by Bree Wolf
Abigail nodded, touched by the depth of his thoughts.
“How would you feel about a June wedding?” Griffin asked suddenly, the seriousness in his eyes replaced by a youthful eagerness that suited him well.
“That’s in two months!” Abigail exclaimed, knowing without a doubt that she had no objections. “Aunt Mara would be happy to help us plan. It would make her happy to be included.”
“But first,” Griffin began as his eyes narrowed, a touch of apprehension coming to his face, “I need to speak to your grandfather and ask for your hand in marriage.”
Abigail laughed, “He will not be surprised by your visit,” she assured him, remembering how her grandfather had winked at her earlier that day when she had left the house with her aunt to go call on Griffin. “If I’m not mistaken, he knew well ahead of us that we would end up together.” A snort escaped her. “Kind of like Winifred. Perhaps not only we are suited to one another, but also our families.”
Griffin chuckled, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we’ve always been meant for each other.”
Whether or not it was fate or coincidence, Abigail did not care. All that mattered was that they had found each other. How often did people who would fit perfectly into each other’s lives meet but not realise it? How often did fate go unanswered because people were too busy, too distracted or too stubborn to see what was right in front of them?
Abigail could not deny that she had been one of them, and so had her betrothed. Still, they had been able to wrench their eyes open just in time before they would have walked out of each other’s lives without a look back.
Never in a position to regret what could have been.
Because they would have never known.
Abigail whispered a silent thank-you to her father, whose letter had sent her to London in the first place.
To London.
And to Griffin.
Epilogue
About Two Months Later
On her new husband’s arm, Abigail walked into his−their!−townhouse, greeting family and friends as they welcomed them to their home. Smiling, she saw Winifred and her husband Trent, her friend’s eyes aglow with delight to see her brother happily married. Aunt Mara seemed quite changed as well. Although she still stood back, far from the spotlight, her eyes no longer shone with sadness, but with joy, with hope, as she bent down to whisper something into her granddaughter’s ear. And then there was Abigail’s grandfather.
After their talk about past mistakes and the burden of time passing, there had been a silent understanding between them. Although he still appeared the cold, distant duke−and very much enjoyed the effect he had on others!−Abigail knew that he loved her. He had never said it. Not with words. His love for her was in the little things he did. The way he noticed her, saw her joy and all but pushed her toward it, afraid she would miss out and live a life of regret.
A life he knew only too well.
“Are you happy?” her husband asked, his voice low so only she would hear.
Abigail sighed, “I am.”
For a moment, his gaze lingered on hers, taking in the small creases on her forehead, the downcast lids and bent of her head. “You wish your father were here, do you not?”
Abigail smiled. “As do you.”
Griffin nodded, the same touch of sadness and regret in his gaze that Abigail felt in her own heart. “I do,” he confirmed, “and I’ll never not regret that they are not. Still, I cannot help but wonder if we would even have met, had they not been taken from us.”
Taking her seat at the large breakfast table, surrounded by the people she loved the most, Abigail knew that he was right. Would she ever have come to London if her father had not died?
Abigail was certain that the answer was, no. She would never have gotten to know her grandfather and her aunt. She would never have met Griffin. She would never have fallen for him.
Good and bad did walk hand in hand, it would seem. No one could help that. Tears and smiles could never be without the other for how would we know the meaning of a smile if we had never learnt that of a tear?
Smiling at her husband, Abigail knew that she did not regret her past for it had led her here. Still, she could regret her father’s passing without guilt over the happiness she had found in life. After all, he would have wanted this for her.
Not all regrets were dangerous.
Only those that were self-inflicted.
Others were merely memories.
Memories Abigail would cherish for the rest of her life.
The End
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About Bree
USA Today bestselling author, Bree Wolf has always been a language enthusiast (though not a grammarian!) and is rarely found without a book in her hand or her fingers glued to a keyboard. Trying to find her way, she has taught English as a second language, traveled abroad and worked at a translation agency as well as a law firm in Ireland. She also spent loooong years obtaining a BA in English and Education and an MA in Specialized Translation while wishing she could simply be a writer. Although there is nothing simple about being a writer, her dreams have finally come true.
“A big thanks to my fairy godmother!”
Currently, Bree has found her new home in the historical romance genre, writing Regency novels and novellas. Enjoying the mix of fact and fiction, she occasionally feels like a puppet master (or mistress? Although that sounds weird!), forcing her characters into ever-new situations that will put their strength, their beliefs, their love to the test, hoping that in the end they will triumph and get the happily-ever-after we are all looking for.
If you're an avid reader, sign up for Bree's newsletter as she has the tendency to simply give books away. Find out about freebies, giveaways as well as occasional advance reader copies and read before the book is even on the shelves!
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Also By Bree
Historical Romance:
Love's Second Chance Series
#1 Forgotten & Remembered - The Duke's Late Wife (Now Perma-free!)
#2 Cursed & Cherished - The Duke's Wilful Wife
#3 Despised & Desired - The Marquess' Passionate Wife
#4 Abandoned & Protected - The Marquis' Tenacious Wife
#5 Ruined & Redeemed - The Earl's Fallen Wife
#6 Betrayed & Blessed - The Viscount's Shrewd Wife
#7 Deceived & Honoured - The Baron’s Vexing Wife
#8 Sacrificed & Reclaimed - The Soldier’s Daring Widow
#9 Condemned & Admired - The Earl’s Cunning Wife (Coming August 14, 2018)
#10 Trapped & Liberated - The Privateer’s Bold Beloved (Coming October 2, 2018)
Love’s Second Chance Box Set One: Novels 1 - 4
Love’s Second Chance Series Box Set Two: Novels 5-8
Middle Grade Adventure:
Heroes Next Door Trilogy
#1 Fireflies (Now Perma-free!)
#2 Butterflies
#3 Dragonflies
Paranormal Fantasy:
Crescent Rock Series
#1 How to Live and Die in Crescent Rock
Read a Sneak-peek
Condemned & Admired
The Earl’s Cunning Wife
(#9 Love’s Second Chance Series)
Coming August 14, 2018
A French privateer’s daughter. A marquess’s
son.
And a chance encounter on the high seas.
Twelve years ago, Lady Silcox fled England with her six-year-old daughter Violet to spare her the life she herself had been forced into: an arranged marriage to an older man.
Today, VIOLET WINTERS is a grown woman sailing the seas on her French stepfather’s privateer, dreaming of commandeering a ship of her own. However, when she stumbles upon a betrothal announcement of the man she was set to marry, Violet cannot help but feel honour-bound to protect the woman who had been forced to take her place.
Fortune smiles on Violet and delivers an English lord into her hands – and with him the chance to return to England unrecognised.
OLIVER CORNELL, EARL OF CULLINGWOOD, is trapped in a life he abhors. Not seen as a son, but merely an heir, he dreams of sailing the seas, the epitome of freedom.
By sheer happenstance, Oliver ends up on a merchant vessel, which is promptly boarded by a French privateer. On board the Chevalier Noir, Oliver meets the captain’s daughter, a woman unlike any other he has ever met. Utterly fascinated by the adventurous gleam in her eyes, he does not hesitate to offer his assistance when Violet finds herself in need of a guide to London’s upper society.
Revelling in his first taste of adventure, Oliver poses as her husband…only to realise before long that posing as her husband will not be good enough.
Can a privateer’s daughter and a marquess’s son ever have a happily-ever-after? Or is their love doomed to fail?
Prologue
Norfolk, England 1796 (or a variation thereof)
Twelve Years Ago
“Violet, Sweetheart, wake up.”
Snuggling deeper into the pillow, six-year-old Violet Winters, daughter to Viscount Silcox, tried to hold on to the sweet oblivion of slumber. Still, her mother’s gentle but insistent voice reached her little mind, tickling it awake and chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
A deep yawn opened Violet’s mouth, and she rubbed her hand over her eyes. Blinking into the night’s darkness, she looked up at her mother sitting on the side of her bed, a heavy woollen cloak wrapped around her shoulders and a small bundle sitting in her lap. Her golden hair–the same colour as Violet’s–was hidden under the black cloak and her blue eyes seemed dark in the dimness of the room. “Mummy?” Violet squeaked, her voice sounding too loud in the silence that engulfed them.
“Shhh,” her mother whispered, putting her right index finger to her lips, her eyes darting to the door in her back as though she expected someone to happen upon them at any moment.
A frown drew down Violet’s brows as she saw the strain on her mother’s face. Something was wrong! Even at the innocent age of six years, Violet could see that the slight tremble in her mother’s hands was not due to the chill of the season. Nor could the way she glanced over her shoulder every few seconds be attributed to anything harmless.
Violet swallowed as she recognised the hint of fear that rested in her mother’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Mummy?”
A soft smile came to her mother’s face as she brushed a gentle hand over her daughter’s head and then cupped her cheek. “Everything’s fine,” she whispered, leaning close as she kept her voice down. “We’re going on a little adventure.”
“An adventure?” Violet glanced toward the windows where heavy curtains shut out the night. “But it’s still dark.”
Squeezing her daughter’s hands, Alexandra Winters, Viscountess Silcox, nodded. “Precisely,” she whispered, and for the first time, Violet thought to see a touch of excitement under the fear that clouded her mother’s eyes.
“Come, you need to get dressed.” Pulling back the blanket, her mother reached for a dress and a cloak lying over the back of Violet’s bed. “But quietly. We must not make a sound, but be as quiet as mice, do you understand?”
Although Violet could not imagine why her mother urged her out of bed in the middle of the night, she nodded and quickly did as she was bid. After all, Violet’s little heart felt nothing but unconditional love and trust toward her mother. Always had she wiped away her daughter’s tears. Always had she comforted her on stormy nights. Always had she whispered words of love and promise in her ear.
No, there was not a single doubt in Violet’s head as she pulled the cloak tightly around her small shoulders and then followed her mother out into the corridor.
Still, her heart beat loudly and the fingers of her right hand curled almost painfully into the woollen cloak while the other rested safely in her mother’s.
Like shadows, they rushed down the dark corridor, past closed doors and then down one of the servants’ staircases in the back of Silcox Manor. Everything looked different at night, with the sun locked away tightly, and nothing but the silvery light of the moon touching the world. There were no sounds of rushing footsteps–none but their own–nor any voices whispering nearby. Only the wind howled around the house as it blew in from the sea and swept over the cliffs to the east of her father’s country estate.
All her life, Violet had lived here, in a house full of servants with her mother by her side. Her father only occasionally visited them and insisted that his wife accompany him to London for a few weeks each year during the season. These weeks were the most awful of Violet’s life.
Away from her mother.
Alone and unwanted.
Despite her young age, Violet knew very well that her birth had been a disappointment to her father as was the fact that no further child had been born these past six years. Her father wished for nothing more than a son.
An heir.
He had no use for a daughter, and he did not try to hide his resentment.
Early on, Violet had learnt that her father was not one to turn to with the joys and sorrows of life. Instead, her little heart had turned to the woman who never failed to look at her with love and devotion shining in her blue eyes.
Alexandra Winters, Viscountess Silcox, was her daughter’s whole world…and Violet would have followed her into hell if she had asked.
Unlocking the heavy door, her mother looked down at Violet, a slight smile playing on her lips, and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Are you ready?”
Violet nodded. “Where are we going?”
“On a ship.”
“A ship?” Violet’s little heart skipped a beat. “You mean, like Gulliver’s Travels?”
Her mother sighed, momentarily leaning against the door. Then her dark blue eyes turned to her daughter. “I do not know what awaits us, my sweet child, but I am certain that we will find happiness out there that is denied us in here.” Then she drew in a deep breath, pushed open the heavy door with a slight grunt and pulled her daughter out into the night toward a new life.
Before they had even taken more than two steps, the wind rushed toward them, brushing over their cheeks and stealing under their hoods, pulling strands of their golden hair loose. Her mother’s hand tightened on Violet’s as she leaned into the wind and headed down the small path leading down toward the cliffs and the beach below.
Violet could hear the howling of a nearing storm, and even in the dark she could make out heavy clouds drifting in from the sea. Beside them, Silcox Manor loomed like a giant in the night, and Violet could not help but feel relieved with each step they took toward their adventure and away from the prison that had been their home.
With her mother’s hand wrapped tightly around her own, Violet followed her down the small path snaking toward the beach, her little feet stumbling over rocks here and there. Still, her mother’s grasp never wavered, catching her when need be.
Heading down the slope toward the beach, Violet glanced apprehensively at the tall boulders that seemed to have risen out of the earth and cast dark shadows even in the dim light of the silvery moon overhead. Her heart thudded wildly, and she did her best to remind herself that they were not monsters come to devour her, but merely tricks her mind played on her in the dark.
Still, when her eyes caught movement among the shadows and then something ju
mped into their path, a terrified shriek tore from Violet’s lips.
Fortunately, it was drowned out by the howling of the wind.
Clinging to her mother, Violet stared at the shadow as it moved closer and then stepped into the light of the moon. Only then did her heart slow down as she saw that the monster was not a monster after all, but a man.
A man dressed almost completely in black were it not for the white shirt peeking out from under his vest and tailcoat. His dark hair was half-hidden under a sea captain’s hat, and his eyes shone steel grey in the light of the moon. A sword dangled from his hip, and he moved with cat-like stealth. Everything about this man seemed dangerous, threatening.
Everything but his eyes.
For they looked at Violet’s mother with such longing and devotion that the little girl soon forgot to be afraid. Instead, curiosity filled her as she observed the way he took her mother’s hand, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as his gaze held hers. “Are you all right, ma chérie?” he asked, a strange lilt to his voice. “Did anyone see you?”
“I do not believe so,” her mother replied, a soft smile on her face as she looked at him…and for a long moment, neither one of them said a word, the world around them all but forgotten.
Squeezing her mother’s hand, Violet looked up at them, surprised by the glow that had come to her mother’s face. “Mummy?”
Her mother swallowed, then blinked as though waking from a dream. “This is my daughter,” she said, looking down at Violet and pulling her closer into her arms. “Violet.”