by Lorri Dudley
The rumbling of her coach grew louder.
“Yes,” she whispered, then her voice grew stronger. “Yes, I will marry you.”
His lips parted as he curled his fingers into her upper back and pulled her into his embrace. “Come here, princess.”
“Unhand the lady, you scoundrel.” A footman leapt from the back of the carriage and raised his fists to defend Georgia’s honor.
Georgia’s head whipped around. “Mr. Bixby.”
“I saw you runnin’ from ‘im with me own eyes.”
Harrison dragged his gaze away from Georgia. The sooner he ridded them of this distraction the better. He glanced at the man who’d misunderstood Georgia’s plight.
He froze.
The footman’s eyes widened, then darted back and forth in nervous jerks between Georgia and Harrison. He licked his lips, and Harrison’s gaze focused on the scar zigzagging along his upper lip.
This was the face that had haunted his dreams for six years.
Cold fury flowed through his body as he pushed Georgia behind him and whipped his rifle off his shoulder. He cocked the weapon and peered down the barrel at the man’s head. There was only one shell left, but he’d make it count.
“No!” Georgia screamed. Before he realized what she was doing, she’d positioned herself between the end of the weapon and the footman.
“Get out of the way, Georgia.” He stepped to the side so Georgia would be out of the line of fire, but she moved with him. “This man murdered Laura.”
“It was a mistake.” The man’s lower jaw began to tremble as if the temperature had dropped to freezing. “God, forgive me. I never meant to kill no one. The gun went off after I lost me grip. It was me one and only robbery. I had five starving mouths to feed. There isn’t a day that goes by that my sins don’t haunt me. Please, don’t shoot. Think of me wife and children.”
Harrison stepped to the left for better aim, but so did Georgia.
“Harrison, please, put the gun down. He has a son Max’s age. You wouldn’t want the boy to live without a father. Who would provide for them?”
“He took Max’s mother away from him.”
“Killing him won’t bring her back.”
“Please, sir.” Tears slid down the man’s cheeks, and he sank to his knees.
Harrison stepped aside and jabbed the barrel of the gun into the man’s shoulder. “She was pregnant with our second child. She hugged her stomach as her last breath left her body.” He jabbed the end again into his shoulder. This time harder. The man cringed.
“Papa? Miss Georgia?” Max’s voice called behind them.
“Stay back, Max.” He shot a quick glance over his shoulder.
Harrison’s mother took the boy by the hand and held him at bay. He could hear other voices, guests at this party, as people filtered out the front door. He ignored them all.
“Please, Harrison, don’t shoot him in front of your son.” Georgia’s hand gripped the gun’s shaft. “I know how badly you hurt, but have mercy. People can change. You told me yourself sometimes little decisions have unintended consequences. Laura’s death was a tragic, tragic accident.”
She pushed down on the barrel. The gun lowered, but Harrison didn’t release his hold. “You showed me forgiveness and taught me I was a new person through Christ.” She pushed the end toward the ground. “I’m asking you to extend a bit of that same grace to him. Mr. Bixby claims he didn’t mean to shoot her. Please.”
Harrison didn’t move. Couldn’t. This man had killed Laura, and Georgia wanted him to extend grace?
Tears filled her eyes. “If you believe that this man can’t be forgiven for his sins, and that he doesn’t deserve to be redeemed, then it means you don’t truly believe I can be redeemed either. I know our crimes are different, but sin is sin.” She implored him with her eyes. “You told me God removes our iniquities as far as the east is from the west. If you truly believe that—”
Harrison’s resolve slowly crumbled as the fury seeped from his body.
“—then show him the same mercy you showed me.” Georgia presented him a weak smile.
He peered down into the frightened face of the man who’d murdered his beloved Laura. In that moment, God opened his eyes. He saw a man with a family, a man who’d sinned and begged for God’s forgiveness, a man whom God had formed inside his mother’s womb, a man whom Jesus loved enough to die for. The gun lowered to Harrison’s side.
“Thank you.” Georgia wrapped her arms around him, and she held him for a long moment. His heart still raced in his chest, but he clung to her, soaking in the sweet scent that was only Georgia’s. Doing his best to settle himself.
“Because of you, I’ve come to know God’s love first hand.” She rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek.
She pulled back as the coachman and his groomsmen escorted the badly shaken footman toward the stables.
“Miss Georgia.”
Harrison turned toward his son as Georgia opened her arms to Max. The boy ran into her embrace.
“I missed you.” Her voice caught, and she kissed Max on top of the head.
He beamed at her. “Does that mean you get to be my new mama?”
She glanced at Harrison. Did she wonder if he would take back his proposal? Or maybe she only questioned when they would tell his son.
He looped an arm around her slender waist and nodded with a smile.
“I knew it.” Max danced around them.
After Mr. Bixby was loaded into the carriage and driven away, Harrison focused all his attention back on Georgia.
She bit her bottom lip as she peered up at him, and he could read all the questions in her eyes. He had a lot of explaining to do, but for right now, his only thought was to show her the extent of his longing and punish her with a kiss for staying away for so long.
His mother cleared her throat, but he didn’t take his eyes off Georgia. Forget propriety. He didn’t care a whit who looked on. This was his house, and he was going to kiss the woman he loved in full view. If they didn’t like it, they could leave.
He pulled Georgia into a tight embrace, and his mouth devoured hers in the kiss he’d been dreaming of for weeks. It drew gasps from the gathered crowd and an “Ew, yuck!” from Max.
They smiled against each other’s lips and drew back slightly. Harrison couldn’t pull his gaze away from the swirling depths of her eyes and the love that shone in them. He knew it reflected the love in his own.
Her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head. “The mysterious Duke of Linton?”
“I can explain—”
“Do you know how many inquiries I sent searching for Harrison Wells, estate manager? I dragged my sister over half of England looking for you, but no one had heard of anyone by that name.”
“The islanders had a difficult time pronouncing the D in Weld, and I gave up correcting them.”
“What should I call you, Your Grace?”
His voice softened as a fresh wave of tenderness washed through him. “Love. I want you to call me, my love.”
Her eyes sparkled with the same joy that radiated in his heart, and the temptation was too great. He swooped in for another kiss, but when their mouths met, Georgia pulled back and licked her lips. Her brow furrowed as she examined his wet attire. “My love, why do you taste like lemons?”
“No more questions.” He claimed her mouth once more.
Two weeks later, with the procurement of a special license, Lord Robert Harrison Weld, the honorable Duke of Linton, listened with unimaginable joy as Miss Georgia Evelyn Lennox said “I do” at the little schoolhouse up the road from Ainsley Park in Ashford. Hundreds of people gathered in the yard and up the lane for a peek at the happily married couple.
At the reception afterward in Ainsley Park, Harrison broke off a conversation with Lord Liverpool to find his wife. He scanned the room full of happy guests chatting about the beautiful bride, but he didn’t see a trace of her. He tapped his mother’s shoulder.
“Pardon me, Mother, but have you perhaps seen where my new wife has run off to?”
“Maxwell led her outside to show her something.” She patted his arm. “I told them not to be long. There are guests to entertain.”
Harrison would throw the entire lot out on their ears for a few minutes alone with his bride.
He declined a glass of champagne as he strolled out the door to the patio. He scanned the garden. Still no sight of them, but Harrison had a feeling.
He sauntered up to the pond and leaned against a tree, not only to watch, but to support his legs, which grew weak at the sight before him.
Georgia sat perched on a fallen log over the water. Her wedding dress was hitched up, exposing her delicate feet and slender ankles. Max sat beside her and leaned his little head against her arm.
They both held fishing poles.
Harrison’s face wasn’t broad enough to contain the smile overflowing in his chest.
There were times when life chose for him. There were times when he weighed his options and made the best decision possible. But then there were times, when something he would have never chosen, blessed him in a way he would have never expected. Praise be to God.
* * *
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”
Romans 8:28 (KJV)
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Sneak Peek: The Merchant’s Yield
Here’s a sneak peek at the next book in The Leeward Islands Series!
* * *
The Merchant’s Yield
* * *
It was a marriage of inconvenience, but life has a wicked sense of humor.
* * *
Charlotte Amelia Etheridge has cowered to her mother’s sharp tongue and endless demands for the last time. In a fleeting moment of rebellion, she recklessly asks a foreigner from the Leeward Islands for a dance. But her one courageous act lands her in a compromising position. Forced to wed a stranger, Lottie leaves the only home she’s ever known to reside on the isle of St. Kitts.
* * *
Nathaniel Winthrop’s troubles are mounting, and the rumors of him being cursed are spreading. Due to the dwindling sugar crop, he risks everything to start his own shipping company. The last thing he needs is a wife, especially one with a weak constitution. Yellow fever has already claimed the lives of his mother and siblings. He must guard his heart against falling in love with this gentle beauty, knowing island life will be a death sentence.
* * *
No longer under her mother’s scrutiny, the newfound freedom of the island rejuvenates Lottie’s spirit. If her days on this earth are limited, then it’s time she lives life to the full. Now it’s up to her to prove that even though Nathan was coerced into marrying her, she’s the one he can’t live without.
Chapter One
London, England, May 1814
“Of course, the islander would come.”
Charlotte Amelia Etheridge stiffened at Mama’s acidic tone. She followed her mother’s gaze to the entrance of the Middleton’s modest ballroom where guests arrived in hordes of navy and formal black jackets bobbing amid a sea of colorful gowns. They filled the ballroom with boisterous chatter and a bouquet of expensive perfumes and colognes.
Mama flicked her fan in sharp increments. “Even dressed in English finery, he appears barbaric and uncivilized.”
Lottie focused on the landing where Nathanial Robert Winthrop bowed to Lord Gibbons and his wife. His large frame and broad shoulders dwarfed Lord Gibbons’s, making the average-height man appear slight in stature. Winthrop’s hand tossed back the coattail of his fitted charcoal jacket and tucked into his right pant pocket. He exuded a relaxed, casual self-assurance that uniquely contrasted with the pretentious lords and ladies of the Quality surrounding him. Their grandiose displays sought approval, a favor they would be hard-pressed to receive from her mother, for Lady Etheredge’s acerbic tongue could elevate or cut down a person with a single remark.
Winthrop nodded at something Gibbons said, and his teeth gleamed the same bright white as his cravat and shirt front.
Mama nodded in the direction of the gentlemen. “I will make certain Lord Gibbons reserves a dance for you. His mother owes me a favor.”
A favor. The jab struck its soft target, but Lottie had numbed to most of her mother’s verbal attacks.
“There she is now.” Mama stepped away to speak with Lady Gibbons.
Lottie plucked at the sides of her skirt and searched for Priscilla, her closest friend. The large mirrors reflected shimmering light from the overhead multi-tiered chandeliers and exposed her abandoned position. A retreat to the retiring rooms to freshen up might be in order.
Captain Anthony Middleton eyed her.
Lottie paused mid-step.
He weaved through the cluster of people to her side.
This was it. Her pulse leapt. How long had she fancied Pricilla’s handsome elder brother and dreamed of this moment?
“If it isn’t Little Lottie Ethridge.” The deep rich tone of Anthony’s voice sent a wave of tingles up her arm.
Lottie fought to subdue a grin she knew would cross the lines of decorum.
The boyishness in his face had disappeared, and he exuded virile sophistication in his navy captain’s jacket and highly polished boots. “It has been an age.”
She longed to say something witty like how she practiced in front of the mirror while he’d been at sea, but all that came to mind was, “Indeed.”
“Green is a lovely color for your complexion.” His gaze swept over her like a soft caress. “It also happens to be my favorite color.”
Of which she was keenly aware. That, and the fact he despised snakes, took four lumps of sugar in his tea, and sang a little off key. Such knowledge was boon of being close friends with his sister.
“Would you like to—” He glanced away and shifted his feet. “Would you care to—”
“Captain Middleton” Mama drew alongside the two of them. “Your mother is looking for you. I believe she said it was urgent.”
Anthony craned his neck toward the entrance. “Perhaps another time.” He stole one last glance at Lottie, bowed, and excused himself.
A whimper sounded deep in Lottie’s throat as she watched him go. The opportunity had been within her grasp.
“You don’t want to dance with the likes of Middleton.” Mama frowned at his retreating form.
She gaped at her mother. “Whyever not?”
“He lacks a spine.”
“For mercy’s sake.” Lottie gritted her teeth. “He commands a ship.”
“I’m saving you from future heartbreak.” Tiny lines framed Mama’s pursed lips. “I have it on the best authority that Middleton dips too deep. I will not abide having a spineless, drunken wastrel as a son-in-law.”
“You find fault in everyone.” Lottie’s fingers curled into tight balls. “Besides, it was only a dance.” One she’d hoped turned into courting, and soon after, marriage, but Mama didn’t need to know that at the moment.
“You shouldn’t be overexerting yourself.” Mama fluttered her fan. “The last thing you need is to have another spell.”
She hadn’t had a fever in over four years. What would it take to prove she was well enough to be like everyone else? If only she could have been able to make her own choice about the dance with Anthony. But once again, her mother had chosen for her. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose to curtail the roiling boil churning inside her.
“You’ll find Lord Gibbons has exquisite dance form.”
She didn’t want to dance with someone instructed to indulge her. She wanted to dance wi
th Anthony.
Mama glanced at Lottie’s coiffure and sighed. “I wish you had used powder.”
Lottie resisted the urge to put a hand to her hair. “Mama, no one has powdered their hair in a decade.”
Her mother’s mouth pursed into a thin line. “I’m well aware of the fashion trends, but the powder tones down your color, making your hair a much-preferred strawberry blonde. I daresay blonde is more fashionable than this”—she circled a finger in the direction of Lottie’s head—“vibrant red.”
Lottie waited for Mama’s next line. She could repeat it verbatim.
“Red hair is for opera singers and ballet dancers. Proof of the tainting of our pure bloodline.”
Lottie’s periphery darkened as the rush of blood filled her ears, blocking out the lively background conversations. She fought to regain a measure of control. Her red hair was a constant reminder she was a disappointment. Not only was she born a girl and not a male heir, but her hair was red. Not a dark Auburn or strawberry blonde, but carrot red. Her mother blamed her father often with a mouthful of venom about the Etheridge line being tainted. Of course, Mama implied that had she known the family’s indiscretions, she never would have infected her pure blood with his. It was rumored Lottie’s great-grandmother on her father’s side had indulged in a fling with an Irishman. In mother’s opinion, Lottie’s red hair was proof that her grandfather was baseborn.
An ember of hope ignited. If her ancestors had risked for love, then maybe—
just maybe—she might have some of their blood running through her veins.
“He thinks he’s one of us.” Mama crossed her arm and raised a haughty brow. “As if he can buy his way into the quality.”