The door opened then. She gave her orders for a celebratory repast to be served in the master suite in one hour. "His lordship has engaged a bailiff who seems quite competent," she said to Carleton. "Champagne is in order, I believe."
Carleton beamed. Over his shoulder, Clarence saw Nettles grinning like a jester.
Determined to prove that he was fit to fulfill his duties, he insisted on ascending the last few steps of the long, curving staircase unaided, except for a strong grip on the rail. Lisanor--my practical, commonsense wife--awaited him at the top, smiling widely.
* * * *
Sometime that night...
"Two months ago I thought of myself as a pitiful remnant of the man I once was. When I was able to think at all."
Lisanor lifted her head from his shoulder, gazed down at him. All but one of the candles had guttered, and that one would not last much longer. "A pitiful remnant? What an apt phrase. I had similar feelings myself, when the vultures gathered for the reading of my grandfather's will."
"Do you feel that way now?"
"Oh, no. Not at all." She danced her fingers lightly across his chest, pausing only to tug at a tuft of hair. "We are neither pitiful nor remnants. We are hopeful seeds, rather, carrying future possibilities within us. New prosperity for our lands, better lives for our dependents..."
"And our descendants."
"Indeed. Don't forget that our first daughter will be Mistress of Ackerslea Farm."
He pulled her close and buried his fingers in her hair. "As our first son will be Marquess of Guillemot."
She pushed herself erect, withdrawing from his embrace. "What if we have more than one son or daughter? What will happen--"
"Lisanor, I have other estates. Only two of them are entailed. Our children will be well provided for. Besides, if they inherit their mother's acumen, they will likely do their own providing. None of them will be pitiful."
Snuggling back under his arm, she relaxed. "Clare?"
"Hmmm?"
"I believe I am coming to love you."
"Indeed? Well, then, I must confess I had harbored similar thoughts."
"That's good." Her body went limp as sleep took her.
He was not far behind.
About the Author
On her way to a career as a writer, Judith B. Glad made a lot of detours--into motherhood, short-order cooking, accounting, management, graduate school, botanical consulting. Eventually she decided she had to write those books that had been growing in her head for years--romances all. She believes every story should have a happy ending, even if it requires two or three hankies to get there.
After growing up in Idaho--the locale of several of her books--Judith now lives in Portland, Oregon, where flowers bloom in her yard every month of the year and snow usually stays on the mountains where it belongs. It's a great place to write, because the rainy season lasts for eight months--a perfect excuse to stay indoors and tell stories. Judith has four children, all grown, three granddaughters and a grandson.
Visit Judith's webpage at www.judithbglad.com to learn more about her other books. While you're there, take some side trips to view early 20th century picture postcards, read about 5,000 ways to earn a living, and see what a Mentzelia really is.
* * * *
Uncial Press brings you extraordinary fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Put a world of reading in your pocket.
www.uncialpress.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
A Pitiful Remnant Page 10