” she asked. She barely had the strength to talk, but Beatrice couldn’t overcome her awe. There was simply no way any mortal man could be this handsome.
“I’m afraid you might have hit your head a little harder than I thought.”
“Hit?”
“You were knocked off your feet by a runaway horse,” he explained. “And I, Miss, am not God. I just happen to be the only one who thought to go after the thing.”
Beatrice let her eyes drift close as embarrassment sank within her. “I hope the horse is all right, at least?”
“Far better than you are at the moment.” He shifted her as if she weighed nothing but a feather. They’d made it back to her carriage, Beatrice saw, and Carla had been following along looking deathly pale. The stranger laid Beatrice down on one side of the carriage while Carla climbed in and sat on the other side.
Now, Beatrice could see his face in full and her heart skipped a beat at the sight. His face showed little emotion, even as he rested his hands on the floor of the carriage and leaned in. “My name is Charles Moore,” he said to her. “Luckily for you, I am a physician, so you should take care to listen to what I have to say until I get back to you.”
“It doesn’t sound very professional of a physician to leave his patient in a state like this,” Beatrice mumbled.
“Seeing that you have the strength to make smart comments, I don’t think you are an average patient,” he quipped without hesitation. Then, he turned his attention to Carla. “Ensure that she doesn’t fall asleep. Keep talking to her if you must but don’t let her talk back. She will tire herself out.”
“And what of you, Mr. Moore?” Carla asked worriedly. “Won’t you come with us to the manor?”
“I have to return for my medical bag. I’m afraid I’m not prepared for this right now.”
Beatrice wanted to make another comment, but her strength was fast slipping. As if he knew that, he said, “Get her home quickly. I’ll be there soon.”
“Do you know how to find it?” Carla asked, even as the carriage began to pull away.
The handsome physician, Mr. Charles Moore, stood back and said, “I’ll find the way.”
If you want to stay updated on my next book, and want to know about secret deals, please click the button below!
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub