Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

She wasted no time in leading him inside the entrance hall.

  “Lydia!” he called. Removing his top hat and tucking his walking stick under his arm, he called again, “Lydia!”

  “My love!” she answered, appearing at the top of the winding stairs. “You’re home.”

  “Yes, yes,” he declared, as she approached him. “What has happened while I was away?”

  “Oh, Guilford! Audra is so very distraught. I see she has told you about her Miss Braden. What should we do?”

  “We must search. Where is Desmond?”

  “He left the house early with a friend and is yet returned.”

  “Then I shall go alone. There is no reason to delay.”

  Guilford Kingsley put his top hat back on, and his walking stick hit the marble floor with a driving thud.

  “I want to come! Please, Papa!”

  “No, Audra,” replied her mother. “Can we not send a servant?” she asked her husband.

  But Guilford paid no mind to her. “I shall return,” he said, and hurried out.

  “Where will you go at this late hour?” cried Lydia.

  He offered no reply. The door closed behind him.

  • • •

  For hours, Thayne searched for the stallion, but to no avail. Whether it had found its way home or run away, he knew not. But it was neither in the field that was the scene of the accident, nor in the surrounding area. Disappointed and empty-handed, he at last headed home.

  Ravensleigh, a long house overlooking a curve of the River Thornton, its battlements high against the English skies, was one of the most admired of all the Thornton country homes. Its Jacobean style was updated in the early 1700s, adding two additional wings to its current appearance. Also, its gardens, not unlike Kingsley Manor, had undergone significant changes, with Roman-themed statuary and pillars, where during the day one could enjoy meandering walks through groves, paths, and woods.

  Now, though, Ravensleigh’s front, sloping lawns were dark as Thayne neared home. As he prepared to dismount, Lord Kingsley’s carriage turned swiftly down the drive. Not the speed only, but the hour as well, caught Thayne’s attention, and he rode up to greet him.

  Dusk was upon them, and through thick clouds, a thin moon and pale stars began to make their first appearance of the night. The driver brought the coach to a halt and Guilford leaned out the window.

  “Good evening, Lord Kingsley,” Thayne greeted. “You are no doubt testing the soundness of your carriage. Under such speeds, I daresay it holds up quite well.”

  “A comfort, Lord Brighton, but not enough to ease my distress,” he said, his manner noticeably affected.

  “Distress?” Thayne repeated with alarm. “I trust all is well with your family?”

  “I am searching for a missing girl who stays with us. Her name is Rhianna Braden.”

  A missing girl!

  “Was she alone?” he asked him hurriedly. “And on horseback?”

  “She was.”

  “And has she red hair?”

  “She does!”

  Thayne’s heart stopped in his chest as the mystery that had tormented him these last several hours came to an end. Rhianna Braden — a guest of the Kingsleys!

  “Well, Lord Kingsley, for now, rest at ease. She is here, at Ravensleigh.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Is she all right?”

  “Miss Braden was thrown from her saddle earlier today. Doctor Logan was called to examine her before I left. You’ve only just caught me returning from a search for the horse, but success did not accompany my quest.”

  “I thank you, at any rate,” replied Guilford. “Likely he’ll find his way home.”

  Thayne nodded. “Please come in. The doctor may admit us to see Miss Braden.”

  • • •

  Halfway home from Mauvreen’s, Rhianna heard the sound of rustling branches. Slowing her pace, she listened cautiously to her surroundings. Her heart began to race in her chest as the rustling drew closer. Suddenly, it sounded as if something was running toward her, indeed, bounding toward her.

  Knowing the distance she was from her cottage, Rhianna ran. Dashing forward, crunching branches and leaves beneath the weight of her small, nine-year-old body, she disregarded the noise she was making, her only goal to travel farther and faster.

  “Stop!” a voice called.

  Startled, Rhianna felt the sound pierce her body and glanced over her shoulder, more frightened than before. With Mauvreen’s strict emphasis on the secrecy of their visits, Rhianna did not know the worse evil: to happen upon a wild, hungry beast or a human who would reveal her clandestine friendship.

  Rhianna had never run so fast in her life, nor been so terribly worried. She looked back once more, but saw no one, even as the voice called again.

  “Stop!”

  Just then, Rhianna came to the horrid realization that the voice was not calling to her at all, but worse still, to the overly excited hunting dog that chased her. With a scream, she fled down an incline and dropped to her knees in the muddy stream that guided her.

  “Stop!” the person again cried.

  A drenched Rhianna glanced, terrified, at the bank where the dog barked at her happily, his tail wagging so violently his entire body wiggled. Soon after, the figure of a boy emerged from behind the trees, laughing at the scene before him.

  “You found him!” he quipped childishly to Rhianna.

  She recognized the boy’s face instantly. Certainly, there was no mistaking it.

  “Have you drowned?” he asked.

  Still kneeling in the stream, Rhianna’s fingers curled into the mud at the sight of him.

  “Yours was the carriage that spoiled my blue dress!” she burst out.

  A rain-filled ditch in the soggy road outside Rhianna’s cottage ought to have been enough to warn her and Brenna away as the Brighton carriage came along that morning. Alas, as if the event in and of itself were not humiliating enough, it was eclipsed by the face of a prepubescent boy as he leaned out the window and laughed at them.

  “Well you certainly are ungrateful,” he retorted playfully. “Here I am, checking to see that you have not perished, and here you are, yelling at me.”

  “You should apologize!”

  His smile curled to the side as he placed his hands on his dog and petted him rewardingly for his catch. The dog, in turn, looked admiringly at his owner.

  “You don’t mean to blame that on me,” he replied.

  “You laughed at us,” she reminded him, considering how the hound would respond if she advanced to the embankment and pushed the boy into the water.

  The black-haired, blue-eyed child shrugged. “Well, what was I supposed to do? I found it amusing.”

  Rhianna could hardly believe what she was hearing. He was either completely wicked or had a very poor sense of humor.

  “Look!” she cried, clambering to her feet and pointing to the bottom of the green dress she was wearing. The plain dress without a pearl button or piece of lace found on it was, in fact, her best frock. “Now this one also is spoiled, no thanks to you.”

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t walk so close to the stream. That goes for muddy roads, as well.”

  “Indeed!” she shouted angrily. “Well if your dog had not come bounding toward me, I would never have fallen. I would have been home by now.”

  Enraged, Rhianna turned and began walking toward town on the opposite side of the stream.

  “Who are you?” he called out to her, jumping across the stream with his dog barreling through it behind him. “And what are you doing out here, anyway? This is the Kingsleys’ property.”

  “I’d ask the same of you, if I cared a fig,” she responded, her back to him.

  Chasing after her, his hound faithfully at his side, he called, “I have more right to be here than you, peasant!”

  His words brought her to a halt. She about-faced, and cried, “How dare you? I am the curate’s daughter!”

  “And I,” he said, saunteri
ng toward her, “am Thayne Brighton, heir to Ravensleigh, the House of Brighton, not to mention the title of Lord.”

  With revulsion, Rhianna shoved him using all her force. Master Brighton fell, landing rearward into the stream with a hearty splash.

  “May you never live to see the day!” she cried.

  With tears in her eyes, Rhianna stormed off toward home, without looking back behind her.

  • • •

  By the time she opened her eyes, Rhianna was conscious of very little around her. The one thing she did know was that she felt safe and the lady beside her was caring and concerned. An attempt to sit up in bed ended with a moan as Rhianna felt the full effects of a headache and she surrendered to her pillow.

  Taking Rhianna’s hand in her own and speaking in a soft voice, the lady said, “You’re all right, my dear. Do not fret yourself with struggling to get up. Rest. You took quite a fall.”

  Rhianna could do little beyond examine the intricate strapwork of the ceiling from the comforts between four wood bedposts …

  Fall?

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What is your name?”

  The question throbbed in her head. “My name is Rhianna Braden.”

  “Well, Miss Braden, you were thrown from your horse this morning, but the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

  She focused her eyes on the lady’s face. It had a soft, kind appearance, and her smile was sweet. Only a very few lines gave any hint to her age, and her manners revealed motherly instincts.

  “Can you have any idea of what happened?” the lady continued.

  “No, indeed, I do not remember it,” Rhianna told her. Then, trailing off in thought, she recollected, “There was a man.”

  After some moments without a further description, the woman beside her questioned, “Who was this man?”

  She struggled to recall details. “I remember a man with dark features. He was also on horseback, though behind me some ways. I am sure I have never seen him before and he seemed to be there for some time. That’s the last thing I recall.” Rhianna asked, “I rather had the feeling he was following me but, perhaps — did he bring me here?”

  The lady’s eyes widened at this account, but she did not press her further.

  “No, Miss Braden. My son brought you here. He was passing in his carriage as it happened.”

  “I am very grateful,” she struggled. Then, something occurred to Rhianna as the lady reached for a pitcher of water on the end table and began to pour her a drink.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but where am I?”

  “My name is Lady Moira Brighton, and this is my home, Ravensleigh.”

  • • •

  The night sky blanketed Ravensleigh when Lords Brighton and Kingsley entered the drawing room to inquire of the patient. It was explained to them by Lady Brighton that the doctor had left only half an hour prior.

  “She is resting now,” she said. “He found it quite astonishing that she escaped such an incident with no more than a concussion and general soreness. He expects her to be up and about in a day or so.”

  “What a relief!” cried Thayne. “I ought to censure you, Lord Kingsley, for allowing young ladies out to ride unaccompanied, but under the circumstances I trust you’ve learned your lesson.”

  “Has she spoken?” asked Lord Kingsley. “Has there been an account of what happened?”

  “She remembers nothing of the accident itself or what may have frightened the horse,” the lady continued. She paused as the men accepted their drinks from the servants. “There is one thing that disturbs me, though, Guilford. Miss Braden claims that before the accident she thought she saw someone, a man, following her.”

  “Following her? A man, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “What sort of man?”

  “She gave no clear description. He was at a distance, she claims, but of dark complexion.” Turning to her son, she declared, “I thought perhaps you might have seen something, Thayne. After all, you witnessed the accident yourself.”

  “I did,” he told her, “but I recall no man in the vicinity — no one at all but my driver and myself. You must allow, however, that in my fright for her, I was conscious only of Miss Braden and, even less so, the horse.”

  “All suspicions aside, a man in such vicinity must have also seen the accident. That he did not also hurry to assist is disquieting to me,” Lady Brighton returned.

  A pause of silence ensued, but nothing could be concluded in the matter.

  “I am curious,” said Lady Brighton to Guilford, “as it is the nature of all women, to know who this lovely young lady is. Is she new to the area?”

  “Yes, Lord Kingsley,” Thayne encouraged. “I should also like to know something about your guest.”

  “Miss Braden has been in the area for almost a year now,” he told them. “She was my guest for part of that time.”

  “I cannot recall seeing her at any of the social gatherings,” Lady Brighton continued. “She is quite stunning.”

  Guilford gave a brief account of her history as daughter of the curate, to her schooling in France, to her recently ended period of mourning.

  “As of these nine months past,” he concluded, “she is Audra’s governess.”

  “Of course,” mumbled Thayne, who in his disappointment slumped deep into his chair.

  This disclosure made it impossible for him to appear cheerful. The most heavenly creature he had ever had the pleasure to look upon, whose presence he had thought unworthy to stand within, and through the unfairness of society the angel was damned to the working class. Quelle horreur! A rising condemnation for social attitudes and structure rose in his breast.

  Curate …

  Braden …

  All at once, Thayne was transported to a moment he had not thought of in some time. A day in his childhood when his dog had led him deep into the Kingsley woods. A day he ran into a fellow trespasser: the curate’s daughter. The very same red curls fell upon her neck then as they now lay upon the pillow in his guestroom. Yours was the carriage that spoiled my blue dress. The sentences that had passed between them came flooding back to him all at once and rendered him speechless. All that surrounded him now at Ravensleigh disappeared and he fell into a trance-like state. Thayne had always remembered their brief encounter, and the shock of this revelation was more than he could believe. I have more right to be here than you, peasant. Thayne’s stomach turned at his words to her and his pompous attitude. You should apologize, he heard her young voice say, repeatedly.

  Thayne must have appeared quite pained, and it is no wonder, considering the thoughts that inwardly tortured him, that Lady Brighton said suddenly, “You look very ill, Thayne. Perhaps you ought to retire for the evening.”

  For him, the return from these reflections was difficult. “Yes, Mother. I think I should,” he struggled to say. Turning to his guest, he offered, “The hour grows late, Lord Kingsley. Permit me to have a room prepared for you.”

  “I thank you, Brighton,” he declared, “but my family will be wanting news. May I continue to leave Miss Braden in your kind care, Moira?”

  “It needn’t be asked,” she avowed, as all in company arose.

  “Your goodness exceeds that in all of Thornton, my dear lady. I’ll inquire of her progress in the morning.”

  “We look forward to your call,” she declared.

  “Goodnight to you both.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Thayne nodded as the butler saw Lord Kingsley out. When the door had closed, Lady Brighton gave her son an attentive look.

  “You are out of spirits, Thayne. What is the matter?”

  Thayne cared not that his countenance was now more clearly troubled.

  “I am sure you will think me irrational, indeed, foolish,” he began, contemplatively. “I’ll have you know, Mother, that I am well aware of who I am. An Earl, Lord of Ravensleigh, owner of over fifteen hundred acres of country land, besides a house in town,
with a family name that dates back generations, a seat in Parliament, and a fortune second only to Lord Kingsley’s throughout the country. All this, and yet, I have no one to share it with. I have been introduced to many women, in England and France, Greece and Italy, those women considered the loveliest, from the wealthiest families, educated, refined, distinguished, daughters of peers, renowned for their talents, with the sort of well-respected reputations that would befit someone of my station …”

  Lady Brighton gave him a moment’s silence, before pressing him. “And so?” she encouraged.

  He sighed. “So why is it,” he said, turning his glance to the door, “that out of all of them, the only one — and, I declare, she is the only one — ever to catch my attention, to intrigue me and bewitch me, all without a word, not a single one, is Miss Kingsley’s governess?”

  • • •

  Desmond paced the floor of the study, as he had for the last several hours, pausing only occasionally to look out the windows. The west faced a distant Ravensleigh and the south, the approach to Kingsley Manor. Earlier, the south had offered the most activity as Stowe, the gardener, tended to the grounds. He had seemed to enjoy his labor, but Desmond imagined it only a resignation, for who would prefer working in the garden to sitting comfortably in a study with a glass of port?

  That was some time ago. At the moment, the west provided his only distraction, as a young manservant and a young maidservant met near a tree for a stolen kiss. Such a dull, inferior existence, thought Desmond. He felt relief he was not of their situation, born into poor families, damned to a life of drudgery. This thread of thought summoned Pierson to mind, a man born of a family whose connections were good, but whose habits brought him down in society. In Desmond’s mind, Pierson’s actions, though hardly honorable, ought not to sever him from the family. Lord Kingsley’s reasons for banishing him aside, family was all that he had for support, and Desmond did not disagree with his mother for allowing Pierson still into their lives, though against her husband’s wishes.

  Suddenly, Desmond laughed to himself. So many secrets, he thought. So, so many.

  Miss Braden was soon present in his thoughts. A beautiful girl — among the handsomest he had come across in all his travels. Had her standing in society been different, he could easily see himself taking her for a bride and even, perhaps, being mildly contented with her for a short while. As it was, that could never be. Never could he publicly connect himself with such an unequal alliance. Privately was entirely different, of course. If she returned to the manor, she would make a very convenient mistress. He did not share his mother’s view that his father had already taken her thus and he could not help wondering if she would be easily persuaded …