The Secret of Haversham House
Page 1
PRAISE FOR
“Matern transports her readers into a time of liveried footmen and grand balls, a world where one secret can ruin a family’s good name and true love must overcome the thorns of a class-conscious society to grow. A great read!”
—LISA MCKENDRICK, author of Brush with Love and Whitney Award finalist
“Intrigue and romance, scandal and triumph—The Secret of Haversham House transports readers into the pages of Francesca’s and Phillip’s story. Matern’s historical accuracy and capacity for storytelling make for a page-turning novel that I didn’t want to put down.”
—HEATHER CHAPMAN, author of The Forgotten Girl and Forever Elle
“Julie Matern tells a sweet story about love and family that left me rooting for the her well-developed characters until the very end. A brilliant ode to the true meaning of chivalry.”
—CHELSEA CURRAN, author of The Burnheart Redemption
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© 2018 Julie Matern
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 opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of Cedar Fort, Inc. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.
ISBN 13: 978-1-4621-2902-7
Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc.
2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT 84663
Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc., www.cedarfort.com
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Matern, Julie A., 1964- author.
Title: The secret of Haversham House / Julie A. Matern.
Description: Springville, Utah : Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc., [2018]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018004485 (print) | LCCN 2018006785 (ebook) | ISBN 9781462129027 (epub, pdf, mobi) | ISBN 9781462122073 (perfect bound : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Adoptees--Fiction. | Man-woman relationships--Fiction. | England, setting. | GSAFD: Regency fiction. | LCGFT: Historical fiction. | Romance fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3613.A8254 (ebook) | LCC PS3613.A8254 S43 2018 (print) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018004485
Cover design by Shawnda T. Craig
Cover design © 2018 Cedar Fort, Inc.
Edited by Breanna Call Herbert and Jessica Romrell
Typeset by Kaitlin Barwick
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For Todd and the kids.
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Part One
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One
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Emily Louise Davenport was a most fortunate woman for her era—she had been able to marry for love.
Her father, Lord Davenport, was an earl whose wealth was large enough that she was not required to fall on the family sword and marry for more practical reasons. So she married John Charles Haversham because she loved him and not for his five thousand a year or the title he would inherit.
John loved Emily in return and was a warm, kind, and generous husband, which was surprising in view of the fact that his mother and father were quite the opposite. Together, John and Emily lived at Haversham House, John’s newly built, tasteful estate in southern Wiltshire, some good distance from his ancestral home. It seemed to all the world that they had been blessed with more than their fair share of life’s blessings.
Though just nineteen when she married, Emily was mature in intellect and accomplished in the arts and languages. If she had a fault, it was that she cared too deeply.
John Haversham was twenty-four when they married, a towering young man of dashing good looks. They complemented each other in every way and were much feted wherever they went.
All seemed idyllic until, at length, it became apparent that the young couple could not produce an heir. As their friends began to fill their nurseries, Emily’s heart became increasingly heavy when her own prettily decorated nursery remained barren and empty.
After seven long and painful years, Emily’s hitherto excellent spirits were so downcast that on the advice of their doctor they removed to the Continent to experience a change of air and scenery.
Rather than frequent the more popular watering places, John decided on a place he had visited once in his youth—an out-of-the-way village in the south of France that boasted a grand villa on its outskirts and that his mother had condemned as being too far from good society.
He rented the house, complete with its French servants, and they departed, leaving everything and everyone behind and beginning a new life away from English society and its expectations.
The beauty of the surrounding mountain landscapes and colorful ocean views did much to elevate Emily’s state of mind, and she began to take a renewed pleasure in painting and riding out with her husband, simple pleasures she had ceased at home. As her health improved, they ventured out to visit the village and enjoyed watching the bustle of the weekly markets, with their displays of fragrant cheeses, glossy fruits, and resplendent pastries. John took courage as he witnessed the joie de vivre creep back into Emily’s soul.
They had been settled in this charming residence for nigh on five months when they made the acquaintance of a young, Italian gentlewoman who John feared might cause Emily’s progress to unravel. She introduced herself as Signora Grimaldi and explained that she had come into the country for her confinement. This disclosure stabbed at the tender heart of poor Emily Haversham, but she bravely introduced herself and her husband to the young expectant mother as good manners dictated.
From that time on, John would change their daily routine in order to avoid the young woman, but in spite of his efforts, they would often meet Signora Grimaldi as they walked in the village square as though she had been waiting for them. It was obvious that these meetings pained Emily as she witnessed the steady change in the young woman’s figure, but John was proud that his wife did not shun the lady who was outwardly bright and polished but who seemed to reflect a veiled sadness.
At length, the lady in question disappeared from their society and John assumed that her time had come and that she had delivered her child. He and Emily continued on with their easy lifestyle and quite forgot the lady until one day in September, some two months later, as they were sitting on a stone bench in the square, she approached them holding a babe in her arms.
John heard Emily gasp as Signora Grimaldi drew near and, perceiving his wife’s distress, rose to lead her away from the difficult encounter. However, the proud new mother called out to them, and rather than seem ill-mannered, they both perched back upon the stone bench. Emily courageously fixed her face into a false smile and by silent agreement left John to address the lady directly.
“My dear Signora Grimaldi, we offer our congratulations. We quite thought you had returned to your home in Italy,” he declared.
“Oh, no,” she explained in her heavily accented, lilting voice. “I have
been in my confinement and have found it so advantageous a climate for the baby that I have remained here. My husband joined me shortly after the happy occasion but has now returned to our home. I will follow him soon.”
John was annoyed that she seemed completely ignorant of Emily’s strained appearance and discomfort and was alarmed when she addressed Emily to ask, “Would you not like to hold my baby?”
He noticed a look of utter horror flit across Emily’s delicate features and her sapphire blue eyes shine bright with frightened tears. He came rapidly to the rescue, exclaiming, “Mrs. Haversham is not feeling in good health today, so it might not be wise—”
Ignoring his protestations, Signora Gimaldi placed the infant in Emily’s stiff arms.
John pivoted to deliver Emily from the child, but as she received the full weight of the baby, he was perplexed to see her expression transfigured from sorrow to unadulterated pleasure. It was as though Emily’s broken heart commenced to heal the moment she looked down upon the infant, who returned her gaze with liquid brown eyes. He peered into the blanket to behold curly, black hair that framed a tiny face with delicate cheeks and rosebud lips. The baby was smiling gently back at the fragile woman who held her. It was obviously love at first sight, and John was uneasy that this event would undo Emily’s progress when the baby had to be returned.
“I think you had better take her back, Signora Gimaldi—” he began, but Emily interrupted him.
“Just a moment more, John,” she quietly pleaded.
“As a matter of fact,” the child’s mother ventured, “I need to run an errand at the post office. Would you mind tending her while I attend to the matter? I gave my nurse the afternoon off.”
John looked at his wife with a quizzical brow, begging her to refuse—to make an excuse—but she returned his stare, imploring him to agree. So, in spite of his fears for his wife’s well-being, he reluctantly consented.
They sat in the sun, a counterfeit family tableau, Emily cooing over the pretty child as they awaited the return of her mother. It was evident that Emily was utterly smitten and that the warm presence in her arms was beginning to heal her. He fretted as she rocked and sang gently to the baby even as he anxiously searched the crowd for the return of the mother.
The bell in the clock tower rang, and John realized that Signora Grimaldi had now been gone for the better part of an hour. What could be keeping her?
He stood to better search for the baby’s mother in the crowd, glancing at his wife, who was careless of anything around her. He groaned inwardly.
John dropped down beside her, ill at ease, at which time the child began to whimper. Emily gathered the baby up to comfort it against her breast, and as she did so, the fine linen blanket surrounding the child came loose, and a piece of paper, hitherto unnoticed, fell lightly to the ground. John stooped to retrieve it and, opening it, read aloud:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Haversham,
I have not been entirely forthcoming about myself and my circumstances, for which I apologize deeply.
I am an Italian national from a prominent family who found myself in some trouble. The gentleman responsible is unable to come forward and accept responsibility, therefore I did not tell him of my condition. To remain at home would have brought shame to my family, so I concealed it from them. I arranged to travel to France with my maid to meet some friends. After a few weeks, I told them that I had urgent family business to attend to back in Italy but would return to them at length. I did not. Instead, I came here to bear the child and prayed fervently that I might be forgiven of my sins and find a family worthy to take her. I could not let her be given to strangers.
It is inconceivable that my family should know anything of this situation. Consequently, I have assumed an identity to protect their honor and have come to this small place where there is little chance of anyone recognizing me.
The first day I met you, I felt that you were the people who should raise my child as your own, and as I came to learn that you had no children, I felt that God was confirming that decision.
I have spent the last weeks with her, loving her, delighting in her, and I will hold those memories close to my heart forever. Now the time has come to return to my friends and family, and I thus give her to you as a gift from God.
I have refrained from naming her so that you might choose her name. I have no doubt that you will love and protect her.
Sincerely,
Isabella
By the end of the recitation, he could hear Emily weeping openly, and he raised his eyes to see her clutching the child to her bosom. As she clung to the baby, he noticed a small birthmark peeking through the child’s curly hair.
He leaned back, emotionally spent. Their prayers had been answered, though not in the way he had expected, and although there would be many details to discuss about such an unorthodox adoption, for now he would bask in the delightful moment.
“We received her in France, and she is of Italian descent,” sniffed Emily, “let us name her Francesca—it means ‘French’ in Italian—as a constant reminder that she is a divine gift.”
“It suits her very well,” he agreed.
Lifting Emily from the bench, they began their walk back to the villa.
For a moment they walked in silence, but the silence could not work itself into contentment for a new weight pressed upon John’s shoulders. There was something of a delicate nature they needed to speak of.
John cleared his throat and placed a protective arm around his wife. “Of course,” he said at last, his voice lowered, “she can never learn of her true origins if she is to survive in English society.”
“Your mother …” whispered Emily.
“My mother, yes, the queen bee of society. But society at large is without mercy in such cases.”
Emily locked eyes with him, kissing the baby’s head and putting her finger to his lips. “That, my love, is a conversation for another day,” she said. “Another day.”
Two
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ENGLAND
Eighteen years later
If I didn’t love you so much I would be terribly jealous!” proclaimed the rather plain young woman who had just burst through Francesca Haversham’s bedchamber door without so much as a knock. “You shall be the belle of the ball tonight,” gushed the young lady, whose name was Annabelle, cousin to Francesca. “You look magnificent!” she continued without the least hint of guile.
Francesca turned on her stool, a deep blush of pleasure creeping over her features. “You look very lovely too, Annabelle,” she said kindly as she appraised her cousin’s appearance.
“Oh, I look all right, but you will have every young man swooning. I will be more than satisfied to entertain those who are awaiting their turn to dance with you!”
“Now, Miss Haversham, I haven’t quite finished your hair,” complained Mary, her lady’s maid, who had been patiently waiting for the conversation to end.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Francesca, obediently turning to face the dressing table mirror while throwing a mischievous look of exaggerated contrition at Annabelle.
Annabelle Haversham smiled impishly back and watched the maid dress her cousin’s hair. Reflected in the mirror was a lovely heart-shaped face with rosy cheeks.
The maid had dressed Francesca’s thick, wavy tresses into the most delightful crown, adorned with fresh flowers. Annabelle saw Francesca reach her fingers behind her head, pulling down a tiny wisp of hair to hide a blemish on her neck, a habit she had developed in her youth.
Annabelle could not help but notice the contrast between her own looks and that of her cousin. She sighed. No one would notice her tonight. She looked at her own reflection in the glass and saw a round, pale face with fine hair pulled back into a bun ringed with thin braids. She had bitten her lips and pinched her cheeks just like her cousin, but the effect was not as charming. She smiled with resignation and as she did so, her countenance lit up with the beauty of good nature. She would do.
Annabelle looked down at her gown with ineffable satisfaction and smiled again. It was of the purest silk, soft as a whisper, and the design was so exquisite as to make her heart take flight. She had never before worn such a gown, not even at her own coming out ball. Francesca, who had an elegant style and impeccable taste, had helped her choose the dress and it made her feel like royalty.
She glanced over at her cousin’s gown. It, too, was of the finest silk and had much detail in the bodice of fine embroidery and small silk flowers. It fitted her small frame to perfection.
“Is it to your liking, Miss Haversham?” asked Mary as she placed the last fresh flower into her hair.
“Oh, Mary you are an artist!” she said, turning this way and that to admire her hair. “It is just as I had imagined, only better! Thank you!”
Mary blushed with pride as the beautiful girl bestowed her approval and exited the room.
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of Francesca’s mother, Emily Haversham, who appeared holding a jewelry case. The two girls gasped in anticipation.
“Are those Grandmama Davenport’s jewels?” asked Francesca in a reverent tone.
“Yes, my darling. As you know, it is the tradition to pass on these particular jewels at the time of coming out.”
Annabelle watched as Emily opened the old-fashioned catch of the antique case to reveal velvet beds of shining stones, glimmering like stars in the heavens on a clear night. She peered at them in awe.
Emily delicately lifted the heavy diamond choker out of the case and placed it around her daughter’s neck. The pear-shaped jewel hanging from the center settled into the indentation of her collar bone as if it had been commissioned for her.
Emily bobbed down to regard the effect of the jewels in the mirror, cheek to cheek with her daughter.