Table of Contents
THE LADY’S DESIRE
Acknowledgments
Part I
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
Part II
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Part III
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Part IV
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
THE LADY’S DESIRE
An Abbey Mead Novel
AUDREY ABBOTT
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
THE LADY’S DESIRE
Copyright©2018
AUDREY ABBOTT
Cover Design by Fiona Jayde
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-721-3
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is dedicated
First, to my parents, Lillian and Bud, who filled my childhood with love and books.
Second, to my husband, Tony. You are my rock.
Third, to our daughters, Andrea and Amanda, who inspire me every day.
Fourth, to my amazing local literary support team and cheering squad: Claire, Judy, Kathy, and Kathy. I love you guys!
Acknowledgments
As an only child, I owe everything to my loving parents who provided me with a secure childhood and lots and lots of books! Many thanks also to my family and friends who encouraged me to pursue my dream of becoming a published author.
And a huge shout out to my local team of Literary Cheerleaders (Claire, Judy, Kathy B. and Kathy H.) for their unfailing support and for hosting the best celebration party ever ~ complete with our favorite local pizza and champagne!
Also special thanks to NEORWA for selecting my entry as a Finalist in their 2017 Cleveland Rocks Contest. And to Debby Gilbert and Soul Mate Publishing who plucked this book out of obscurity and turned it into a series.
And thank you to the readers. I hope you will cheer for William and Anne and eagerly anticipate and then devour the rest of their trilogy.
Women will love her, that she is a woman
More worth than any man;
Men, that she is the rarest of all women.
William Shakespeare
A Winter’s Tale (V.i.110–12)
Part I
Chapter 1
April 1812
The Village of Abbey Mead
Surrey, England
Anne Tuttle paced. With trembling hands, she slipped the Viscount Westmeare’s letter from the pocket of her faded apron and scanned the tight scrawl. She knew every word by heart.
His lordship desired to meet with her upon his return to Abbey Mead. The letter did not say when he would appear at her doorstep. Nor what he wanted. But Anne knew.
She crumbled the letter, her heart pounding, as tides of fear and resentment surged through her. It was so unjust. Yet, she must admit, he had the right.
For weeks she told herself not to worry. But each night she strode from doorway to fireplace to the window of her father’s library, its shelves now bereft of books. Many already sold. Other precious volumes, stacked on the floor, awaited new homes.
Anne clutched her mother’s gold necklace and filigree cross and prayed for an answer to this dilemma as the clock in the hallway struck the quarter hour. Each chime marched her toward that inexorable moment when life as she knew it would end.
Every morning, she paced the stone pathways of her mother’s garden where yellow daffodils nodded in the breeze and sweet woodruff carpeted the shady corners of the flowerbeds. The richly scented lilacs, her mother’s favorite, reminded her of what she had lost. Of what she will lose.
Now with the viscount’s letter crushed in her hand, Anne gazed down the high street past the venerable stone church toward the village, shielding her eyes as she did so. The bright morning sun shimmered on the narrow stream that meandered through the center of the town. An ancient bridge arched over the channel where ducks and geese forded and dragonflies skimmed on hot summer days.
She pictured herself and her four siblings splashing in the cool water. The cries of happy children echoed through her memories. Abbey Mead. Where they shared an idyllic childhood.
Nurtured by a loving mother. Cherished by a devoted father. Where he had served as the Vicar for over twenty years. Now both parents were gone. Interred together in the church graveyard.
And at any moment, the local lord could arrive at their door and expel her family from the vicarage at Abbey Mead. The aged timber-framed cottage was their home. The only home Anne and her siblings had ever known.
Many nights, Anne lay awake as she wondered why the Viscount Westmeare delayed in evicting them. After the death of her father, his lordship should have secured a new vicar for the village. Why did he postpone the inevitable? And when would he return?
Anne dreaded that arrival. What will he say to her? How much time will he allow them before they must leave? And where could they go?
On a soft May evening, the answers to Anne’s questions arrived with a forceful and incessant hammering at the vicarage door.
Chapter 2
May 1812
Abbey Mead
Surrey, England
Gathered around the table, the Tuttle family jumped. All eyes pivoted toward the hallway. The timid maid scurried from the kitchen to answer the strident knock. Anne’s brother, Randall, rose and regarded her with a look of apprehension.
Home from Cambridge, Randall intended to confer with his sensible twin sister about his future. They both knew there was not enough money to continue his education. Books and board were expensive.
Anne and Randall both feared for his prospects. They were relying on his future income to keep the family solvent.
Tonight they tried to put aside their concerns and Randall seemed content to simply enjoy his family. The sharp rapping at the door shattered that contentment.
Shock registered on the faces of the older siblings and fear on the younger when Albert Grenville, Lord Westmeare, strode into the room. Dressed in a finely cut charcoal-gray waistcoat with a black frock coat and breeches, the viscount’s angular form darkened the doorway between dining room and hallway.
A small facial tic creased his left cheek. He did not wait to be announced. His lordship’s gaze raked over the individuals seated at the table. His small dark eyes found and settled on Anne.
Clutching the edge of the table, she rose to greet their guest and managed a proper curtsy. Swallowing hard, she addressed their guest. “Welcome, my Lord Westmeare. Would you care for some refreshment?”
Without removing his hat or gloves, he ignored Anne’s offer, and turning to Randall demanded in a metallic voice, “Tuttle, I see you have returned. Join me in the library to discuss a matter of some urgency. Now!”
Randall glanced at Anne, arched his eyebrows with a questioning look, and excused himself. The two men exited the room. After a few minutes, Anne crossed the hall and drew as close to the library door as possible. But all she heard were strident tones uttered in a clipped cadence followed by the deeper sounds of her brother’s concise responses.
Returning to the dining room, Anne reached her chair, but she could not sit. Her mind chased the same questions. What could Lord Westmeare want? Had he come to evict the family? He did have the right. What will I do if he throws us all out tonight? But surely he would grant us enough time to locate another residence. But where could we go?
As these questions swirled through her mind, Anne paced around the table. She paused to reach for the carafe of port and poured herself a small glass of the dark crimson wine. One question loomed larger than all the rest.
Where could we go?
There was no suitable abode available and affordable. There was no one to offer shelter and comfort. There was no family to provide assistance. Their father had no close living relatives. And their mother’s younger sister, Martha, lived in Germany with her husband and two children. Anne had already written to her Aunt Martha to plead for help.
But letters took weeks to travel and there was no guarantee that her aunt could or would provide assistance. Anne had not seen Aunt Martha in years. Anne was at a loss as to what could be done. What would become of her? And of her family?
Her eyes swept around the table at her family and guests. Her dear siblings were a study in contrasts. Her brother, Richard, like Randall, resembled their father with their brown wavy hair and trim vigor. Her sisters, Penelope and Edwina, each with blond, curling hair, bore a close resemblance to their mother. Anne passed a hand through her own chestnut locks and frowned.
Fourteen-year-old Richard studied his soup, but stole occasional earnest glances toward the hallway. Young Edwina, just twelve, returned her sister’s grave gaze with large blue eyes, bright with unshed tears. She twisted a strand of her fair curls around her finger. Then she, too, looked toward the passageway.
“Anne,” Penelope whispered, “please do sit down. You will wear a hole in the carpet. It is already threadbare.”
Penelope’s husband, David Ayres, sitting beside his pretty new wife, took hold of her hand. He looked up at Anne. “Yes, sister, we should finish our food before it gets cold. Randall will tell us what we need to know when he returns.”
Penelope and David, childhood sweethearts, wed four months earlier and Penelope was now with child. David desired to serve in the Army, but could not afford to purchase a commission. As he did not yet have an adequate income to support a family, Anne encouraged them to live at the vicarage, even allowing them the use of her parents’ former bedchamber.
She herself slept in the tiny adjacent room that she once shared with Penelope as children. At night Anne could not help but hear the sweet sounds of their coupling. She was content for Penelope’s happiness, but their midnight whisperings only served to emphasize the loneliness of her own bed and the sad reality that there was no truly desirable match for her.
Anne expelled a long, deep breath, took a seat, and looked across the table at their dinner guests, Lloyd and Lydia Satterfield, the twins whose father owned a successful fishmonger’s shop in London. The Satterfields and the elder Tuttle children had enjoyed a shared childhood in the small Surrey village of Abbey Mead.
Possessing a beefy chin and pale blue eyes, Lloyd made no secret that he was also interested in possessing the hand of the deceased Vicar’s eldest daughter. But Anne remained constant in her efforts to put off his suit. Although perhaps marriage to Lloyd might solve this current financial dilemma, she did not love him. But of even greater consequence, Lloyd’s own father adamantly disapproved of the match. Mr. Satterfield was not callous, but he made it known that he was not interested in supporting the deceased vicar’s brood.
So what was she to do? Anne shook her head as she looked with fondness and a degree of frustration at Lloyd. She did not wish to hurt his feelings. He was a dear friend, but she simply did not love him.
Her own parents had embraced a most loving marriage. Anne prayed for such a union for herself, to find a man who would be her champion and her companion for life. She believed that a wife should love and respect her husband.
But a certain turn of events would soon challenge that belief and force Anne to accept an alternative and less agreeable fate.
Chapter 3
As the voices in the library grew louder, the heads of the adults pivoted back to the hallway. Both Richard and Edwina turned to Anne with solemn and anxious eyes. At one point, Edwina’s small lower lip began to quiver.
“Hush, now, sweetheart,” Anne said as she smoothed her sister’s pale unruly curls. “There is nothing to fear.” But she doubted if her words were of any comfort as she did not believe them herself.
She did fear. For her family. For herself. The uncertainty was almost too much to bear.
Lloyd rose and offered to intervene in the dialogue taking place in the vicarage library. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance with whatever issue the Viscount is discussing with my dear friend, Randall.”
“Yes, Lloyd has many connections among the aristocracy and knows how to relate well to them. They often come into our shop in Billingsgate, you know,” Lydia said while her restless hands fluttered in the air. “You do know that many of the finest tables in London serve our salmon and trout!”
“Yes, Lydia. We do know that.” Penelope nodded as she glanced sideways at Anne with arched eyebrows.
“Lloyd. That is mos
t kind of you. But perhaps we best wait until they return.” Anne offered Lydia a half smile and Lloyd another helping of rice pudding. Lloyd resumed his seat at the table and redirected his attention to the plate, but his gaze slid often toward Anne.
The loud ticking of the mantle clock measured the passing seconds. The library door opened sharply. Lord Westmeare appeared in the hallway where he paused to peer into the dining room. He was thin and middling in stature, but his arrogant gaze raked the individuals seated at the table. His eyes found and held Anne’s for a brief moment. With a curt nod, he turned and sailed out the front entrance, leaving the door ajar.
Randall closed the door before joining his family and guests around the table. He attempted to continue with his meal, but finding it already cold upon the plate, he perched on the edge of the chair and stared at his hands clenched in his lap.
Everyone sat motionless, all eyes drawn to Randall. Finally, Anne rose and broke the uncomfortable silence. “Randall?” He looked up and shrugged.
“Randall, what did his lordship say? When must we leave? How much time do we have before we are evicted?”
Wearing a sheepish grin, Randall gazed at her. “Anne, it seems that Lord Westmeare has made an offer to allow our family to remain in the vicarage for as long as we need it.”
“You mean he is not going to expel us?” Anne stared at Randall in disbelief. Could this be true? Could all those weeks of anxiety and despair have been for naught?
Randall continued. “His lordship has also offered to assist me to return to Cambridge if I choose, and to secure an Army commission for our dear sister’s husband, David.”
David sat up and wrapped his arm around his wife, smiling and embracing her. “I say, Randall. That is indeed splendid of his lordship! But did he say why?”
Anne spoke in an urgent whisper. “Yes, Randall, and did he also say how he knew so much about our family’s troubles? And why is he helping us? I do not understand.”
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