by Abby Ayles
Lydia admired the foliage behind Wildhill and she smiled but she didn’t seem as impressed and delighted by everything the way that Noelle still was. Rodrick appreciated his wife the more he spent time with every other lady. And he appreciated her more and more besides.
“When you first met me, what did you think of me?” Noelle asked him that evening after Lydia parted with a promise to return the next time there was a ball at Westwood. That home still eclipsed his for everyone else but Noelle.
Rodrick looked at her as they sat together on the couch in the sitting room. His mother had already gone off to bed. “I thought that you were the prettiest lady I’d ever seen and that there was no chance in you ever wanting to talk to me, let alone dance with me at that ball.”
She giggled a little, her blue eyes sparkling as she gazed at him. “And what do you think of me now?” she asked.
He chuckled. “I think you’re the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen and I ask myself every minute how I got lucky enough to be able to talk with you, let alone dance with you.”
Noelle blushed a little as she smiled at him. “It almost seems like you had that answer prepared.”
“You enjoy asking me about back when we first met,” he replied. “And I know that you won’t accept a weak answer just because you’ve asked so much.”
He reached an arm around her and pulled her in close to him so he could kiss the top of her chestnut-colored head. “Our story doesn’t change; it just becomes better written each time we reminisce about it.”
Noelle gave his cheek a kiss. “I think that you should have become a poet or a playwright like William Shakespeare. You certainly always find pretty ways to word things.”
Rodrick had never really thought that about himself before. He’d never really bothered to search himself for hidden talents. But if Noelle said that he could do something, then he believed he could.
They passed the rest of the evening like this, sitting together on the couch and watching the embers slowly fade in the fireplace. When they became sleepy, they went up the stairs together, tiptoeing past his mother’s room so they wouldn’t disturb her slumber.
Rodrick’s favorite time of night was when he and Noelle lay in each other’s arms, whispering conversations back and forth to each other until they fell asleep. Tonight was no different than any other night. He enjoyed the sound of her voice as it got softer and eventually turned into the quiet breathing of peaceful sleep beside him.
The Extended Epilogue
I am humbled you finished reading my novel Loving a Lady!
Are you aching to know what happens to our lovebirds?
Click on the image or the link below to connect to a more personal level and as a BONUS, I will send you the Extended Epilogue of this Book!
Or click here:
http://abbyayles.com/aa-book-23-loving-a-lady-exep/
A Message from Abby
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed every page and I would love to hear your thoughts whether it be a review online or you contact me via my website. I am eternally grateful for you and none of this would be possible without our shared love of romance.
I pray that someday I will get to meet each of you and thank you in person, but in the meantime, all I can do is tell you how amazing you are.
As I prepare my next love story for you, keep believing in your dreams and know that mine would not be possible without you.
With Love,
Get Abby’s Exclusive Material
Building a relationship with my readers is the very best thing about writing.
Join my newsletter for information on new books and deals plus all these free books:
•My first published novel - The Duke’s Secrets
•My first co-written novel with a famous author and a friend of mine Fanny Finch - The Deceived Lady
•And many more
You can get your books for free by signing up here.
About Abby Ayles
Abby Ayles was born in the northern city of Manchester, England, but currently lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband and their three cats. She holds a Master’s degree in History and Arts and worked as a history teacher in middle school.
Her greatest interest lies in the era of Regency and Victorian England and Abby shares her love and knowledge of these periods with many readers in her newsletter.
In addition to this she has also written her first romantic novel, The Duke's Secrets, which is set in the era and is available for free on her website. As one reader commented “Abby’s writing makes you travel back in time!”
When she has time to herself, Abby enjoys going to the theatre, reading and watching documentaries about Regency and Victorian England.
Social Media
Facebook
Goodreads
Amazon
BookBub
The Lady in the Gilded Cage - Preview
Chapter 1
A great expanse of mahogany desk stretched between young Cecilia Prescott and the solicitor rifling through her father’s old papers. As he looked up and met her gaze, she felt an even greater distance there in his eyes.
He was trying to tell her and her mother something, and it was something he didn’t think they’d appreciate.
“Pardon me, Mr. Combs,” said Cecilia, “but I am afraid I’ve missed your meaning. Are you saying my father was in some manner of financial trouble?”
The portly solicitor cleared his throat and fumbled awkwardly with the papers yet again.
“The worst manner, I’m afraid.”
Beside her, Cecilia heard her mother gasp. The Dowager Viscountess of Holden, Lady Sophia Prescott, had grown accustomed to life without her late husband over the last arduous year, but Cecilia knew the loss of her current comforts would be a devastating blow.
Cecilia felt again the sharp pain of her father’s loss. He’d never been particularly affectionate, but he’d provided safety and oversight. She felt keenly deprived of those in his absence.
“Last year you said he’d left his fortune to me, his only daughter.”
“That’s true,” Mr. Combs cleared his throat. “A truly unusual occurrence, as I’ve already mentioned.”
“He had no male heir,” Lady Holden interjected. “And he did specify my daughter in his will.”
Cecilia knew what he meant by unusual, but found herself again frustrated by the morays of society that found her promotion as her father’s heir to be so remarkable.
In truth, she would have cared little for the money if it hadn’t been for her mother, who fretted often about the possible loss of status after her husband’s passing.
“I’ve no argument on that point, Lady Holden,” the solicitor seemed to have at last gained the confidence necessary to speak, and placed his hands palms down on the top of the desk.
“Unfortunately, the Viscount’s debts proved more serious than I imagined. It seems he engaged in a bit of unrecommended speculation, and the company in question has gone under.”
“How much?” Lady Holden asked.
“How much what?”
“How much was wagered on this doomed company?” Cecilia filled in for her mother, whose face was growing alarmingly pale.
“All.”
Cecilia felt an icy panic growing inside her.
She thought of the Carlsons, a well-respected family in Chesire with whom she’d grown up. She’d seen the Carlson boys at dances, and chattered away with the two youngest daughters. Their father had seemed to be very successful, throwing lavish parties and hosting grand hunts during the season.
Then, quite suddenly, they were out of society. Rumors spread quickly in London and the surrounding area that the grand Carlsons were penniless, surviving in a small cottage after they lost house and estate in a reckless gamble.
Cecilia realized with horror that this was her situation, and that of her mother. Vaguely, she refocused on the solicitor, who was explaining the
breadth of their misfortune.
“There is no more to draw on, and I’ve drained the last of your account to repay the Viscount’s innumerable debts.”
“Are the debts settled then?” Cecilia asked.
Mr. Combs ventured a coarse laugh, and then stopped when he saw the two women staring at him with earnest eyes.
“No, I’m afraid not. His debts were many, and he did not leave enough to settle them aright.”
“We are penniless.” Lady Holden said the words softly, and they hung unrefuted in the cold air of the office. “We will lose everything.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Cecilia asked the solicitor as calmly as she could manage.
“It is my job to give you the facts, not a remedy,” Mr. Combs said. “But if I may venture an opinion, your daughter is not an unseemly girl. You still have a title. Perhaps some kind of worthy union could solve the issue on the table.”
“Marriage?”
“Yes. Surely you could find a man of title and wealth who could offer you reprieve from your current troubles.”
Cecilia winced inwardly. Though marriage did seem the most obvious way out of such financial ruin, the solicitor’s immediate recommendation struck her as both unoriginal and frightening.
The Dowager Viscountess had been offering hints for some time now about the marriageability of her only daughter, pushing Cecilia into the arms of wealthy and titled gentlemen. Cecilia had always been able to avoid imminent proposals by pleading her youth or the possibility of a better match.
Now, she knew such arguments would hold no water with her mother. They were poor, and poor women should not expect better matches.
For her part, Lady Holden’s eyes lit with hope at the solicitor’s suggestion, and that light followed the two women long after they’d left Mr. Combs behind in his heavily-curtained office.
***
“You look lovely tonight, my dear,” Lady Holden said, giving her daughter a good look before the two settled themselves in the carriage for the short drive over to the Sinclairs’ manor.
Cecilia Prescott was still a blushing nineteen years of age, and, though petite, cut a striking figure at local events.
For years, her rich brown curls and piercing grey eyes had been sought after by the lads of the county, and more recently by the respectable sons of titled aristocrats and landed gentry.
She was slim, and even in the mute grey dress that she wore in respect for her father’s passing, she looked like a vision.
“Thank you, Mama.”
She settled her cloak about her shoulders and rested her hand on the door sash with a sigh.
“It feels odd to be travelling to the Sinclairs’ ball as though we are the equals of every person in the ball room.”
“We are more than their equal,” Lady Holden sniffed in response. “You are a lady, and I am the Dowager Viscountess of Holden. They are lucky to have such people in attendance.”
She fiddled with the lace at her throat. “And if you’re speaking about our earlier conversation with Mr. Combs, I hardly think skipping the first ball of the season a good way to keep the news of our precarious financial situation from prying ears.”
“We can’t keep it quiet forever, Mama.”
“We can keep it quiet long enough. If anyone finds out, it will ruin your prospects of marriage, my dear. Our only chance now is for you to find a reputable, titled man with a bit of wealth on the side.”
Cecilia smiled in outward allowance, but thought back on the line of suitors she’d seen of late.
She hadn’t minded the sweet boy from Manchester, although he’d been rather simple and not an elegant conversation partner.
Then there was the baron who’d found himself with quite a few gambling debts and was willing to settle them all with an illustrious marriage to a titled lady such as herself.
Aside from the obvious truth that such an alliance in retrospect would have left both penniless, Cecilia had found the baron both preposterous and ignorant. She was glad to be rid of him.
More recently, her mama had been pressing her to meet with an untitled man of vast wealth who owned a collection of periodicals in London.
The lack of title wasn’t as much of an insult to Cecilia as the man’s undeviating view that women were only good for needlepoint and the planning of grand parties.
“I understand my duty,” she said with a sigh. “But even if I were to find such an elusive gentleman, surely he would be unwilling to pursue an attachment once he learned the truth of our financial situation.”
“That is where love comes in,” Lady Holden said, as calmly as if she were talking of the taking of tea at midday.
“You must do your best to be winning and amiable, Cecilia. Try to remember all that we taught you, and what your governess encouraged you to emulate from Fordyce’s. That is the sort of thing that entices a man to deep affection.”
“’Nature appears to have formed the faculties of your sex, for the most part, with less vigor than those of ours,’” Cecilia began quietly quoting the sermons in question, her gaze still fixed outside the door sash.
“’Observing the same distinction here as in the more delicate frames of your bodies.’”
She turned to her mother with a faint smile.
“It would seem Fordyce has not the faith in feminine mental faculties to — how did you put it? — ‘entice a man to deep affection.’”
“You’re taking him out of context, I’m sure.” Lady Holden folded her gloved hands with quiet dignity. “And you can’t deny that women are the weaker sex, in need of a firm hand and a strong provider.”
Cecilia nodded absentmindedly.
In truth, she found Fordyce and all sermonizing men like him to be adding little to the world of literature and thought.
He was trying desperately to hold the rising stars of womanhood in their proper place in the parlor, and she found his argument both unappealing and unoriginal.
For herself, she appreciated the helpful advice of lesser known etiquette books, and even these she preferred to set aside in favor of modern poets and the epics of old.
She drew her mind back to the conversation in the carriage, and found her mother still speaking about her earlier comment.
“It’s just that kind of opinionated stubbornness that will lose you the affections of the gentlemen in attendance tonight. The death of your father has given us the perfect opportunity to show you’ve softened in the last year.”
“Yes, Mama,” Cecilia didn’t protest.
“If you can get a man to fall in love with you, he will not mind assuming your father’s debts.”
“I think you have far too high an opinion of the virtues of the male sex,” Cecilia said wryly.
“On the contrary, I find their hearts fickle and easily swayed by a pretty face.”
A pretty face. It was a familiar phrase for Cecilia. She had never, in all the long line of men at her door, found a single one who’d been drawn to aught but her title and the luminosity of her eyes.
Once, when she was but a girl of sixteen, she’d formed a strong connection with the son of an untitled but wealthy member of the landed gentry.
Young Mr. Phillip Larson had everything to recommend himself. He was handsome and clever and well-read. When he first began to pursue Cecilia, she’d been delighted at the prospect of long conversations and witty banter.
It soon became apparent that while the gentleman treasured her title and the loveliness of her face, he did not want her to weigh in on matters of the mind or society.
It felt remarkable at times, that ladies were encouraged to broaden their minds with reading and conversation, when their ultimate end was to pretend simpering idiocy and vanity for the sake of a wealthy husband’s ego.
“I need to hear you say it, Cecilia.”
“What, Mama? Pardon me, my mind was elsewhere.”
“As it often is. I need to hear you say that you are with me on this. Tonight is an excellent opportuni
ty to show me you are serious about doing your part to uphold our family’s legacy.”
“Mama, I will do what is necessary,” Cecilia said, her heart heavy.
The drive leading up to the Sinclairs’ manor was lined with bobbing lanterns. Even before the carriage came to a halt, Cecilia could hear the music and tinkling laughter of guests over the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves.