Lady Hetitia was dressed in a white gown that washed out her complexion. Green ribbon trimmed the dress. Matching adornment wove through her saffron locks. She was a younger version of her mother from the set of her chin, to her eyes and crooked teeth.
Marcus and his friends stood as a footman helped the women to their seats.
“My apologies, Lady Widmore. I had been assured you and your daughter were weary from this evening’s trials and planned to dine in your rooms.” Marcus resumed his seat and picked up his spoon to eat his soup as a footman arranged place settings and assisted the women with their chairs.
“We decided it would be rude of us to hide away in our rooms and leave you bereft of female company.” Lady Widmore tittered.
An uncomfortable silence fell on the room.
“We were on our way to London for the season.” Lady Heticia volunteered.
“Was this to be your first season, Lady Heticia?” Theo asked, with an indulgent nod.
“Yes, my lord. I’m looking forward to the balls and recitals and seeing the sights of London.” Miss Widmore’s speech was rapid.
Lady Widmore placed a hand on her daughter’s arm to stop her chatter. “We were unable to bring her out when she came of age but hope to make it up to her now.”
“It’s tragic that your trip has been interrupted by this unfortunate accident and Miss Storm’s injury.” Lord Westcombe spoke.
“Surely that needn’t cause delay?” Lady Heticia glanced from the gentlemen to her mother, eyes wide and mouth agape.
“Hetty, dear, it may not delay us for long, but we cannot travel until our coach is repaired and Miss Storm is restored to health.” Lady Widmore’s nose rose even as she glared at her daughter.
Marcus exchanged glances with his friends. “I gladly offer you one of my own carriages to convey you to town, Lady Widmore.”
“How generous of you, but Miss Storm would be without a chaperone in a houseful of bachelors. We cannot allow any scandal, which could taint my dear Hetty’s chances to make a match in London.”
“You are correct. We must protect Lady Heticia’s reputation. You are welcome to stay here.” Marcus leaned back in his seat and sipped his wine while the footman cleared his bowl to bring in the next course.
“That would be wonderful. Wouldn’t it, Mother?” Hetty bounced in her seat.
“Calm yourself, my dear. Our first responsibility is to your dear cousin.” There was a lack of sincerity in her tone. She turned her gaze to Marcus. “Has the doctor tended to her yet?”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “She remains unconscious. He was unable to ascertain the full extent of her injuries but is certain she has a concussion. I have a servant sitting with her.”
“You have been most gracious in attending to our needs, Lord Remington.” Lady Widmore applied herself to the roast rabbit and seasoned vegetables placed before her.
The rest of the meal passed as Sir Tidley entertained the women with tales of mishaps that occurred at previous seasons’ balls. After the servants removed the final course, the ladies excused themselves to go to their rooms while the men remained to enjoy their port.
Marcus leaned back, let his head fall against the tall chair, and closed his eyes. “I thought that would never end,” he groaned.
The other men chuckled.
“Happy birthday, Remy!” Theo cried out and raised his glass. “May you make it through another year escaping the parson’s mousetrap.”
Marcus frowned, tilted his head, and glanced at Michael.
“What? Did I say something wrong?” Theo set his glass down. A furrow appeared between his brows.
Phillip sipped his wine and tapped at the side of the glass as he placed it back on the table. “I suspect perhaps our esteemed friend here is thinking of wrapping the noose around his own neck this year.”
Marcus sighed. “I dislike coming back to Rose Hill alone.”
“Alone? What are we, tripe?” Michael asked.
Theo laughed. “I don’t think having any one of us greeting him at the door with a kiss would be quite his idea of a homecoming. Am I right?”
Marcus lowered his eyes as his thumb caressed the stem of his goblet.
“You’ve never been in the petticoat line, Remy. I have never even known you to be sweet on a girl, not even at university when the rest of us ran wild. Not even when we hit the town, thinking we were the answer to the world’s problems. You always held yourself aloof from our mischief. You danced with the ladies and gave honor to the wallflowers, but never once did you single out any woman for your attentions.” Phillip sipped his port.
“You’ve become adept at avoiding the snares set for you because you are careful and perfected your reputation. You are a paragon in everything you do. Certainly finding a bride will not be difficult.” Michael wiggled his eyebrows.
“If I miss my guess, Lady Heticia would be more than happy to save you the trouble of another season.” Theo teased.
“Thank you, but no. Lady Heticia is not to my liking.” Marcus sipped his wine.
“You will need to be doubly on your guard. I suspect hunting season has opened on the Rose Hill estate, and gentlemen, we are the prey.” Phillip frowned.
Theo sighed. “I despise being hunted.”
Marcus parted with his friends for the evening and started down the hallway to his suite of rooms. As he reached the door, his hand rested on the knob and his head leaned against the wood. He shook his head and turned to walk to the south wing. Marcus knocked on the bedroom door. The maid he had met earlier opened the door a crack. “Molly, is it?”
“Yes, m’lord.” She dipped a curtsey.
“How fares your mistress?”
“She continues to rest.” Worry etched her young face.
“May I enter?” He pleaded.
Molly’s eyes grew large. “T’would not be proper, m’lord.”
He sighed. “I only want to visit her. I’m not about to ravish an unconscious woman in my home. You may act as a chaperone.”
Molly crinkled her nose as she considered him. She nodded and allowed him entrance. Molly closed the door and escorted him into the adjoining bedroom.
Marcus entered the room decorated with yellow rose bedecked wallpaper and a bedspread of similar flowers and white lace. As he drew near the bed, his eyes were riveted to the young woman under the blankets. Her brown hair spread out on the pillow, and his cravat had been replaced with a smaller bandage. Bruising was visible on her pale face. He swallowed hard. She was so still. So pretty, even with the new bandage on her head. Marcus located a nearby chair.
He pulled it to the bed, sat, and bent his upper body forward. With his elbows on his knees and with folded hands, he silently prayed.
Lord, I’m not sure why You brought this woman to my home. It grieves me to see her so injured and unresponsive. Please place Your healing hand on her.
He glanced again at Miss Storm, the bed, and the window. It grew late. He grimaced and rose, releasing a long sigh. Fatigue overwhelmed him. He thought he had been tired before the adventure of this evening. He was even more so now.
Molly accompanied him from the room.
Marcus nodded his head. “Thank you, Molly.”
The door shut firmly behind him.
Later as he stretched out in bed, Marcus could not shake the image of the girl from his thoughts. What did she look like when she really smiled? He remembered the weak one she gave him when her eyes had opened while in his arms. He wondered how her laughter sounded. Would he ever get the opportunity to find out? He fell asleep with these petitions on his heart.
He tossed and turned through the night and rose as the sun began its ascent. The storm had passed, and the day promised drier weather. In spite of this being a holiday for him, he had tasks around the estate to accomplish. First was to make sure the carriage on the road was moved for repair. Marcus holed up in his study after a solitary breakfast, when a knock disturbed his work on the papers before him
.
“Come in,” he called out.
The door opened, and in stepped his head groom, Stickney. The older man had thinning hair.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord, but I wanted to report to you regardin’ the broken carriage.”
“Did you manage to get it into Didcot to the wheelwright?”
Stickney nodded.
“Good.” Marcus returned his gaze to his paper. The groom cleared his throat, drawing Marcus’s attention once again to his servant. “What is it, Stickney?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon. ’Tis about the carriage.” Stickney twisted his hat in his hands but fearlessly returned his master’s gaze.
“Yes?”
“The broken axles. They didn’t break on their own. They ’ad been sawed partially through.”
“Are you saying…?”
“That twern’t no accident, Lord Remington. Someone ’ntended for them wheels to break.”
Marcus placed his pen back in its stand. “The carriage was sabotaged? At possible risk to the lives of those aboard, not to mention the possibility of injury to the horses?”
Stickney nodded. “The geldings ’ill recover.”
“Good. Thank you for informing me. I shall look into this.” With a nod to his servant, Marcus picked up his pen and dipped it again in the inkwell.
Stickney put his cap on and turned to leave, quietly shutting the door behind him.
Marcus started to write but returned the pen to its stand and leaned back in his chair. Why would someone deliberately seek to injure the occupants of that carriage? And who? Marcus massaged his right temple and shook his head before closing his eyes. This was not turning out to be a relaxing visit home.
He picked up his pen and wrote three letters. Two left within the hour, and the other only awaited an address. With a deep sigh, he rose to seek out Lady Widmore. He tracked her down in the sunny South parlor. “Lady Widmore, I was searching for you.”
“Yes, my lord? I am penning a missive to my husband about our accident.”
“As you undoubtedly should. I wrote a letter to post to Mr. Storm but do not have his address.”
“I will take care of it for you.” She took the envelope from his hand, inscribed an address, and handed it back to him.
Marcus glanced at the address. Strange. Miss Storm’s address was Northampton, when the Widmore carriage traveled from the west. “I’ll take this to Fenton to send out immediately. You can give him your correspondence when you are done, and he will post it for you.”
“You are most kind, my lord.” Lady Widmore bent her head to her letter, cutting off any further communication.
Marcus frowned. Every interaction with this woman challenged even his most basic training in manners. A shiver traversed his spine as he sought out his butler.
~*~
Widmore Estate
The corpulent lord grinned as he stroked his substantial stomach. When he became a widower, he could go to London and find another wealthy wife. If his peons failed, at least he could stop his whiny bride from spending money and bringing the attention of the debtors to focus on him. The Black Diamond had offered him a mint for his daughter. He’d balked at that. But if things became desperate…
He grinned. Maybe a well-written letter to his father-in-law would loosen purse strings without him having to sacrifice his only child? Even so, in the end, it still came down to a need for an heir, and his wife had not cooperated with his efforts. He’d be glad to eliminate either one or both of them.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It would be impossible to thank everyone who has helped me on my journey, so I apologize in advance for those I will miss. It doesn’t mean you are any less valuable and thankfully God keeps better track of those things than I do and His “well done, good and faithful servant” has more merit than any thanks written here.
So here it goes. Special thanks to:
Elisabeth Herman – you amaze me. Thanks for all the ways you’ve invested in me.
Doris Pollard Wichern – one of my most faithful cheerleaders in this writing adventure.
Lisa Lickel – thanks for being such a wonderful mentor, friend and shoulder to cry on when the publishing process throws me curveballs. I don’t think I would have ever taken that first step in this journey to publication without your gentle push.
Heidi Burns – For our “chai and chats” that help me navigate this crazy life and for just being my friend.
Pastors David Mundt and Ken Nabi – for your encouragement, support, and believing in me and the calling God has on my life.
Sally Shupe – my faithful editor. Thank you for finding all those silly errors!
Nicola Martinez – for being a phenomenal boss and editor and most of all, a friend. I’m appreciative of your support and believing in me as an author and an editor.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan M. Baganz chases after three Hobbits and is a native of Wisconsin. She is an Editor with Prism Book Group, a division of Pelican Book Group, and specializes in bringing great romance novels and novellas to publication. Susan writes adventurous historical and contemporary romances with a biblical world-view.
Susan speaks, teaches, and encourages others to follow God in being all He has created them to be. With her seminary degree in counseling psychology, a background in the field of mental health, and years serving in church ministry, she understands the complexities and pain of life as well as its craziness. She serves behind-the-scenes in various capacities at her church and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), and serves on the board of the southeast chapter. Her favorite pastimes are lazy…snuggling with her dog while reading a good book or sitting with a friend chatting over a cup of spiced chai latte.
You can learn more by following her blog www.susanbaganz.com, her Twitter feed @susanbaganz or her fan page,
www.facebook.com/susanmbaganz
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We appreciate you reading this Prism title. For other Christian fiction and clean-and-wholesome stories, please visit our on-line bookstore at www.prismbookgroup.com.
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May God’s glory shine through
this inspirational work of fiction.
AMDG
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