Intertwine (House of Oak Book 1)

by Nichole Van

  They twirled, the air between them suddenly weighty.

  “You must promise me you will return,” she said, catching and holding his eye. “I could not bear it if you did not. Please. Promise.”

  The memory of her face in that moment would cling to him for years afterward—concern, worry . . . emotion . . . all for him.

  His heart hung in his throat, tangling his tongue. An odd mixture of intense elation and devastating sadness.

  She did care for him, he reminded himself.

  Just not in that way.

  He spun her again, memorizing the lilting stretch of her neck, the warmth of her back under his gloved hand, the rustle of her skirts brushing his legs. Her subtle scent—roses and silk.

  Memories that he stored for a long future bereft of her. A future filled with guns and cannon blasts and the moans of the dying. A future filled with relentless, mind-numbing boredom and brief moments of ghastly terror.

  “I promise,” he said, helpless to resist anything that she asked of him. “I will return.”

  To you, he added silently. I will return to you.

  Not that it mattered. Even if he did return whole and sound. Even if she did not marry in the interim. Even if his prospects improved enough for him to honorably offer for her.

  Even if . . . even if . . .

  Even if he were crowned king, could he ever be enough to capture her heart? Would she ever see him?

  The waltz came to a close and, reluctantly, Sebastian delivered Miss Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight back into the care of her brother, knowing the next time he saw her—if he saw her—she would most likely be the wife of some unworthy man.

  Sebastian didn’t know whom he would be. But he knew the man would be unworthy.

  Unworthy of her bright spirit. The sunlight of her soul.

  For months afterward, he could still hear Georgiana’s laughter across the room, could still see her backlit, the burning candles turning her golden hair into a crown.

  But Sebastian knew she didn’t need light behind her to be illuminated. It came from within. Radiant. Miss Georgiana Knight would take sunshine wherever she went. Bestowing her cheerful, unspoiled nature on any and every person who crossed her path.

  And Sebastian also knew, with despairing surety, that person would not be him.

  Jersey, Channel Islands

  Officer’s billet

  December 14, 1812

  Nearly five years later

  Captain Sebastian Carew sat alone in his room, staring at the two letters the post had just delivered.

  They could not have looked more different. One was a thin, tattered missive from his sister, most likely written with the lines crossed and then crossed again to conserve paper.

  By contrast, the other letter was thick, white and pristine, bearing the official mark of a prominent London solicitor.

  Winter winds battered the solitary window and whistled down the chimney, licking the small fire which burned in the grate. The room was spartan: a chair, a table and low bed in one corner. A rag rug on the floor.

  Such was a soldier’s life. At least he had a roof over his head, an improvement over a canvas tent.

  Below him, Sebastian could hear the low rumble of men’s voices and the clink of glasses filled with brandy as they wiled away long hours in the parlor of the gentlemen’s billet. He should join them.

  But he didn’t. Not yet.

  It was coming on Christmas and, yet again, Sebastian would spend it far from home. He wondered, as he always did this time of year, when he would see his friends and family again.

  If he would ever see her again.

  Over the years, Sebastian had kept himself apprised of Georgiana’s life through letters from his sisters. She had a brilliant first Season in London but did not accept any of the numerous offers of marriage she received. Nor did she her second or third Season. He was slopping through the mud of central Spain when he learned that her grandmother had died, leaving Lyndenbrooke to Georgiana.

  And still she didn’t marry. It felt like an ax waiting to fall, the end of any faint hope he still possessed.

  But, thus far, he had kept his promise to her.

  That crazy, impetuous promise.

  For himself, it was hard to care if he lived or died.

  What future awaited him? To hear news that she had married elsewhere? To scrimp and save and perhaps one day amass just enough money to sell his commission and support himself and a family, always teetering on the edge of poverty? Or perhaps even worse, marry and retain his commission, forcing his wife to follow the drum, moving with him from camp to camp?

  It was no life for a lady.

  Though he personally held his own life cheap, that one pledge had made all the difference.

  Every skirmish with swords glinting, every battle charge into blazing guns, her words echoed through him.

  Promise me you will return.

  He had to stay alive, if only to spare Miss Georgiana Knight a few tears weeping for his fallen body.

  It was truly pathetic when he thought too much about it.

  He was pathetic.

  But as long as she remained unmarried, he could hope. Could dream that impossible dream where somehow he became more than.

  More than a captain in King George’s army. More than a brother in her eyes.

  An utterly futile dream. He knew this.

  But Hope was a persistent beggar. Always hovering around the edges of his life, needing only the smallest glance of encouragement to start clamoring for a coin to purchase a place in his soul.

  He looked at his sister’s battered missive and declined to read it just yet. Any news about Georgiana was bound to be disheartening, and he wanted to put it off as long as possible.

  Instead, Sebastian carefully opened the solicitor’s letter.

  And gasped.

  Surely, this couldn’t be.

  Stared. Read it again.

  Felt a wide grin spread across his face, as the beggar Hope suddenly revealed herself to be an angel, granting him the deepest wish of his soul.

  Sun shattered the gloom of his wintery mind.

  He jumped up with a shout, bringing feet running.

  “Something amiss, Carew?” asked Captain John Phillips, popping his head into Sebastian’s room.

  A recent addition to the billet, Phillips had proved himself an immediate friend, good-humored and always up for a lark. When Sebastian didn’t immediately respond, Phillips walked fully into the room, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

  With another whoop, Sebastian threw back his head and laughed at the ceiling.

  And then read the letter one more time. Just to be sure. Somewhere, his mind noted that the paper he held shook violently.

  Phillips waiting patiently, a wry smile on his lips.

  “Well,” Sebastian began, his voice hoarse.

  He cleared his throat and started over. It didn’t help; his voice was still hoarse.

  “It would seem that I shall now be styled as The Right Honourable Earl of Stratton.”

  Phillips blinked and then gave a crack of laughter.

  “Good one, Carew.” He slapped Sebastian on the back. “You almost had me with that Banbury tale, but you shan’t turn me sweet. I still intend to win my ten quid back from you tonight.”

  Sebastian could only shake his head, still staring at the letter, the glorious reality of it all sinking in.

  “No, Phillips. ‘Tis most true. My cousin, Lord Harward, and his family were killed in a tragic carriage accident and, upon hearing the news, the old earl’s heart gave out. I had always thought a large family of cousins in Shropshire were next in line for the earldom, but there have been other deaths the last few years and, well . . . as it turns out, I am the next heir.”

  Phillips snatched the letter from Sebastian and quickly read it.

  “It says you need to report to London immediately and present yourself before the House of Lords, something about the will needs to be addressed,
but you have full possession of all properties, real and otherwise . . . It goes on and on.”

  Sebastian knew his face looked stunned silly. He could see the expression echoed on Phillips’.

  “Lord Stratton.” Phillips chuckled, and he made a deep, somewhat mocking, bow. “If your right honorable lordship will permit me some impertinence, I think this occasion calls for a celebration.”

  Laughing, Sebastian shook his head and allowed himself to be led downstairs, listened to the huzzahs and shouts of congratulations from his fellow officers. Grinning all the while, his joy and relief almost palpable.

  Fate had suddenly given him options. He was no longer penniless. He could provide for his parents and sisters. Ensure that his nieces and nephews had advantages he never did.

  He was an earl. A peer of the realm.

  His life suddenly held social status, security, purpose.

  Possibilities. Hope.

  Visions of Georgiana danced through his head.

  At last! He could finally do something. He could act, instead of just longingly wish.

  The joy of it fizzed through him. Champagne bubbles exploding in his chest.

  It wasn’t until he woke the next morning that Sebastian remembered the letter from his sister. Friends continued to move in and out of his room, congratulating him. The entire officer’s billet had been turned into an impromptu party, celebrating Sebastian’s good fortune.

  In between laughing jests from fellow officers, Sebastian gingerly opened his sister’s missive and decoded the words written across each other.

  One phrase haunted him for months to come.

  Oh, did you hear about poor Miss Knight? The one who was to inherit Lyndenbrooke? It seems she is now consumptive and has been sent off to some specialist doctor in Liverpool. No one expects her to survive the winter. ‘Tis such a shame. She was such a pretty, vibrant thing.

  Somehow no one in the crowded room heard his heart freeze and then crack, shattering into a thousand pieces. This seemed almost impossible, as the sound thundered in Sebastian’s own ears.

  Later, Sebastian would ponder the cruelty of the moment.

  Fate handing him the means to finally reclaim his heart and then cruelly crushing all hope in the same day.

  The irony of Georgiana dying when Sebastian had survived so much.

  He tried to imagine her as a consumptive: emaciated, pale, racked with cough. Dying.

  But all he could see in his mind’s eye was a girl, twirling, lost in a flame of golden sun, holding his heart in her brilliant light.

  About the Author

  Nichole Van is an artist who feels life is too short to only have one obsession. In former lives, she has been a contemporary dancer, pianist, art historian, choreographer, culinary artist and English professor. Though Nichole still prefers the label ‘adaptable’ more than ‘ADD.’

  Most notably, however, Nichole is an acclaimed photographer, winning over thirty international accolades for her work, including Portrait of the Year from WPPI in 2007. (Think Oscars for wedding and portrait photographers.) Her unique photography style has been featured in many magazines, including Rangefinder and Professional Photographer. She is also the creative mind behind the popular websites Flourish Emporium and {life as art} Workshops, which provide resources for photographers.

  All that said, Nichole has always been a writer at heart. With an MA in English, she taught technical writing at Brigham Young University for ten years and has written more technical manuals than she can quickly count. She decided in late 2013 to start writing fiction and has loved exploring a new creative process.

  Nichole currently lives in Utah with her husband and three crazy children. Though continuing in her career as a photographer, Nichole is also now writing historical romance on the side. She is known as NicholeVan all over the web: Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, etc. Visit http://www.NicholeVan.com to sign up for her author newsletter and be notified of new book releases. You can see her work at http://photography.nicholeV.com and http://www.nicholeV.com

  If you enjoyed this book, please leave a short review on Amazon.com. Wonderful reviews are the elixir of life for authors. Even better than dark chocolate!

  Copyright

  Intertwine © 2014 by Nichole Van Valkenburgh

  Cover design © Nichole Van Valkenburgh

  Interior design © Nichole Van Valkenburgh

  Published by Fiorenza Publishing

  Kindle Digital Edition 1.0

  Intertwine is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9916391-0-6

  Summary: Time is not a river. It is an ocean where past and future are eternally present. In 2012, Emme Wilde can’t find the right guy. Instead, Emme obsesses over the portrait of an unknown man in an old locket. Dead men may be great listeners, but they are not exactly boyfriend material. Emme travels to England, determined to uncover his history and conquer the strong connection she feels. In 1812, James Knight has given up finding the right woman. All he wants is someone to share his love of adventure. Then he finds a beautiful mystery woman, dripping wet and half-dead, beneath a tree on his estate. Now if he can uncover her history, perhaps adventure—and romance—will find him at last.