© 2020 Angela Johnson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author.
Paperback ISBN 979-8-6784-3223-0
Cover Artist: Shawnda Craig
Published by Pemberley Publishing
Contents
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Angela Johnson
Dedication
To all the fictitious men who make regency romance worth reading.
Chapter 1
“You want to kiss me?” Debra asked in mock horror while holding one hand out as a lady would in a ballroom with the other in a display of shock resting on her chest. Batting her eyes in an attempt of shyness, she gave a genuine smile to show warmth and affection. “I have no objections, sir but will you be so kind as to dance with me first? I must admit, a waltz—”
Debra stopped speaking as she rushed to her paper, pen, and ink. The scene she’d acted out while overlooking the sea was perfect for her novel. Scribbling the words on the sheet, she placed them back in her bag and retook her stance taking in the cold morning sea air. Her hair blew in the wind, but she didn’t mind. Mimicking a male voice, she gave a low chuckle. “My lady,” she spoke in the best imitation, “I would love to waltz with you.”
Placing her hand back overhear heart, she could see Lord Percival Warrington with his dark brown hair, brown eyes, and rakish qualities standing before her. He was the man of Princess Cordelia’s dreams. With a curtsey to her imagined partner, Debra danced on the edge of the sea, dress blowing in the wind, and music ringing in her ears as she thought of the conversation her characters would have.
“Your lips resemble the roses in my mother’s garden,” Lord Percival would say while gazing into the eyes of the blushing Cordelia.
“You make me blush, my lord.” Debra imagined Cordelia with a soft sweet voice, much like her own. “Please look away from my embarrassment.”
“The pink in your beautiful cheeks brings happiness to my heart. It makes me love you all the more.”
Debra nearly caused herself to swoon with the passionate words she imagined between her characters. It would be the perfect moment to have them embrace and kiss, and as her heart fluttered with anticipation, she stopped dancing and sat on the cold damp earth. “Perhaps my characters shouldn’t kiss.” The words came out in a disappointed huff of frustration as she stared up at the overcast sky. She closed her eyes, lay down on the ground, and cried out to the heavens. “Kissing is so romantic!”
Alone and enjoying the beauty of the day, words flowed through her mind allowing her to create people and circumstances she wanted to experience. She imagined it would be romantic to run away and find a handsome gentleman to woo her, but she did not dare try it. Her father would send her brothers and the entire staff after her. “Life is no fun with an overprotective father like mine!” she mumbled opening her eyes to stare up at the clouds.
She could imagine the clouds shaped as a carriage pulled by white horses flying through the morning sky. Cordelia’s carriage! With the thought she made her way back to her bag and writing items to scribble another page in her story. In a moment of fear, Cordelia backed away from Lord Percival to go home. She would suffer the consequences of running away as her father, the king, would not accept insubordination.
Debra reread the words, then scribbled them out. Cordelia was finished with her overbearing unloving father. He cared more about the kingdom than his own daughter. She laughed out loud. “How do I know anything about not being loved? I am the apple of my father’s eyes!”
If she were honest, she would admit her brothers were very protective of her as well. Not a single person in her family didn’t care, although when she was left behind during the season, she tried to convince anyone who would listen as to how unloved she was, and if they knew how she spent her time, she would certainly find herself in trouble.
Writing wasn’t something a lady should do, so if she truly desired to be published, she’d have to do so under a pseudonym. She already had one chosen, Sir Anthony Briggs. No one would know she was the mastermind behind her novels. The pen name would allow her to forego the forced hobbies her parents would find if they knew of her desire for publication.
How do I get them to kiss? She thought as she looked at the angry gray clouds. The one above her threatened to spill its contents as she lay in the overgrown grass overlooking The Isle of Wight. She’d grown up here, and rarely had the opportunity to leave which caused her imagination to bloom. If she could not see exotic places such as London, she would have to imagine them.
Her parents returned from London that morning as she’d run out the door. This would be the last of her adventures for a short time as they planned to host a house party over the next fortnight. She’d be allowed to enjoy most of the activities, but as she was not out in society her participation would be limited. She wouldn’t be allowed to flirt as her sisters would. It is not like I am still in the nursery. If only they would let me enter society, I could find out how to get a man to kiss a woman. It would be romantic. She entertained the idea of a kiss as the first drop of rain hit her nose. A walk on the veranda under the stars is all one needs. He would simply lean forward and make love to me with his words.
Standing up, she imagined the scene and placed herself in Cordelia’s spot with Lord Percival next to her. She thought about it for a moment. How does a man speak such things to a woman? “Your eyes shine like the stars at night!” A woman in such a circumstance would blush, giggle, and turn away. Excited with her thought, she sat down again and wrote the words on a new piece of parchment. They wouldn’t match what she currently had. Each word scribbled on the paper looked perfect, until another drop of rain hit the ink and smeared the word stars. Not wanting the pages of her manuscript ruined, Debra scrambled to her feet and ran to her horse, Starlight.
Hiding her ink, parchment, and pen in the bottom of her bag, she mounted and made for home. Riding so far from home could be considered a mistake, and she might admit it was at some point, but for now she tied the reins in a knot, dropped them, and threw her hands in the air holding tight to the horse with her legs. This beautiful spring storm was far too brilliant to pass up the opportunity. The salty sea air and
the wind gave birth to ideas allowing her to write.
Never imaging a storm so elaborate, Debra revealed in the excitement it gave her to let go and imagine. As her horse slipped in the rain and mud, she sighed and took hold of the reins for safety. Paying attention to the situation, she noticed the storm she’d imagined would only be a short duration was gaining in strength. Rain splashed in her eyes causing her vision to blur.
Cold, and a bit more reserved, she searched for a place to stop and take cover for both herself and Starlight as the thunder rolled and lightning shot through the sky. She had not seen a storm this bad since early March. The rain poured down much harder than normal.
“Why did it have to rain like this today?” Debra said in frustration as she dismounted her horse and started running with Starlight behind her. She feared staying astride the horse would cause lightening to strike. Holding to the ribbons so she wouldn’t lose the horse in the storm, she ran through the mud and fields.
Relief came as she noticed a barn off to the west. She noticed it many times on previous rides but didn’t know who owned it. By all accounts, it appeared to be abandoned. The barn was one of those places her father would call a blemish on the landscape. The fence surrounding it stood in need of much repair. As she climbed over a broken board, her foot slipped on the wet wood causing her to fall to the ground. Her stockings ripped on a stray piece sticking up as she pulled herself out of the mud while holding back tears. This was not the glorious adventure she’d imagined for her day.
As she stood, Debra let out an involuntary cry. The pressure of standing sent a shock into her ankle. With this added trauma, the tears rolled down her cheeks joining with the drops of rain. With as much courage as she could muster, Debra placed her foot back to the ground and endured the pin pricks caused by the pressure. Instead of focusing on the pain, she gathered her wits and wiped the mud on her riding habit.
“The day started out so pleasant!” she grumbled while leading Starlight over the broken fence, so he didn’t incur injury. “Come on boy.”
Lightening then thunder shot through the ever-darkening sky startling Debra. Throwing her hands over her head she crouched to the ground as pain shot through her ankle. Deciding it was best to get out of the storm, she pulled Starlight forward and ran toward the shelter. Her run was more like a hobble as pain exploded from the pressure placed on her injured ankle. It was as though pins pierced her skin digging deep to the bone.
Finally reaching the barn, she pushed the door open and listened to the creek in the hinges from nonuse. The sound echoed through the empty vastness before her. It was dirty, and the roof leaked in random spots, but she was happy to be out of the rain.
Debra limped with Starlight over to one of the stalls and closed the door. After seeing to the horse, she looked around for a dry spot to rest and wait out the storm. Her clothing hung heavy and clung to her cold body. As she took notice of the state she found herself in, the wish for a fire, hot bath, dry clothes, and a blanket tortured her cold mind. Limping around the barn to assess her surroundings, Debra let out tiny moans but found continuous pressure seemed to ease the injury.
Noticing a loft, she chose to investigate. She needed to keep her mind busy as sitting would be cold and boring. Each step up the ladder left a twinge of pain in her ankle. Poking around, she found there wasn’t anything worth the climb, until she noticed a wood trunk sitting by a window. Closing her eyes to utter a quick prayer before lifting the lid, she asked, let there be a blanket or dry clothes, please.
The trunk opened with ease and a frown crossed her face as she saw it was empty. The disappointment brought a sob to her throat. Not wanting to cry, yet certain the emotions would eventually find their way to the surface, she shivered and with careful effort focused on her ankle, found her way back down the ladder, took her cloak off, and groaned as every inch of her riding habit was soaked with water and covered in mud. What a miserable afternoon! Why did I have to ride so carelessly to soak through my clothing? It was a valid reprimand to give herself, as she could have pulled her cloak tight and prevented some of the rain from saturating her habit.
Continued pain in her ankle was an annoyance she’d have to deal with. There weren’t many options, but Debra found a few pieces of wood in hopes of using them to elevate her leg. She’d seen the doctor do it with her brother a few years previously. Leigh had fallen from the carriage or had been pushed out by one of the occupants, the family had yet to find out the truth of the situation as the sister who they assumed pushed him refused to admit her part. Rilla claimed although anxious to be out of the confines of the carriage, it hadn’t been her. The resulting injury was a twisted ankle and the doctor had him rest and elevate until it healed.
She put her hands in her hair and took the pins out so it would dry. With everything taken care of, as much as she could manage without any help, she sat on the ground and thought about Cordelia and Percival. It would be romantic for them to get caught in a rainstorm. Was it fate she was now stuck in a barn? With this thought, she suddenly decided it wasn’t a miserable day. This was fate! This very day could be used as a scene in her story.
Her mind raced with possible situations to spur a kiss from Percival or a thank you token from the maiden to the handsome hero and protector. After she squeezed as much water from her hair as she could, she allowed the long deep red curls to fall down her back while swaying back and forth so her hair would naturally fall instead of clump.
As she finished with her hair, the barn door creaked open. Startled, as a man walked in leading his horse, she stifled her gasp of surprise, scrambled to her feet with a twinge of pain, and stood nearly on one foot silently waiting for him to notice her as she admired his wet tousled dark brown hair and handsome facial features.
Chapter 2
Alexander let out a breath of relief when he saw the abandoned barn. Everything he wore from his hat to his boots was drenched with rain. Certain rain pooled in the bottom of his boots as he heard a sloshing and experienced cool water with each step, he yearned to take them off and dry them in front of a fire.
It was debatable if he’d ever be warm again. Thunder clattered in the sky, causing his horse, Blaise, to startle. The horse whinnied and did a bit of a dance in the cold weather. Alex dismounted long before the barn came into view as Blaise feared the storm and refused to move in the correct direction without more supervision.
“Come on, boy. There is shelter ahead,” he said patting the horse’s neck to try and comfort him.
Alex pulled Blaise forward forcing the horse to follow as he approached the barn door. He opened it quickly with a loud creak greeting his entrance as he led Blaise into the cold but dry barn. He shivered as walked in, thankful to be out of the inclement weather. Turning to view his temporary housing, he drew a long breath as he realized he wasn’t alone.
“Good day,” Alex said as he led his horse to an empty stall. His words echoed through the deadly silent barn. What he wouldn’t give for another clap of thunder to lighten the tense atmosphere.
She didn’t respond and he noticed the look on her face was one of fear. He didn’t blame her. He was a stranger, and if they were caught alone there would be a scandal. But no one would blame him for taking shelter in this storm. The roads were a disaster, and no one in their right mind would travel in this weather.
Sneaking a side peek at the woman, he uttered a short prayer of homeliness. If she were, he wouldn’t be tempted in any way. Unfortunately, one look sent a shiver down his back, having nothing to do with the cold. He would not be a man if he didn’t take notice of the red hair loose and flowing over her shoulders framing her delicate face. It was unusual to see a woman in society with her hair out of clips and hats. She looks lovely with her hair down, dammit! he thought as he tried to focus on his horse. He didn’t speak again until he closed the stall door and took another look at her in the ever-increasing uncomfortable silence.
Pulling his bag off his horse, Alex searched for flint and
steel. The heavier his clothing felt, the colder his body became. He turned to the woman and tilted his head as he considered if she’d moved further away. He wouldn’t blame her, as they hadn’t had a proper introduction and he was a stranger, but he wouldn’t harm her and he somehow needed to convey the sentiment.
“Would you be willing to help gather wood for a fire?” Holding up the instruments so she could see his intent, he waited for her reply.
Instead of speaking, she gave a nod of agreement. Leaving her to find wood, Alex examined the barn for the best place to start a fire. To say the area was totally dry was an exaggeration. There were holes in the roof allowing drops of rain to sneak in, which would be detrimental to his fire if setting it in the wrong place.
As he searched the area, he held in a frustrated moan as the woman continued to stand in the exact same spot she’d been in only moments before. Annoyed with the prospect of having to gather all the wood himself, he remembered a gentleman wouldn’t have asked a woman to help with the task. A woman would be allowed to rest. With this new focus, he pointed to a corner of the barn devoid of mud and dripping rain. “I will put the fire over there, if you would like to rest.”
Again, she didn’t speak. He wondered if there was something terribly wrong with the woman. Could she be deaf or simple minded? It would explain the lack of support in collecting items to burn. Noticing a loft, he climbed to the top and found a wood trunk. “There is a trunk up here, it will be perfect for kindling. Stay where you are as I plan to break it apart by throwing it down.”
Wit & Intrigue (An Assignation to Remember Book 1) Page 1