Harmony of the Soul

by Monroe, Jennifer

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Secrets of Scarlett Hall Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  About the author

  Regency Hearts

  Defiant Brides

  Harmony of the Soul

  Secrets of Scarlett Hall

  Book 8

  Jennifer Monroe

  Copyright © 2020 Jennifer Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Secrets of Scarlett Hall Series

  Whispers of Light

  Echoes of the Heart

  Voices of Shadows Past

  Silent Dreams

  Songs of Yesterday

  Vows of Honor

  Ballad of the Innocents

  Harmony of the Soul

  Get them all HERE!

  Chapter One

  Scarlett Hall 1811

  Lady Eleanor Lambert opened her journal as she had countless times before. Inside were the writings from her heart recorded over many years. Tales of joy and sadness, fear, and celebration filled the pages, but more importantly, the entries expressed hope. Hope for days free of tribulation. Hope that each of her children would find happiness, and thus far, most had.

  Her four daughters were now married, which left her youngest child, Nathaniel, to make his mark on the world. The young baron had been away, kept safe from the troubles his sisters had to endure, and seeing to his education. Yet, a letter had arrived earlier in the day expressing his plans before his final return to Scarlett Hall.

  Dipping the nib in the ink, she turned to the blank page and began a new entry.

  I received a letter from Nathaniel today, which is always a blessing. It appears he will seek permission to court one Miss Harmony Radcliffe, the daughter of a family aspiring to become members of the gentry. Although my heart is filled with joy knowing he has found happiness, I cannot help but feel a twinge of sadness. My youngest will soon be married and return to take his rightful place as the 8th Baron Lambert. No longer will he be a child I can hold at my breast, nor will he ever again rush into the house with some sort of treasure he found on one of his excursions. Gone will be the days when he seeks my arms for comfort.

  But enough of that. Nathaniel is not why I sit pouring out my thoughts onto paper. The truth of the matter is I have made the decision to not remain at Scarlett Hall once Nathaniel and his new bride come to live here as some dowagers do. A new era has arrived at this estate, one founded in love rather than on deception as it had in the past.

  Some things will remain the same, of course. The cries of newborn babes will echo in the halls once again. Young girls will grow to be women, boys to be men. The evil that has taken hold of this place for the last hundred and fifty years will finally come to an end, and I cannot be more pleased to witness the arrival of this wondrous new chapter in the lives of those I love. I can only pray that it will remain, for the Lamberts have endured more than any one family should. It is time peace reigned at Scarlett Hall.

  A tightening in her chest forced her to return the pen to its holder. She grasped her chest as a coughing fit overtook her, leaving her breathless.

  “Doctor Johansson is a fool.”

  She turned to see her butler, Barnard Forbes, enter the room. If she had not been without breath, she would have responded, but the persistent cough would not allow her to do so.

  “This cough has lasted far too long, and his remedies are doing no good.”

  Once the cough subsided, Eleanor drew in a breath, forcing back the wince of pain in order to keep Forbes at ease. “It is unlike you to be so outspoken,” she said in a gasp as she made an attempt to smile. “Do I detect a hint of anger behind your words?”

  The tall man stood in front of her desk, his hands clasped in front of him, as stoic as ever. “When it concerns your wellbeing, my lady, I grow easily frustrated.”

  She waved a dismissive hand at him. “I am well enough that even I do not worry,” she said. “The cough has lessened in recent days, and I suspect it will not be long before it disappears completely. I have survived worse.” This was not true, for she had never endured such pain during an illness, but again, she did not want to cause the man more worry than necessary.

  Forbes said nothing, but his eyes conveyed that he was unconvinced. And truth be told, Eleanor was not all that certain herself.

  Standing, she walked to the window that overlooked the gardens. Like many times before, Forbes joined her, his silence a comfort.

  “Nathaniel has finally decided to court the young lady he has mentioned every time he comes home,” Eleanor said without looking at the man beside her. “I believe he will soon marry.”

  She gazed at the lovely gardens with its beds filled with flowers of yellow, pink, purple, and blue. One large oak tree dominated the center, a place she would oftentimes find her children when they were young.

  “They have all grown,” she said with a sigh as the memories returned. Then she chuckled. “I find it difficult to not think of them as mere children, even if they are now leading their own lives with their own families. I often wish they were young once more so I could enjoy raising them all over again.”

  “The days have moved swiftly,” Forbes agreed. “Was it not just yesterday when Miss Isabel began instructing Miss Hannah in the rules of etiquette? When young master Lambert took his first steps? And Miss Juliet…”

  As his words trailed off, Eleanor’s heart clenched in pain. It had been over two years since she had last seen her youngest daughter, Juliet, and Eleanor knew it would be some time before she saw her again. If she ever did. Although the rumors concerning Lord Parsons had long since ceased, the village believed that Juliet’s husband, Daniel, perished as well as the viscount in a terrible fire two years earlier. Now the couple was forced to live abroad using assumed names.

  No, she would never give up hope. “One day they will return,” she said firmly. “And she will find her brother here in his rightful place.”

  “And you, Lady Lambert?” Forbes asked. “Where will you be?”

  Eleanor glanced at the tall figure at her side. “I have thought on this matter often,” she replied before pausing to allow one of the smaller pains in her chest to subside. “Perhaps somewhere near the coast. I have always found the sea waves calming.” She turned to the
man who had been at her side for so many years. “And when I leave, what will you do?”

  Forbes looked down at her. “There are some questions that need not be asked.”

  She could do nothing to stop a single tear from escaping her eye, and with a thudding heart, she placed her hand in his. “You are right,” she whispered. “There are those who keep their promises.”

  Although the butler maintained his decorum the majority of the time, now his eyes twinkled as he smiled, but he said nothing in response. And there was no need for him to do so, for she knew his thoughts nearly as well as she knew hers.

  They returned their attention to the gardens once more, and Eleanor thought of the days ahead. One day she would leave Scarlett Hall to find a new home. Whether it be near the coast or in the country, she did not know. Yet, it made little difference, for it is not the location of where one lives that matters but rather with whom that place is shared.

  Chapter Two

  Miss Harmony Radcliffe looked into the eager eyes of the three young girls, their cheeks and aprons covered with a light dusting of ash from their chore of cleaning the fireplaces. They performed their cleaning tasks with vigor and excellence, and Harmony felt they deserved a special gift. The girls never made any requests that their mistress sing for them, of course, but Harmony obliged them whenever she could because she knew it made them happy.

  “You know,” she said as if talking to herself, “I feel a song rising inside me.”

  To this, the three young girls grinned at one another and sat as if in attendance on the small rug in front of the grand fireplace in the drawing room. Not one of them was over the age of twelve, and their innocence tugged at her heart.

  Harmony tapped her chin in thought. “I wonder which song I should sing. There are just too many from which to choose.”

  “Miss,” young Susan said, “could ye sing the one about the butterflies?” The other two girls gave vigorous nods of their heads in agreement.

  Feigning a sigh, Harmony said, “I suppose.” When she smiled and winked at them, the girls giggled. Then she adjusted her posture and began her favorite song.

  Take me upon your wings, great butterfly,

  Up to the deep blue sky.

  Allow me the joy of touching a cloud.

  Remind me to never be too proud.

  For up in the sky, great butterfly,

  Is where dreams always come true.

  Never let me leave the heavens, great butterfly,

  Allow me to remain here with you.

  As the song came to an end, the girls clapped their hands together with great exuberance as they always did whenever they heard her sing.

  Harmony walked over to a small table and lifted the lid of a glass jar. From within, she removed several sweets, which she placed in the waiting hand of each girl.

  “Now,” Harmony said as she squatted down to their level, “do not forget…”

  “Harmony!”

  She started at the sound of her mother’s voice, whose tone was filled with clear admonishment.

  “We have discussed this before,” her mother snapped. “This behavior cannot continue.” She gave a stern nod to the trembling girls, and they hurried from the room with their buckets clanging at their sides, closing the door behind them.

  “It is only a sweet, Mother,” Harmony said, replacing the lid on the jar. “What harm is there in giving a sweet to a child? They work quite hard and deserve a special treat from time to time.”

  Her mother sniffed. “They are servants and receive a wage. What have they done above and beyond what is expected of them that deserves more than what we already pay them?”

  Mrs. Radcliffe - her mother despised the fact that her name lacked what she termed the ‘proper form of address’ of Lady, accentuating the fact she was not of the aristocracy - was of the same height as Harmony, but that was where their similarities ended. Whereas her mother had raven hair, Harmony’s was amber, and where Harmony possessed green eyes, those of her mother were brown.

  “And I have asked you on numerous occasions to not sing to them. It encourages laziness, and I will not put up with lazy servants. How will they ever learn how to behave properly if you continue this incessant mollycoddling? You only harm more than help them.”

  Harmony bowed her head in repentance. She was never one to argue, but especially not with her mother, whom she loved dearly despite the severity of her tongue. “Yes, Mother,” she whispered. “You are right. They are merely servants.” She dared to look up. “But their eyes light up so when I sing to them. And it costs us nothing to see such sweet smiles. Surely there is no real harm in it. They never shirk their duties.”

  Her mother sighed, took Harmony by the elbow, and led her to the beige sofa. “You have been gifted with a beautiful voice,” she said. “One that is meant to be shared with no one, but especially not with servants.” She patted Harmony’s hand. “You are no longer a child. In fact, I suspect a certain gentleman will soon ask to court you.”

  Harmony nodded. Lord Nathaniel Lambert would be asking her soon, she was sure. The man was tall and handsome, and their conversations were never dull. Unlike other gentlemen who had called on her before, Nathaniel listened to what she had to say.

  Her mother patted her hand again. “Do you believe a worthy suitor wants a bride who sings to the servants?” She laughed. “Society has certain rules put into place for a reason, ones to which a woman must adhere lest she causes her husband to look away in shame.”

  Humiliation coursed through Harmony. “You are right, Mother,” she said. “I suppose Lord Lambert would not like that at all.” She did not agree with her mother, not completely, but it was wrong to argue with one’s parents. Honor thy mother and all that.

  Her mother frowned. “I was not speaking of Lord Lambert,” she snapped. “I am speaking of Lord Miller.”

  “But I told you before it is Nathaniel for whom I care, not for Lord Miller.”

  Her mother’s frown deepened. “Lord Lambert,” she corrected. “Do not embarrass me or your father by addressing the man by his Christian name.” She shook her head. “At times I wonder where we went wrong with you. Nevertheless, Lord Miller is an earl, and I suspect that his holdings are far more expansive than those of a baron.”

  “But I have told you how much I have come to admire Lord Lambert,” Harmony argued before she could stop herself. “If he requests to court me, it is my hope that I will be able to accept.”

  Her mother gave her a sympathetic smile. “Lord Lambert is a proper gentleman, I will say, but this is an important decision, one that will be decided by your father. Not by you.”

  Harmony’s heart began to race. Lord Miller was seven years her elder, and Harmony found the man arrogant and self-possessed. Her heart belonged to Nathaniel, not him. And although her mother was often strict, at times she could have moments of kindness. This was one time Harmony hoped the woman would hear her words.

  “I would prefer to accept Lord Lambert’s request to court me,” she said, tugging at her lower lip. “If you wish me to be happy, it would be with him and not Lord Miller.”

  With a heavy sigh, her mother stood and looked down at her. “I will speak to your father when he returns next week,” she said. “And do stop tugging at your lip. It is a terrible habit. I wish I would have put a stop to it when you were younger. Oh, I forgot to mention that Lord Miller has agreed to join us for dinner Friday.”

  Harmony leaped from her seat. “But Nathaniel…that is, Lord Lambert is also calling over on Friday.”

  “At noon, if I recall,” her mother said. “That is plenty of time for the two of you to visit before you must change for dinner. Now, I must go and rest.” With those words, her mother left the room.

  Harmony sighed in frustration. Her parents were not overly concerned with her happiness but instead craved the coffers of those who wished to court her. Apparently, Lord Miller was wealthy, much more so than Nathaniel, and therefore the preferred suitor.
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br />   But Harmony cared little for the wealth a man possessed. What interested her was that he cared for her. And although Nathaniel had not used the word love, she knew in her heart that he felt it. Unfortunately, it was not her decision but that of her father, who looked down on Nathaniel because his holdings were meager when compared to those of Lord Miller.

  Walking over to the window, Harmony looked up at the bright blue sky dotted with white clouds.

  “Great butterfly,” she whispered, “if only you were real.”

  Chapter Three

  Lord Nathaniel Lambert, 8th Baron Lambert, paced outside Eastwood Estate. He was due to arrive at noon but in his haste had arrived much too early to approach the house. Today was an important day, for he wished to request permission to court Harmony. Of course, he should make the request of her father first, but there was no harm in asking Harmony her opinion on the matter.

  Yet it was not her opinion that concerned him, for he knew in his heart she would accept. Rather, it was the fact that he knew he was in love with her. Was it proper for a gentleman to express such feelings to a young lady before he has even asked to court her? He was uncertain.

  His father, Lord Charles Lambert, had never shown any affection toward Nathaniel’s mother, whether it be a simple touch or a smile. Yet, Nathaniel was not like his father, for he could not stop smiling when he was in the presence of the lovely Miss Harmony Radcliffe, and he had to summon every bit of his will to refrain from taking her hand in his.

  But to speak of love? If she did not reciprocate the feeling, he would only make a fool of himself and perhaps frighten her away. The thought made his stomach clench in worry.

  “My lord?” The voice made Nathaniel stop his pacing and turn. The butler stood in the doorway, staring out at him. “I trust you are well, my lord?”

  “Very well, thank you,” Nathaniel replied, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. “I was simply looking over the grounds. They are maintained quite well.” It was a poor excuse, but none other came to mind.