Book Read Free

British Brides Collection

Page 7

by Hake, Kelly Eileen


  “Do you think it wise? We cannot marry for six months.” Although she longed to kiss him again, the very intensity of her desire made her hesitate.

  “Unless I carry you off to Newgate.” The teasing note in his voice no longer annoyed her. He persisted, “Helen, I love you enough to honor you and keep you pure until you are mine in the eyes of God.”

  She touched his forehead with trembling fingers and traced his dark eyebrows. “Where will we live, Oliver? Here with Cyril?”

  His eyes caught the moonlight. “For a time. I often think of sailing to the New World. Would you be willing to embark on such an adventure?” He pushed his head against her fingers like a dog begging to be petted.

  “With you, I would go anywhere. But what about the children?” Helen caressed his wavy hair.

  “I hope to have several if you are strong enough to bear them.”

  She felt her face grow warm. “I meant Cyril’s children. I shall miss them.”

  Oliver paused. “God will provide for them.”

  “I like Lillian. I pray she will be a good stepmother.”

  He sighed and clambered to his feet. “As do I. We must accept the fact that Sarah’s children are Cyril’s to raise, not ours.”

  A voice called from across the grounds. “Oliver, are you out here? Come straightaway!”

  Hands cupped around his mouth, Oliver shouted back. “Over here.”

  Helen heard running footsteps in the grass. Quincy panted as he spoke. “It’s the colt—Braveheart. He’s missing. Gone from his stall, and a saddle missing too!”

  Chapter 8

  Mincing on tender feet, Helen rushed to the house. Cyril leaped up at sight of her face. “What is it? The children?”

  She shook her head, still panting. “Your horse—Braveheart. He is missing from the stable. Oliver sent me to tell you.”

  Cyril’s face hardened. “Begone, woman, and tend to the children.” Helen heard him conversing with Lillian as she returned to her room. A few minutes later, the front door slammed.

  Helen sat limply on the cold bed, exhausted. Her fire burned low, and her candles had nearly guttered. She picked up a candle and entered the nursery. Avril slept with her mouth ajar and arms flung wide. Patsy resembled a lump of blankets. Helen patted the child and frowned. She pulled back the quilt to find … a lump of blankets. The little girl was gone.

  Panicked, Helen checked Franklin’s bed to find a similar bundle of bed linens. A moment later she had hauled on her shoes and started downstairs, flinging a shawl over her shoulders as she ran. Lillian and Middy were no longer in the great hall, and the fire burned low.

  The front door opened and a figure stepped inside.

  “Oliver?”

  He pushed the door shut with one foot, and Helen realized that he carried Patsy’s limp figure. She pressed a hand to her heart. “No!”

  “Never fear; she sleeps. I found her in an empty stall.”

  Helen’s legs gave way. She dropped upon a nearby bench. “I was coming to tell you—Franklin is also missing.”

  Cyril entered behind Oliver, carrying a lamp. Its rays lighted Oliver’s drawn face and Cyril’s marble countenance.

  Helen hurriedly explained. “Cousin, I believe Franklin took the horse. Patsy must have followed him to the stable. He has often threatened to run away, but I never dreamed he would do it. But then, after today, I should have watched him more closely.”

  “What happened today? Lillian’s arrival?”

  Helen related Franklin’s earlier behavior and punishment. “Although in the past Franklin has harried governesses and threatened to run away, I have reason to believe that this latest prank denotes desperation of soul.”

  “How so? The child lacks for nothing,” Cyril protested.

  Seeing cracks in his façade, Helen answered bluntly. “He believes you do not love him, Cyril, and his heart is breaking.”

  Her cousin looked to Oliver, who nodded silent agreement. Cyril drew a shaky breath. “I must find my son,” he said and rushed back outside.

  “Take her,” Oliver ordered, dumping Patsy into Helen’s arms. “Fear not; I will ride with him. Pray, my dearest.”

  Helen met Lillian in the upper hallway. Burnished auburn locks streamed over the woman’s lace dressing gown. Her voice held concern. “What has happened?”

  “Franklin has taken the horse and run away. Oliver found Patsy in the stable.”

  Lillian opened the nursery door for Helen and helped her tuck the child into bed. Holding her candle aloft, she studied the little girl’s face. “She is adorable.”

  Helen smiled. “She will love you.”

  Lillian returned the smile. “I pray so. I have long desired children but can bear none of my own. God has blessed me beyond measure. I will remain here and wait for Franklin’s return.”

  Rejoicing even as she prayed for Franklin, Helen returned to her room, leaving Lillian with her new family.

  Helen lay upon her bed for hours, fully clothed and listening. Occasionally she dozed; frequently she prayed. Memories of Franklin flashed into her thoughts. How that boy loved horses! Why had she never approached Cyril about obtaining him a horse?

  Helen awoke to gray darkness. Bumps, footsteps, and hushed voices from the nursery sent her rushing to the door before she had completely regained consciousness. She flung the door wide and stood blinking. Oliver laid Franklin upon his bed and pulled blankets over the boy.

  By the dim morning light Helen saw Cyril bend to kiss Avril’s cheek and smooth wispy hair from her forehead. Beside him stood Lillian, a shining angel in white lace.

  Oliver left Franklin sleeping and approached Helen. “You are still awake?” he whispered.

  “I was asleep. He is well?” She indicated Franklin.

  Oliver grinned; Helen could see his teeth gleaming in the gray shadow of his face. “He is well. Your prayers are answered, Helen. Come, let us find a quiet place to converse and leave Cyril and Lillian with their children.” Taking Helen by the hand, he led her into the hall and down the stairs. Unmindful of her bare feet and frazzled hair, she followed.

  Oliver revived the fire in the wide stone fireplace, just as he had done the night of Helen’s arrival. Watching him as he squatted on the hearth and blew upon the coals, she suddenly felt joy sweep over her. “I love you, Oliver.”

  He stopped blowing and chuckled. “Fine time to tell me so. Wait a moment until I can join you.”

  She made room for him on the bench and snuggled beneath his arm. “First tell me what happened.”

  Oliver picked up her hand and gently kissed its scraped palm. “We found Franklin and Braveheart together about four miles the other side of town. They were both unhurt. Apparently Franklin dismounted, then could not remount the horse without a mounting block. Braveheart is not yet fully trained, you know, and he would not long endure a young boy’s futile attempts to regain his seat.”

  “And Cyril?”

  “We talked tonight, during both the ride out and the ride home.” Oliver sounded pensive. “It had been long since we conversed. I believe the threat of losing another child has shocked him into understanding how precious are his daughters and son. Cyril pledged tonight to be a better father—to love them openly and give them time and attention.”

  “It is truly the answer to my prayers.” Helen sighed in delight. “Lillian loves the children already.”

  “Furthermore, your cousin gives our union his blessing and will have the first banns read this very morning in church. He has promised Braveheart and several of my mares as your dowry. We can establish a horse farm in Virginia as I have often dreamed.”

  “God is good to us.” Helen laid her head upon Oliver’s chest. “I will miss the children. I do love them, Oliver.”

  “Your love for them and your courage were the first traits I admired in you.”

  Her head popped up. “My courage?” She laughed. “What courage? Oliver, if you only knew …”

  “I knew how terrified y
ou were that first night, left alone on the fens with a rotted corpse. One glimpse of your sweet little face, and I wanted to scoop you up and assure you that nothing would ever frighten you again—yet at the time such behavior from me would have frightened you more than anything!”

  When Helen smiled, Oliver gently touched the dimple in her cheek. “I know how difficult it must have been to leave the only home you had ever known and travel across the country to care for a strange relative’s children. I saw the abject terror in your eyes when Diocletian rushed you that first night. I can only imagine your reaction to finding dead toads and snakes in your bed—”

  “Among other things,” she murmured.

  “Then there was the oak tree, and the ghost … You have encountered terrors sufficient to slay many valiant souls, yet you persevered. And I? Far from protecting you forever, I abandoned you when you needed me most.”

  Helen reached up to stroke his cheek. “Yet you overcame your pride, darling. We all struggle with sin. Sometimes the Lord prevails; sometimes our old nature prevails for a time. Do not condemn yourself—I think you are wonderful.”

  “Ah, Helen, your courage rises to every occasion, and you never give up. Not one woman in a thousand can boast such tenacity and valor.”

  “It was the Lord, not I,” she admitted.

  “I know.” Oliver lowered his face until their lips softly met.

  A DUPLICITOUS FACADE

  by Tamela Hancock Murray

  Dedication

  To my talented coauthors, friends, and sisters in Christ: Pamela, Jill, and Bonnie.

  An hypocrite with his mouth destroyeth his neighbour: but through knowledge shall the just be delivered.

  PROVERBS 11:9

  Chapter 1

  England, 1812

  Melodia Stuart stood before her father in his study. She tried not to shiver. Winter’s chill hung in the room despite flames burning in the gray stone fireplace. Shivering would indicate weakness, which Father despised. Since he considered the space a man’s domain, Sir Cuthbert Stuart seldom summoned her there. Her requested presence bespoke the profound importance of his news.

  He studied her, no doubt regarding her slim frame that he had often told her needed to be fleshier to attract a suitor. Yet tonight, he smiled.

  “I have news for you, Melodia. Good news.” He drummed his fingertips on the armrests of his mahogany chair, in which he had positioned himself in a grand posture more befitting the prince regent than a landed gentleman.

  “I am sure if you believe the news to be welcome, I shall share your sentiment.”

  “Of course you shall.” He looked at her with eyes as blue as her own. “I have triumphed, finally. I have made arrangements for you to become betrothed.”

  “Betrothed?” She took a moment to let the horrific word and its implications sink into her mind. She clutched her hands together in a feeble effort to brace herself before she spoke. “But, Father, I had no idea you were thinking of promising me to anyone.”

  “Neither did I. While I was visiting London, the occasion presented itself as a surprise even to me,” he admitted. “But since the match is such a good opportunity, I could not let it pass.”

  Visions of their acquaintances paraded through her head. None of them appealed to her. “Who … who is the man?”

  “Sir Rolf Tims.”

  “Sir Rolf Tims?” Melodia searched her memory. “I seem to remember that name, but no face comes to mind.”

  “Ah.” A moment of quiet penetrated the brisk air before he continued. “Yes. It was not you but Felice who met him during her stay in Normandy last fall.”

  “Oh.” Melodia recalled how a fever had kept her from vacationing abroad with her sister and father the previous year. “Now that you bring him to mind, I believe Felice mentioned Sir Rolf.” A sly idea crossed her mind. “Since she has made his acquaintance, why not betroth her to him instead of me?”

  “I have someone else in mind for Felice. Someone more suited to her temperament. A man who is strong enough to rein in her impetuous will.”

  Melodia remained silent. Despite his admiration for her intellect, Father had always considered her gentle spirit a sign of weakness. If he sought a hard man to control her younger sister, then perhaps his misperception would be to her benefit. She took in a breath and tried not to flinch as she presented another argument.

  “I know many fathers match their daughters with men they have never met, but I never thought you would actually do such a terrible thing.” Melodia tried not to whine. If she hoped he would grant her a hearing, she had to force herself to take on the calm demeanor of a woman and not display wild emotions of a spoiled little girl. He would indulge Felice in such antics, but not Melodia. “You just cannot!”

  His stare caught her attention. “I can, and I will.” As he tensed his jaws, graying mutton chops on both cheeks inched forward. “You must understand that my actions are to everyone’s benefit.”

  Since Father prided himself on his logical ability, she sought an appeal to reason. “But surely you would not expect a rational person to agree to a match with an unseen husband.”

  “Sir Rolf is a reasonable man, yet he has agreed to marry you without a meeting. You should count yourself lucky, at that.” Father surveyed her. “Had he seen your stringy hair that cannot hold a ringlet, your lips that are far too red for a lady, and your large feet, he might not have given his assent. I am only thankful I had the foresight to procure a flattering portrait of you from an artist I paid well. And that Sir Rolf did tell me he prefers a woman with dark hair and fair skin—qualities you possess.”

  Though his description rang true, Melodia’s reflection showed that the features God formed to compose her face worked to her advantage. Rather than a bland beauty, her countenance held the benefit of expressiveness. “But how will my betrothed and I converse? We may not have the slightest thing in common.”

  “Oh yes, I am glad you bring me to the subject. It is more than evident that Providence granted you a strong mind, but not every man is as appreciative of your intellect as I, your lenient father.”

  “I would hope any man to whom you would betroth me would be as understanding as you.”

  “A likely fantasy,” he responded. “You are far too high-minded for your own good. If he is a typical man of this age, your husband will not be seeking to engage in intelligent conversation with you when he surely can take advantage of conversing with men. Instead of holding such ideas, you will act as a proper lady—speaking when spoken to, being seen, not heard, and exercising the utmost obedience to your husband.”

  She flinched.

  “I implore you not to resist.” He wagged a cross finger. “You know full well that our family name is our first and foremost interest, and your marriage will strengthen our ties to important concerns here and abroad. Through this connection with the Tims family, your offspring will be heirs to one of the most powerful family lines in the empire. You should be grateful for the favor that Providence has bestowed upon you.”

  “You speak of Providence. Certainly you know I had contemplated giving my life to the Lord rather than becoming a wife and mother.”

  “I am aware of your childish fantasies, but the time to abandon those has come. If you would read your Bible with more care, you will learn that you can serve the Lord as a wife and mother. Case in point, a young virgin girl named Mary.” He tilted his head at her as he made his point.

  “I will gladly serve the Lord as a wife and mother, if that is His plan for me.”

  “Since you and Felice are the only daughters I have to offer, I believe this is indeed His plan for you. And since you are the elder of the two sisters, Sir Rolf has agreed to wed you. You should be thanking God instead of bemoaning your fate.”

  “I would not be, as you say, ‘bemoaning my fate’ if you were not marrying me off to the highest bidder.”

  “Enough!”

  “I am sorry, Father. I should not have spoken so boldly.” Melodi
a stared at the edge of his desk rather than letting her gaze touch upon his face.

  “Please do not debate me. I only have your best interests—and those of the Stuart name—at heart.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  If only her mother were still alive! Perhaps she could have spoken to Father and asked that he not subject Melodia to such an arrangement. She often wondered what her mother had been like. A slip of a woman, like a songbird, she had been told. No wonder Melodia’s lanky frame and large feet—despite the fact that both traits had been inherited from Father’s side of the family—did not please him. She knew another reason why he found her appearance lacking. Convinced his wife contracted a chill from little Melodia soon after the birth of Felice, he blamed Melodia for such an untimely death.

  “Of course you will obey me,” Father said, interrupting her musings. “The wedding is set for the first day of February.”

  “But that’s in less than a week!”

  “Precisely. I suggest you begin preparations today.”

  The moment after Father excused her, Melodia rushed up the front stairs to Felice’s bedchamber in the south wing and knocked on the door.

  “Come in, Mandy.”

  Melodia entered to find Felice’s maid brushing her hair in front of the vanity mirror. The silver handle of the boar bristle brush glistened underneath the candlelight.

  “It is not Mandy. It is I,” Melodia said.

  “Well, I do wonder where Mandy is with my warm milk. She does dawdle. But welcome, sister.” Despite the fact that the maid continued to brush Felice’s hair, she twisted her waist to face Melodia. “Why are you visiting my bedchamber at this late hour?”

  “Father has told me the most dreadful news.”

  Felice set her brush on the table. “What is it?”

  “He … he has betrothed me to a man I have never met.”

  Felice didn’t seem as surprised as Melodia thought she would be.

  Melodia rushed to her sister’s side. As the maid stepped back, Melodia took Felice by her woolen-clad shoulders. “Felice, did you know about this? Why did you not tell me?”

 

‹ Prev