by Donna Hatch
As Cole looked down into Alicia Palmer’s face, he knew of a surety she was worth any risk. She touched him in a place he’d thought long dead.
A younger man wearing a saucy grin approached Miss Palmer. “Did you save me a dance, Lissie?”
Cole’s initial irritation for the man’s cheekiness faded to puzzlement. He knew him from somewhere. A vague unease arose.
When the young man’s gaze moved to Cole, he paled visibly. “You!”
Miss Palmer gasped. “Robert Palmer, where are your manners?”
Of course. Robert Palmer. From London. Cold dread trickled through his heart as he considered the ramifications.
Palmer pinned him with a dangerous glare. “Stay away from my cousin.”
“Your cousin?” Cole looked from him to the lovely Miss Palmer and understanding dawned. He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been aware Armand Palmer had a sister. Not that he’d bothered to find out. The possible ramifications took a more serious turn.
Miss Palmer sent Cole a look of apology and turned to her cousin. “Robert, explain yourself.”
In a cold sweat, Cole waited for her condemning stare.
Palmer trembled in rage. He spoke quietly, but each word shot through Cole like bullets fired at close range. “He’s the scoundrel who shot your twin.”
Mirro Lake Press
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Books by the Author
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Thanks especially to my readers. I hope you enjoy The Stranger She Married. Please stop by www.donnahatch.com to enter my contests, view deleted scenes and sneak peeks, and to join the private e-mail list to receive an announcement when my next books will be released.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
The Stranger She Married
First COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Donna Hatch
Second COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Donna Hatch
Publishing History:
First English Tea Rose Edition, The Wild Rose Press 2008 Print ISBN 1-60154-334-4
Third Edition, Mirror Lake Press 2013
ISBN-13: 978-1494243722
ISBN-10: 1494243725
Published in the United States of America
Cover Art by Lex Valentine
Typeset by Heather Justesen
Dedication
To Cindy Hatch, Liz Roehr, Julie Moody, and the rest of my family who have always been my best cheerleader. To Jennifer Griffith, for her gentle suggestions, Rhonda Woodward for her tough love critique that forced me deeper into research, Jennifer Ashley for her patience, encouragement, and help, and all my Desert Rose RWA friends who mentored me along. Also to Joyce DiPastena, Anna Arnett and all my sister writers at ANWA. A very special thank you to all the Beau Monde who continue to unselfishly impart all their knowledge of the magical and mysterious Regency Era. But most of all, to my husband, who is the inspiration for the best qualities of all my heroes, and who continues to prove that there really is a happily ever after.
Chapter 1
England, 1818
Alicia Palmer stepped down from the coach with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner about to meet the executioner. She glanced up at the starry summer sky, seeking courage. Liveried servants lined the front steps like guards to the gallows. All she needed was a crowd with an appetite for the macabre; a role, no doubt that the other guests could fill.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Elizabeth squeezed Alicia’s arm as they mounted the front steps of the Sinclairs’ country manor. Alicia’s younger friend retained her debutante excitement from her first Season in London, from which she’d just returned home, and she shone in anticipation.
Alicia managed a wobbly smile for her friend’s sake. “It will be good to dance again.”
“Of course it will, Alicia, dear.” Elizabeth’s mother, Mrs. Hancock, put a comforting arm around Alicia. “A young lady such as you should be enjoying herself, not sequestered away at home.” Mrs. Hancock’s perfume embraced her, a blend of roses and sweet spices. The familiar fragrance buoyed Alicia as much as the dear lady’s touch.
Light spilled out of the open doorway, guiding them inside the manor as footmen hurried to assist them. Alicia steeled her resolve and forced her feet to keep moving forward when she wanted to flee. She smoothed her gown with damp, trembling hands. Shedding her mourning attire for a ball gown had seemed irreverent, but Uncle Willard had insisted she attend the ball to seek a husband who might rescue them from debtor’s prison, a possibility which loomed closer each day.
Alicia’s footsteps faltered. “I haven’t set foot on a dance floor in over a year.”
Mrs. Hancock’s mouth curved into a motherly smile. “You always comport yourself beautifully, dear girl, and you dance like a fairy. You have nothing to fear.”
Despite the lady’s kind reassurance, Alicia’s apprehension grew at the thought of subjecting herself to the further inspection of men who only viewed her as a piece of overpriced jewelry.
Alicia paused in the great hall between her companions. Receiving the invitation from the Sinclairs had come as a surprise; her Uncle Willard and Cousin Robert’s behavior and financial misfortunes had become the subject of gossip all over the midlands. Such gossip should have excluded Alicia from the Sinclairs’ social event. She wondered why she’d been invited at all. Perhaps Catherine Sinclair planned to use Alicia’s misfortunes as a stone upon which to whet her wit.
While an attendant took their wraps, Alicia’s gaze traveled upward to crystal chandeliers. Flower garlands scented the room and adorned the wide marble hall where portraits of the current lord’s proud ancestors hung between the carved columns against tastefully papered walls.
A liveried footman led them into a nearby room where the ladies made final adjustments before entering the ballroom. Looking into a gilded mirror, Alicia smoothed her hair, wishing it were a prettier color. At least its length and thickness created a coil large enough to cover the back of her head, but next to Elizabeth’s china-doll beauty, Alicia felt dowdier than ever. Neither tiny nor voluptuous, with brown eyes, regular features, and light brown hair, she created the perfect wallflower. Only the kindness of gentlemen had spared her such a fate during her one Season in London.
The mirror heartlessly assured her that her looks had not miraculously improved. The only thing to recommend her was her ball gown, which was without compare. Uncle Willard had apparently bullied the modiste into exten
ding him the needed credit so Alicia could present herself well to any interested gentlemen in attendance. Her uncle would do anything to have her make an acceptable match—acceptable, meaning wealthy. He seemed to have few other requirements for a worthy husband.
“We must gain an introduction to Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s nephew, Lord Amesbury,” Mrs. Hancock said as she changed into her dancing slippers.
Feigning interest, Alicia looked up. “Lord Amesbury?”
Elizabeth nodded, her blond curls bobbing. “I hear he’s kept to himself since his arrival, but that he’s terribly handsome.”
Mrs. Hancock agreed. “Lord Amesbury is a viscount of no small means and the eldest son of the highly respected Earl of Tarrington. Lady Sinclair told me he is coming tonight, the first invitation he’s accepted since he arrived here.” She eyed them critically. “You both look lovely. Modest, neat, and becoming. Come, ladies.”
After donning her dancing slippers, Alicia squared her shoulders and left the safety of the room. They passed a grand, three-story staircase with intricately carved railings, and continued to the end of the great hall. Ahead stood a second stairway. Music and laughter floated through the ballroom doors as they ascended. Yet to Alicia, the joyous notes of the music rang like a death knell.
Forcing her hands to remain still, Alicia waited on the landing with head high until the major domo announced them. Then, with more grace and dignity than her quivering inside should have allowed, she glided down the stairs behind the Hancock ladies to the ballroom below.
Alicia thought it ostentatious of the Sinclairs to have their guests first climb and then descend a stairway to reach the ballroom, but a few of the grander homes had been constructed in such a manner. The gentry and nobility loved a grand entrance, and descending a stairway provided a perfect opportunity to parade one’s finery or beauty to the guests below.
The evening’s host and hostess stood below the staircase next to their daughter, Miss Catherine Sinclair.
Catherine spoke in her practiced, contralto voice her intonation schooled to weaken the knees of any male within earshot. “Mrs. Hancock, always a pleasure. Elizabeth, welcome. And Alicia, how well you look this evening.”
Alicia smiled woodenly. Catherine, of course, looked glorious. She’d been beautiful even as a child. Her meticulously arranged black hair shimmered in lustrous waves, and Catherine’s gown epitomized the latest fashion. Rubies and diamonds sparkled at her throat and ears, a mocking foil against Alicia’s obvious lack of adornment. The Palmer family jewels had been sold months ago to cover Uncle Willard’s most pressing debts. Alicia’s only remaining piece of jewelry was her gold locket.
Finding her voice, Alicia inclined her head. “Thank you, Catherine. What a beautiful gown.” She hoped she sounded more gracious than she felt.
“How kind of you to say.” Catherine affected modesty with believable skill.
Her parents, Lord and Lady Sinclair, smiled and greeted Alicia with perfect civility. Yet an instant before Lord Sinclair bowed over her hand, the unmistakable glint of ridicule shone in his eyes. Alicia glanced at Lady Sinclair and found the same mockery. Alicia faltered. Then she set her jaw.
She had lost nearly everything; her parents, her twin brother, her fortune, but she would not lose her dignity. Raising her head as if completely unaware of their scorn, she dredged up a smile she hoped would not appear sickly.
“I must apologize on behalf of my Uncle Willard and my Cousin Robert. They were unable to attend due to business.” Fortunately, her voice sounded steady.
Alicia entertained no delusions that her uncle’s business involved anything more noble than gambling or other unscrupulous transactions. Her cousin Robert, no doubt, either lay in a drunken stupor or in the bed of some nobleman’s wife. Though they had once been close, Armand’s death had affected Robert deeply. Alicia hardly knew him anymore.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Palmer,” Lady Sinclair said.
Alicia executed a curtsy that would have pleased Maman and swept into the ballroom with her head held high, leaving Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock to converse with the Sinclairs.
Murals rivaling the art of Michelangelo adorned the walls and the soaring ceiling. Teardrop-shaped crystals glittered from the chandeliers, showering a rainbow of colors over the room.
Alicia skirted the edge of the dance floor, looking for a place to sit. Behind her, the dowagers disparaged everyone’s gowns and behavior. They would probably criticize her the moment she moved out of earshot.
More guests arrived steadily until the room grew crowded. To her relief, she did not see any of the men Uncle Willard demanded she consider as a husband. Most of them were far too old to attend such a function, but no doubt some would arrive later that evening to further scrutinize her.
It would be futile to resist them all; one of them would inevitably be her husband. Few gentlemen desired a plain orphan with only a small plot of land for a dowry. Alicia’s only power in this predicament was to choose the man whom she thought she could bear to wed among the undesirable men interested enough to pay Uncle Willard’s debts for her hand.
Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock found her a moment later. “That must be him.” Excitement laced Mrs. Hancock’s normally composed voice. “The viscount, Cole Amesbury.”
Cole. What an unusual name. It invoked an image of dark elegance.
A silver-haired gentleman and a lady wearing a turban adorned with feathers descended the stairs. Although Alicia did not know them well, over the years she had grown fond of the gregarious Mr. Fitzpatrick and his wife, the outspoken, but kind, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
Behind the Fitzpatricks strode a man who captured her attention.
The immaculate and expertly tailored clothing he wore exuded wealth, tastefully elegant without appearing overly concerned with fashion. Lightly tanned from the sun, he made the other men in the room appear ailing. His commanding air promised he could be nothing less than a peer of the realm. The combination of rich dark hair, the strong planes of his patrician face, created an extraordinarily handsome image.
A calculating edge colored Catherine’s voice as she greeted the newcomers. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
“Thank you,” replied Mr. Fitzpatrick. “Please allow me to introduce you to my nephew, Lord Amesbury.”
In his black superfine, Lord Amesbury’s tall, broad-shouldered frame mocked the physiques of every other gentleman present. He inclined his head politely, but with an air of detachment that extended beyond the fashionable, urbane boredom so many pinks of the ton attempted to emulate.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Amesbury,” Catherine purred.
Before the viscount replied, another voice drew Alicia’s attention. “Miss Palmer, I was hoping you would be here.” That thin, nasally voice always set her teeth on edge.
In dismay, she turned from the paragon of masculinity to his perfect opposite. “Colonel Westin.” A flutter of nerves edged through her poise; at least one of her unwanted suitors had indeed come tonight. As usual, the colonel stood too close. Alicia took a step back and opened her fan in an attempt to form a protective barrier around herself.
“I enjoyed our visit last week, Miss Palmer. I look forward to another very soon.” Colonel Westin eyed Alicia much as a man might evaluate horseflesh at an auction.
She barely suppressed a shiver. The thought of spending another moment with the colonel, a sour, disagreeable man who bullied his servants left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Alicia’s gaze strayed back to the staircase. She started. Lord Amesbury stared directly at her. His masculine beauty was almost painful, like looking at a handful of diamonds in the bright sunlight. Even at this distance, the sharp brilliance of his blue eyes pierced her. As he moved through the crush, others gave away. His predatory grace mimicked that of a great cat, each movement deliberate, powerful, athletic, as if he held a vast reservoir of strength that lurked, coiled, ready to strike. Those piercing sapphire eyes remai
ned fixed upon her with unnerving intensity.
Colonel Westin’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t dance, but I hope you’ll honor me with a walk in the gardens later this evening.” His condescending tone suggested that she should be the one honored by his request, rather than he.
Viscount Amesbury drew her gaze again. He stood in a circle of guests while his aunt gestured, apparently making introductions. His mouth twitched as if to suppress a wry smile and a dark brow lifted slightly, suggesting that he found them mildly entertaining but secretly laughed at their society games.
“Miss Palmer, you are not attending me.” The colonel’s tone grew irritated.
And Uncle Willard certainly would not approve of Alicia irritating any of her suitors, regardless of her feelings for them. Her entire family counted on her to marry well—and soon, or they all faced debtor’s prison.
Oh, how had she become so trapped? The room became too warm, the crowd too close. She cast about for an avenue of escape and realized Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock were no longer with her.
Biting back an impolite response, Alicia offered what she hoped would be an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Colonel.” She nearly choked on the words. “I would be pleased to take a turn about the garden with you—appropriately chaperoned, of course. Would you excuse me, please? I believe Mrs. Hancock wants me.”
The colonel glared at her through his monocle.
Forcing herself not to bolt that instant, Alicia curtseyed and wound her way through the revelers in search of Mrs. Hancock and Elizabeth. She had to remind herself to breathe. Her parents had been in love; shouldn’t she be granted the same privilege?
But, no. One well-placed bullet ripped from her nearly everything she held dear. Only her sister Hannah remained of her once-happy family.
Since the day Uncle Willard inherited her family estate, he’d stumbled through one business loss after another, gambled away what he didn’t lose in unprofitable investments, and continued to spend as if he had the wealth of Midas until they were nearly destitute. And worse, she had to face it without her twin brother, her best friend, the other half of her soul.