Table of Contents
Excerpt
Be sure to read Cynthia Moore’s companion story
Gift of Love
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
A word from the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Adrian looked back at her
in mock consternation. “I can see I will need to refresh your memories of what transpired during our ride tomorrow, Becky.”
Rebecca’s smiling visage became serious when he used his pet name for her from their youth. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that.”
“Since I was the only person who gave you that nickname, certainly it was I who last said it. You must have done something very outrageous to deserve the designation,” he teased her as he started to walk toward the front door. “I will meet you at the churchyard about eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“You always did treat me like a sister.”
Adrian stopped and turned back to her with an arrested expression. He looked intently at Rebecca before saying, “Conclusions are sometimes reached without the use of common sense.”
With that cryptic comment, he turned to collect his cloak, hat, and gloves from Cord. He strode out of the door without a backward glance leaving Rebecca standing alone in the hallway attempting to comprehend Adrian’s parting words.
Be sure to read Cynthia Moore’s companion story
BETTER THAN A PRESENT,
also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Gift of Love
by
Cynthia Moore
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Gift of Love
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Cynthia Moore
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Tea Rose Edition, 2017
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1707-6
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
This story is dedicated to my daughter, Emily,
with love.
Prologue
December 20, 1815, Chesham County, England
Lady Rebecca Hastings, the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Winton, of Amersham, England pulled her black riding habit more closely around herself as the chill evening air crept inside the garment. She shivered and stared down at the gravestone thrusting up from the barren ground in front of her.
James Thompson Earl of Archly Chesham, England
A Brave Peer and Captain Who Met His Untimely Death With Great Valor at the Battle of Waterloo
May He Rest In Peace
April 10, 1783—June 18, 1815
This was to have been her wedding day. She and James would have been together as man and wife at last. Rebecca hastily pulled off one of her riding gloves, reached inside a small pocket sewn in the side of her skirt, and pulled out a heart-shaped, white enameled locket framed in seed pearls. She studied the rough likeness of James on the front of the token for a few moments and then turned it over to examine the lock of hair covered in crystal on the reverse side. James had presented it to her just days before he’d left Chesham to join Wellington and his fellow officers in Brussels in late May.
A horse whinnied, and she looked up to see Jacob, her groom, walking her mare and his horse briskly back and forth in an effort to keep them warm in the frigid December air.
Rebecca turned back to the locket that lay like a talisman across her palm. Carefully placing the keepsake on the frosty ground at her feet, she reached into her pocket once more for the small piece of mistletoe she had brought to adorn her sweetheart’s grave.
With the sprig of greenery in her hand, she kneeled down in front of the gravestone.
“I love you, James. I miss you so much,” Rebecca whispered softly as she bent over to place the piece of mistletoe on the grave.
A bead of moisture fell from her eye and moved down across her cheek. She came to her feet once more and hastily reached up to brush the tear away.
“Rebecca, I have come to speak with you.”
She held herself absolutely still as the voice pierced her consciousness. It could not be! It could not be James’ voice. It was very similar, but it sounded somewhat muffled, as if the person was speaking from a great distance away.
As she stood there listening for the voice once again, her gaze fell upon the locket on the ground at her feet. What she observed caused her eyes to widen in astonishment. The token was glowing brightly, almost as if it were on fire. Rebecca moved forward to touch it, but she abruptly halted as a sudden burst of icy, cold air caressed the side of her face.
“It is I, James. Do not be afraid, my dear. Please let me speak with you.”
Rebecca stared at the gravestone once more and spoke haltingly, “James, James? Is it…truly you? How is this…possible?”
“The locket represents me in life. When you placed it upon my grave, it allowed my spirit, which is not at peace, to make itself known to you once more.”
Rebecca covered her mouth with her hand and then looked hastily over her shoulder at Jacob who was still walking the horses on the other side of the gate to the cemetery.
“He cannot hear me, Rebecca. Only you are aware of my unearthly presence.”
She slowly lowered her hand to her side as she continued to stare at the gleaming jewelry. “Wh-what, what do want to say to me, James?”
The locket shimmered even brighter for a moment and then Rebecca heard the hushed voice of the spirit once again. “I wish to remind you of your promise to me before I left you, my dear.”
She attempted to calm her racing pulse and will her scattered thoughts to a semblance of order. She quickly gave up the struggle. Circumstances at this moment did not lend themselves to orderly reasoning. “Wh-what promise do you refer t-to James?”
“We spoke of my wish that you would not unduly mourn for me if I were killed in battle. You promised me you would not waste your life lamenting my loss. Yet, here it is over six months since my death and you still grieve. You sew samplers and embroider chair covers with only your companion or mother as company during the day. You don’t attend any public activities, and you rarely shop for new garments. In fact, you scarcely leave the shelter of your parents’ home.”
Rebecca momentarily forgot her unease at conversing with a spirit as annoyance at James’ unjust impressions caused her to answer him back with indignation. “Surely you realize that my promise was made to you with no real intention of ever being required to fulfill it? Although sweethearts, mothers and wives are well aware of the dangers of war, we must strive to keep thoughts of the possible deaths of our loved ones pushed back to the very farthest recesses of our minds in the interest of our own sanity.”
“I understand that, my dear. But I did die. It is time for you to move on. Do not waste your life wishing for something that can never be. I must leave you soon, Rebecca.” The spirit’s voice s
uddenly became much softer. “Please visit me again tomorrow. And bring the locket with you.”
Rebecca became conscious of the cold air briefly touching the side of her cheek once more, a hissing noise, and a slight movement from the locket as it lay on the hard ground. The piece of jewelry suddenly lost its glistening aura and became merely a token of remembrance again.
She swiftly reached for it and turned it over. Other than fleeting warmth on the surface, nothing had changed. Quickly dropping the token into her pocket, Rebecca moved to join her groom and then mount her horse for a swift canter home.
Chapter One
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Rebecca abruptly turned. “Adrian, you’re home!” she cried out as she flung herself into the outstretched arms of her childhood friend, Adrian Russell, Marquess of Burton. He was the older son of the Duke and Duchess of Haverston and grew up on the neighboring estate of Haverston Hall.
She eagerly studied her handsome friend. His thick, dark brown, slightly wavy hair was brushed back from his broad forehead. Deep blue eyes were framed by full, black lashes. A straight, aristocratic nose and full, firm lips completed his handsome visage. Rebecca noted with some concern that his skin color was slightly paler than normal, and his coat of dark blue superfine hung loosely across his chest underneath his cloak as if he had lost weight. She concluded that the rigors of war had greatly affected Adrian. No doubt he would brush any concerns that she might express over his health aside, opting instead to reassure her of his well-being once he had properly rested and filled his stomach with regular meals of hearty English fare.
Adrian had left his estate Burton Hall in Berkhamsted and joined James on his journey to Brussels in May. He’d been at James’ side when a French soldier had fired his musket into James’ heart during the Battle of Waterloo. Adrian had promptly draped James’ lifeless body across the front of his own saddle and ridden through the climax of the battle, emerging unscathed. He’d delivered his grievous burden to the officers’ residence in town. There he secured a lined box for the corpse and received permission to escort James’ body back to England. Rebecca had not seen Adrian since the funeral because he had immediately returned to Brussels and rejoined his regiment.
Rebecca loosened her arms from around Adrian’s neck. He stood very still looking down at her with a concerned expression. It was then she remembered his initial comment. “I have just returned from James’ gravesite,” she admitted, pensively. “Perhaps it was ill advised, but this was to have been our wedding day.”
“I would never presume to tell you that a visit to James’ grave was ill advised, Rebecca,” Adrian answered somberly. “I know you both agreed to put off your wedding for a time when James was called to duty. A day as special as this was to be will certainly bring you cherished memories of your time together. I can readily understand your need to visit the churchyard.”
“Thank you, Adrian. I’ve missed your counsel since you went away.” She placed one gloved hand on his forearm. “Come, let’s go inside. It is quite chilly standing out here on the steps. Please join us for tea.”
Adrian grinned down at her. “Are you certain that I’m welcome? Your mother doesn’t expect me.”
Rebecca tugged on his cloak and drew him toward the entry for an answer. “My mother would never forgive me if I let you return home without allowing her to speak with you.”
An elderly butler stood somewhat stiffly at the top of the marble steps. This upstanding, dignified servant had been with the family for over forty years. His portly and ever cheerful wife had been their housekeeper for almost thirty years. He held the heavy oak door wide open to welcome them inside.
“Thank you so much, Cord,” Rebecca called out to him as they reached the top step. “You remember Adrian Russell, the Marquess of Burton?”
The butler bowed and reached for Adrian’s cloak, hat, and gloves. “Good afternoon, my lord. Of course I remember Lord Burton, my lady.”
“Many a time we tried his patience didn’t we, Lady Rebecca?” Adrian questioned after he had warmly greeted the longtime fixture of the household. “I remember we were seldom where we were supposed to be.”
“Yes, but we didn’t mean to cause him problems. I believe it was simply a matter of impatience on our part. We never seemed to stay in one place for very long.”
Adrian looked at Cord who stood silently at their side. “I don’t think he would agree with your assessment,” he answered with a quizzical lift of one of his brows.
At that moment, a door off the main hallway opened. “Do I hear voices? My goodness, is that you, Adrian?” exclaimed Rebecca’s mother, Lady Winton. She was still a very handsome woman, tall and slender. Her thick auburn hair only contained a few gray strands. She wore a simple, light green morning gown with a wool shawl draped across her shoulders for added warmth.
Lady Winton rushed out of the sitting room and clasped Adrian’s outstretched hands. “My dear boy, it is wonderful that you have returned home safely. When did you arrive? How long will you stay? Oh, how I run on! Rebecca, please go and change out of your riding habit. Miss Frost and I will entertain our guest until you join us for tea. Come with me, Lord Burton.”
Rebecca exchanged a bemused grin with Adrian as her mother propelled him toward the door to the sitting room. She turned to hurry up the staircase. Once inside her room, she rushed over to the wall to grab the bell pull and ring for her maid, Lily.
“I am here, my lady,” Lily called out moments later as she opened the chamber door.
Rebecca was attempting to unfasten the remaining buttons on her jacket. She tossed the garment onto the back of a chair and then strode across the room to her dressing table. Carefully reaching inside the pocket on her skirt, she withdrew James’ locket and wrapped it in a handkerchief. She lifted the lid of her jewelry box and placed the memento inside, closing the lid securely. She twisted around to face her maid. “I need to change for tea. Quickly now, Lord Burton has returned and is even now conversing with my mother and Miss Frost in the sitting room.”
Lily paused in front of the wardrobe to turn with a look of surprise. “Lord Burton is here, my lady?”
“Yes, he is. I’ve only had a moment to converse with him. I know nothing whatsoever of his reasons for returning or of his plans for the future.”
With raised eyebrows, Lily turned back to study her mistress’s various garments. “Will the violet day dress be appropriate, my lady?”
“Yes, that is perfect.” Rebecca dropped her gloves onto the bed, and her maid helped her change her clothes.
A short time later, Rebecca emerged from her bedchamber gracefully attired in the violet gown with a Norwich shawl wrapped across her shoulders to ward off any chill in the drafty rooms. Her long, auburn hair had been vigorously brushed until the red highlights shone brightly like hot coals in a fire. The tresses were caught up with a tortoiseshell comb in a loose bun at the crown of her head. Wispy tendrils escaped from the fastening to curl softly across the back of her neck. Her green eyes glowed reflecting her excitement.
She nodded her thanks as Cord arrived outside the sitting room just before her. He opened the door and announced Rebecca before bowing and allowing her to pass.
“Ah, you look much more suitable, my dear. I always liked that gown. Violet normally would not suit your hair color, but the fabric is a shade that complements and does not detract. Come sit beside Miss Frost.” Lady Winton indicated the empty spot next to Rebecca’s companion on the settee.
Miss Frost looked up from the embroidery she had been diligently working on and pushed her spectacles farther up the bridge of her nose. The lady’s thin frame was covered by two shawls, and a heavy blanket rested across her lap. “Good evening, my lady. Your cheeks look slightly flushed. I trust that your ride to the churchyard did not cause you to catch a chill?” Miss Frost’s slight build made her imagine herself to be quite frail, and she frequently worried about the state of other people’s health.
<
br /> “I’m fine. Perhaps my skin is slightly reddened as a result of the elation I’m feeling to have Lord Burton back in our country seat once again.”
Adrian, who had come to his feet as she’d entered the room, sat down once more on the chair to her left. “Thank you very much for your gracious words, Rebecca. Your gown is lovely. I was just telling your mother that I have sold my commission. I’m going to reside at Haverston Hall for the foreseeable future.”
Rebecca turned to him with a look of surprise. “Thank you so much for the compliment. But I don’t understand why you would not wish to return to your own estate.”
Adrian took a deep breath before he answered her statement. “I received a letter from my mother over a month ago. She expressed concern over the state of my father’s health. Initially it was nothing very serious. But now, he’s had several bouts of memory loss in the last year. Most recently his steward reported to my mother that my father had failed to keep several previously set engagements with other business partners and friends. He also forgot to show up for an appointment with his tailor in London last month.”
“My goodness, your mother certainly had reason to be worried. She was right to contact you,” exclaimed Lady Winton.
“Now that I’ve been home several days, I’m glad that she voiced her concerns to me. Although my father seems relatively unchanged as he performs his normal daily tasks, anything unusual or out of the way is simply forgotten.”
“Does your father appear distracted in any way?” Rebecca asked anxiously.
“Nothing out of the ordinary for a peer who owns a large estate and has many responsibilities,” Adrian assured her. “My mother and I have consulted with his doctor and thankfully he said that blood-letting would produce no benefits. He believes the memory loss is simply a foreshadowing of old age. As you are probably aware, my father is twenty years older than my mother.”
He paused and stared into the fire before continuing, “With Napoleon safely installed on St. Helena, my usefulness as an officer in the British Life Guards is currently at a minimum. When I received the news of my father’s affliction, it seemed best to sell out at this time and assist with the management of Haverston Hall.”
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