That is all the news that I have at this moment. I look forward to hearing from you.
Your Loving Sister,
Eliza
Elizabeth folded the letter once and slipped it into an envelope. The postmaster would arrive that evening to do one last round of mail. She would give it to him then. The piece that Anthony was playing ended on a sweet note. Rather than wait for him to come to her, she went to him and placed her arms about him.
“That was lovely, Anthony. I am sure that our baby will love it.”
He lifted her arms to turn around, making her sit in his lap once he was facing her. He placed one hand on her belly.
“It shall not be long before this little one greets the world. Have I ever told you how happy I am and how much I love you?”
She smiled. “Yes, several times a day.”
“Then it is not enough. It needs to be every minute of every day.”
“I believe that you have already achieved that. You show your love for me in little ways and big ways. Every time I sit in my armchair, I am reminded of your love. When I sleep in our new bedroom, I am reminded of your love. Hearing you play the lullaby is a reminder of your love. I am surrounded by your love, Anthony, and there is not a place that I would rather be than in your arms.”
“Good, because I shall never let you go.”
She laughed and kissed his brow. "Is that a threat?"
“No, a promise. I shall follow you wherever you may go – you will never be rid of me.”
“I would never wish to be rid of you. I do not think that I could survive a day without you. Or perhaps I may survive, but I shall not be living. How did we come to be so dependent on each other?”
“I suppose that a love like ours only comes once in a lifetime, and once you find it, you never wish to be apart from the person you love.”
What he said was true for she felt it keenly every day. Her life was entwined with his, and his with hers.
“We are hopelessly in love, and happily so.”
Right then the baby kicked where Anthony had his hand. He looked at her in wonder. “I think I just felt a little hand,” he said.
“I believe that was the baby's way of including itself in our conversation.”
Her husband's eyes grew misty as he gazed at her. He laid his head gently on her belly, hugging her to him. Elizabeth stroked his hair, loving this beautiful moment with her little family. This was all she never knew she wanted. They sat like this for some time, not moving. As the sun set and cast shadows in the room, she knew that not even darkness could extinguish their light.
THE END
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What wonderful change occurred in Elizabeth’s parent’s marriage?
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Smitten with an Ethereal Lady
Introduction
Lady Charlotte Lumley knows that she can never aspire to have a normal life, like any other lady in her position would. Many years ago, an accident on a rainy day, had put an end to any chance of her becoming a bride. Charlotte has resigned herself to an inevitable fate – she became a social recluse, who even her parents never speak of, because of the affliction that torments her; a ghost daughter, who must stay hidden away. But when she meets the kind and handsome Marquess, her heart flutters for the first time! Can she let go of her secret and believe that love is on the cards for her too?
Sebastian, the Marquess of Wharton, has no desire to marry. The vapid society ladies that his mother insists on throwing on his path do not interest him at all. All that changes when he suddenly meets a beautiful lady on a crowded street, and he is forced to reconsider his perspective. Despite all his mother’s efforts, Sebastian is smitten with the mysterious Charlotte and cannot stop thinking about her. Will he be able to discover her well-kept secret and convince her that she is the one who owns his heart?
Even though they were instantly attracted to each other, each one repelled those thoughts for their own reasons. Nonetheless, avoiding that powerful chemistry cannot last long. Can Charlotte ever hope to let go of her painful past, and learn to embrace life, and a chance of true love? Will Sebastian be able to break free of society’s norms and follow his heart?
Chapter 1
Cranwick Manor, Devonshire, 1812
Lady Charlotte Lumley stared out of the window of her second storey bedroom. Today was the day. The sky arched in a perfect blue above the manor, and she could see the sun already ascending, climbing towards the heavens. The wind whipped her long dark hair around her face, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the fragrance of the rose garden just below her.
The door suddenly burst open and Dulcie, her maid since she had been a little girl, came in, halting abruptly. “My lady! What do you think you are about, half hanging out of the window in your nightgown?” The plump maid bustled towards her. “Come in quickly, before the grooms see you.”
Charlotte laughed, closing the window. “Do not scold me, Dulcie. The day is simply perfect.”
The maid’s blue eyes flashed. “It would not be so perfect, my lady, if the servants started gossiping about you,” she said tartly, taking her by the arm and leading her further into the room. “Let’s get you dressed, and then we can talk about what fanciful notions are going through that head of yours.”
Charlotte obeyed, letting Dulcie dress her. The maid was long practised and took barely any time. The next thing she knew she was sitting at the dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror. Charlotte sighed. The joy she had felt at greeting the summer day was dissipating just a little. Her siblings were not at home, staying at a friend’s estate twenty miles away. Her father, the Earl of Montgomery, was always holed up in his study entertaining his gentlemen friends, or else out hunting in the grounds. Her mother, the countess, was usually tearing around the countryside in her carriage, visiting acquaintances. Charlotte had been left to her own devices for weeks now.
“I am so bored,” she announced dramatically, staring at Dulcie in the mirror. “I declare I have been haunting the manor like a ghost ever since Diana and George left.”
“You miss them, I daresay,” said Dulcie, her mouth full of hairpins. “You three are like peas in a pod, and always have been. But they will be back next week, my lady. Then we shall all be travelling to London for the season. Oh, I cannot wait, I must say!”
Charlotte smiled at the maid’s excitement. Dulcie always looked forward to the annual trip to Acton House, their London residence. But London was still two weeks away. A great chasm of time stretched out before her. So many hours and days to fill. She had read practically every book in the library. She had played the piano until her fingers ached. Painting also occupied some time, but she was uninspired.
“I think I shall take Prancer for a ride today,” she declared.
Dulcie put down the hairbrush, staring at her dubiously. “You know your father’s thoughts about riding alone, my lady.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He shan’t even know, Dulcie. And besides, the weather is perfect. Prancer and I shall be back before the earl knows that we have gone.”
Dulcie frowned at her. “Just because you turned nineteen a month ago doesn’t mean you are too old to obey your father.” She put her hands on her hips. “Promise me you shall do no such thing, my lady. If you wish to ride, wait until your brother and sister are back to ride with you. You might even speak to the earl and see if he could accompany you.”
Charlotte picked at a stray thread on her gown. “He will not. He is always too busy, as is my lady mother. They have barely spen
t any time with me in the last two weeks.”
“Such a sour-puss.” Dulcie’s voice was mild. “The good Lord doesn’t smile on sulking young ladies, as well you know.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes again. Dulcie had been trotting out that line since she was little. But she was too old now for platitudes. She was a young lady of nineteen and old enough to make up her own mind about such silly things as going for a ride. The weather was good. Why shouldn’t she?
The earl and countess would never know. Neither would Dulcie. She would simply slip out and be back before they even realised. Her mind made up, Charlotte smiled. Yes, today was indeed the day.
***
The wind was cooling on her face as she approached the stables. Old Harris, the farrier, broke into a gap-toothed grin when he saw her.
“Morning, my lady,” he drawled. “And what can I do for you this fine morning?”
Charlotte smiled. She liked Harris. He had been farrier in her father’s stables since she was a little girl. He had taught her everything she needed to know about riding.
“Good morning, Harris,” she said. “Can you prepare Prancer? I think I will head out over the hill towards Salbridge.” Salbridge was a village only five miles from Cranwick Manor.
Harris rubbed his stubbled chin. “My lord has said that you can ride by yourself?”
“Of course.” She stared at him, not blinking. “My father and mother are aware of it. Do not worry, Harris. I shall be back before you know it.”
Prancer was happy to see her. He stomped his feet, neighing with delight. She rubbed him down gently, talking to him. He was her favourite horse and always seemed to understand her. Harris led him out of the stables for her, and then she mounted him, spurring him across the fields.
It was so wonderful riding in the open air, green fields spotted with wild daisies, that she lost track of time. And her bearings, too. Puzzled, she stopped on the edge of a hill. Salbridge was nowhere in sight. She must have taken a slightly different way.
“We’d better head back,” she whispered in the horse’s ear. “Come on, old boy. Mama will be angry if I am not in the drawing room for afternoon tea.”
Prancer whinnied as she turned him around, back towards home. A single drop of rain fell on her face. She stared up at the sky, puzzled. The sky was darkening ominously.
A storm was approaching. A sudden summer storm. They could whip up quickly in this part of Devonshire. Angry grey clouds swirled around, and in the distance she heard the first low rumble of thunder. Prancer whinnied nervously.
She petted him, whispering sweet words in his ear to reassure him. But she couldn’t stop the stab of misgiving that entered her heart as she watched lightning criss-cross the sky. She spurred him on. She simply must get home before the worst of the storm.
She was only half a mile away when it arrived. Torrential rain whipping around her face. It was so heavy, and fell so hard, that it was all she could do to lead Prancer onwards. She was drenched. A drowned rat, as her brother George would say. Mama would be furious that she had ruined her new white muslin gown. It was a birthday gift, after all, purchased from the very best dressmaker in Salbridge.
But all thoughts of ruined gowns fled her mind as another fork of lightning pierced the sky. It was close. So close that Prancer took fright suddenly, racing off. She could barely hold on, and she couldn’t see a thing through the rain.
“Prancer!” she cried desperately. “Slow down!”
But the spooked horse kept running, veering wildly. Suddenly, he hit a ditch. His legs buckled violently, and she was flying through the air, landing with a thud on the sodden ground.
Dazed, she tried to get up. But every time she attempted it, sharp pain assailed her. She couldn’t get to her feet. Even moving her head and arms was an agony beyond anything she had ever experienced. But worse than anything was hearing Prancer’s desperate squeals from the ditch.
She clawed the ground, trying to get to him. But then everything went dizzy, and black. She awoke abruptly to the face of Old Harris, calling to her.
“My lady,” he had entreated. “Lady Charlotte. Wake up, my lady!”
Her eyes flickered open. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. “Harris,” she whispered. “What happened?” And then she remembered. “Where is Prancer?”
A look of sorrow came over his weathered, wrinkled face and his rheumy blue eyes filled with tears. “It’s too late for old Prancer, my lady. He broke both front legs, I am sorry to say. I had to have him shot.” He took a deep breath. “It was the kindest thing.”
“No, no,” she cried. How could he be dead? It was all her fault.
***
London, 1816. Four years later
A flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom. It was so intense that it permeated through the heavy lace curtain, etching the furniture in an almost white light. In the four-poster bed, Charlotte stirred slightly, huddled beneath the blankets. She moaned, turning to her side. Even though she was deeply asleep, she knew. The thunderstorm was bringing it all back. She slid into the dream as seamlessly as putting on a glove.
It was raining. So much rain that it fell in heavy sheets around her. So much rain that she could barely see through it.
For one moment she was staring up at the sky, watching the lightning flash in forks around her. Then she turned her gaze downwards, to her arm. Static electricity crackled through the air, the hairs were raised slightly, like soldiers standing to attention. She shivered, even though it was warm.
Prancer shivered too. She leaned down in the saddle, stroking his chestnut coat, trying to reassure him. But strangely, no words came out. Surprised, her hand flew to her throat. She opened her mouth again … but nothing.
The rain was drenching her. So much rain. She had never seen so much rain before. How was it even possible that the sky contained so much? Thunder and lightning. A fork flashed, and Prancer was racing. She gripped him fiercely, but it was too late. He had bolted.
Everything blurred. Everything was too fast. She felt sick, like she was tumbling over and over. And then the world started spinning. She was flying through the air. She put out her hands to stop her fall, but the ground never arrived. She was hurtling downwards, forever …
Charlotte sat bolt upright in bed. Her heart was racing. Without hearing it, she knew that she had screamed. She also knew that no one would come to her. Her mother and father were on the other side of the mansion, and her sister and brother – who were closer – had been told not to humour her. She had eavesdropped on a conversation just the other day in the drawing room, between her mother and her sister. She hadn’t meant to be loitering in the hallway. She hadn’t even known that her mother and sister were in there.
“Charlotte is verging on hysterical,” the countess had said. Charlotte heard the clink of a teacup on a saucer. “So many nightmares. Do not encourage her, Diana. If you keep rushing into her bedroom every time she has one to comfort her, it becomes a habit. She feeds off it, you see. It is best if you just ignore her entirely.”
“But Mama,” her sister Diana’s voice was sweet and concerned. Just like her. “She is terrified. Every time I go to comfort her she is so shaken and distressed. Surely it cannot hurt to give her even a small measure of relief?”
The countess sighed heavily. “Indulgence. It is not to be tolerated. It has been more than four years, and the earl and I despair of her.” The countess paused. “No, I must be strict on this. You and George are too soft with her, Diana. You are the younger sister, after all, and yet you pet her like she is an injured lamb.”
“Mama,” said Diana cajolingly. “You of all people know what she has endured. How can you say such things?”
Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 56