Protection (33 page)

Nathaniel and Lisa’s friends and families prospered. There were cousins aplenty to
keep their children company, not to mention a half brother for Lisa when Penelope
surprised and delighted Sir George by providing him with an heir.

Christmases were noisy, hectic affairs when they all gathered together, and they spent
an inordinate amount of time travelling between each other’s estates to celebrate
birthdays and for house parties. But it was worth it. Their family, though separated
by distance when they weren’t in London for the season, was closer than ever.

While they had their fair share of obstacles to overcome, the occasional disagreement,
and blessedly few dark days to endure, Nathaniel and Lisa’s life was filled with family,
friends, laughter, and above all, love . . . once forbidden but now freely declared.

The End

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Exclusive first look at

Passion and Propriety
,

book one in the Hearts of Honour series

available August 2014.

Chapter 1

Lure

The long-absent Viscount Blackthorn had sworn to never again set foot inside the Hartley
village church. There were only so many hellfire and damnation sermons one could endure
in a lifetime, and William Blackthorn had reached his quota by the age of ten. The
other location he’d vowed to shun at all costs was, ironically, his destination on
this journey—Blackthorn Manor. A stone monstrosity of gargoyle-infested parapets and
looming towers, it presided over the village like a sentinel of doom. In no great
hurry to darken its dreary doors, he turned his back on his childhood home and faced
the other structure that featured prominently in his nightmares.

Drawn near by the sound of a woman’s pure contralto rising above the strains of a
pipe organ, William furrowed his brow as he looked at the red brick chapel. He distinctly
recalled paying a small fortune for the church’s refurbishment some years prior, not
to mention a hefty annual maintenance bill, but the building looked in dire need of
repair.

Perplexed, but with more pressing concerns weighing on his mind, William contemplated
breaking his pledge. After keeping his distance for almost a decade, he no longer
feared the oppressive sermons that had haunted his childhood. It helped that the reverend
who’d tormented him was long dead, as did the knowledge the current vicar was one
of the few members of the local gentry who’d treated him with kindness when he was
a boy.

Fond but almost forgotten memories surfaced of the vicar—a mere curate at the time—granting
William the privilege of playing with the eldest of his three daughters. Curious about
the solemn boy from the manor that dominated all their lives, the golden-haired girl
had welcomed him as a bemused participant in her games. His senior by several years,
she was a bossy sort, but he’d been more than willing to forgive the unflattering
trait as, unlike every other girl of his station, she had not spurned him in a cruelly
deliberate manner.

The position and wealth he’d been set to inherit had counted for little against rumours
that an intimate association with him would result in a deadly price. The vicar’s
generosity was no doubt aided by the awareness that his daughter’s much lower position
in society protected her from William’s potential interest, but William had appreciated
the gesture nonetheless.

A rare smile came to his lips as he recalled the family’s gift of friendship, cementing
his decision to enter the sanctuary. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
After he’d visited his unlamented father’s grave in the cemetery beside the church—the
reason for the interruption in his journey—all that would be left for him to do was
drag his wretched self up the hill to his family home and then . . .
die
.

The wound to his left arm would undoubtedly prove fatal. The army surgeon had been
adamant amputation was his only hope of survival, but William had refused. Death on
the battlefield would have been a welcome conclusion to his military career, but the
piecemeal destruction of his person was more than he could bear. He already wore a
savage scar down the right side of his face from an encounter with a Frenchman’s sword.
The musket shot wound he’d received to his leg some six months earlier had never fully
healed, not that it had been given much opportunity. It was a minor miracle he’d made
it this far, but upon realising his demise was imminent, William had felt compelled
to return to Blackthorn Manor. His death would put an end to the curse that had plagued
his family for generations, and it seemed fitting for that to occur at the place where
it all began.

Moving with surprising stealth for such a large man, in particular one both feverish
and encumbered with a limp, he made his way to the deserted rearmost pew of the chapel.
Wary of drawing attention, he stifled his groans as he lowered himself onto the wooden
bench. Once he’d caught his breath, William was pleased to discover he had an uninterrupted
view of the woman with the lovely voice seated at the old pipe organ. Her appearance
was as captivating as her singing. The curls visible from beneath her bonnet appeared
light brown or golden blonde—it was difficult to tell in the dim light of the church,
as few sconces had been lit. Her profile showed a regal nose complimented by a stubborn-looking
chin, and a spark of recognition had him wondering if she might be the childhood playmate
he’d just been thinking of.
Anna? Helen?

If he was correct in his assumption, she was remarkably trim for a woman of seven
or eight and twenty years, since she would likely have borne a passel of children
by now. Although she was dressed soberly—fitting for a vicar’s daughter, he imagined—William
thought her most appealing. Not that he would have pursued her even if she was unwed
and he wasn’t in the process of departing this mortal coil. Long used to ignoring
any sensation of attraction he might feel for a member of the fairer sex, he focused
instead on what had caught his attention in the first place—her skilled playing and
lovely voice.

Ignoring the words of the hymns, their messages of redemption and eternal reward irrelevant
to one of his dubious spiritual standing, he allowed his mind to drift with the music.
Not in small part because his fever was spiking again. Despite his physical discomfort,
the soothing notes granted William the first measure of peace he’d known since the
battle for Arapile on the Portuguese Peninsula.

Army life had suited him, his years of service both purposeful and rewarding despite
the fact he’d spent them at the forefront of a brutal war. Rising to the rank of captain
on merit rather than patronage, his plan had been to remain part of an institution
where his character and accomplishments counted more than the misfortune of his heritage, irregular
as that was for one of his station. A military career was normally the purview of
a second or third
son. Those who inherited titles and vast estates did
not
put themselves at such risk, engaged as they were in the running of said estates
and the begetting of heirs to carry on their bloodlines.

The blood that flowed through William’s veins would have been better shed upon the
fields of France.

The final hymn came to an end on a discordant note, and he opened his eyes to see
the organist staring at him, a frown marring her otherwise lovely brow. William glowered
in return—an instinctual response—and she turned back to face the organ, a hint of
colour appearing on her cheeks. He wouldn’t describe her as beautiful, her features
too strong and that chin far too determined, but there was something about her he
found pleasing to the eye. Since she would likely be the last
lady he ever looked upon, he decided to allow himself the indulgence of staring, even
if she chose to shun his less than appealing visage.

William raised his hand to trace the scar that adorned his cheek, encountering his
beard and strands of unkempt hair. The corner of his mouth twitched. No wonder the
poor woman had looked askance at him, as he must appear more beast than man.

The vicar, now middle-aged and with a receding hairline, took his place behind the
pulpit, and William refocused his attention. Allowing the reverend’s oratory to flow
over him, words that spoke of a God of love and the promise of a joy-filled future,
William’s eyes fluttered closed. While he doubted his looming encounter with the Almighty
would be such a pleasant affair, he couldn’t help holding onto the faint hope death
might bring some relief from his suffering.

The sermon drew to a close, and William gripped the end of the pew, using it to pull
himself to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took one last look at the vicar’s eldest
daughter—yes, he was sure it was her—sitting stiff-backed beside the organ. He hoped
life had treated her well, that she was happy and her husband was a decent fellow.
There wasn’t a blessed thing he could do about it either way, but he liked the idea
that she’d been rewarded for showing a lonely boy unexpected kindness and giving a
dying man the pleasure of listening to her lovely voice.

Chapter 2

Discovery

The dutiful eldest daughter of the Vicar of Hartley couldn’t shake the feeling she
was being watched. Hannah Foster was not one to seek the attention of the local society,
content to let others take the limelight. Consequently, the sensation of a pair of
eyes boring into the space between her shoulder blades was quite distinctive.

As she brought the final hymn to a close, Hannah permitted herself a brief glance
in the direction of the disturbing feeling. Expecting to be met by proof of her folly
in the manner of an empty space, she startled at the sight of an officer—a stranger
to Hartley—slumped against the carved pew end. Even hunched over, it was obvious he
was tall with broad shoulders that filled out his greatcoat in an intimidating fashion.
Her fingers slipped on the keys, and the officer’s eyes flew open. His gaze found
hers, and for the briefest moment she thought she saw a spark of recognition in his
dark eyes before it faded, his brows lowering in a scowl.

Embarrassed at being caught out, Hannah felt an uncharacteristic blush warm her cheeks
and spun to face the organ. There was something
familiar about the officer, which was impossible, as she would not have forgotten
being introduced to a man with such a formidable presence. Still, she couldn’t shake
the feeling she knew
him somehow.

Stifling a sigh, Hannah acknowledged what was to blame for her odd humour. She’d been
dreading the arrival of this day for a very long time, heralding as it did the final
death-knell of her girlhood dreams. With the arrival of her twenty-seventh birthday,
the hope she’d nurtured throughout the years that she would have a husband, children,
a family of her own one day, had died on a breathless whimper.

Reminding herself that life still held purpose, just not the one she’d aspired to,
she focused on her father’s message. Prepared for this far-from-auspicious day with
her in mind, he paraphrased from Jeremiah.

“God’s thoughts towards us are of good and not evil. His plan is to give us a blessed
end—a positive, hopeful, and rewarding end.”

Hannah was all too aware the exact wording was an “expected”
end. While appreciating her father’s attempt to be encouraging, she considered the
original translation more appropriate. It had long been expected by gentry and commoner
alike that the vicar’s eldest and by far plainest daughter would end her days as a
spinster.

After the service, Hannah told herself she was relieved to discover the back pew empty
and the stranger nowhere in sight. Whatever the dishevelled gentleman’s reason for
being in Hartley, it was no concern of hers, and she ignored the urge to search for
him amongst the thinning crowd.

Occupied with her duties, she found comfort in familiarity. She approached Lord and
Lady Wescott, the most highly placed of her father’s parishioners, and gave them her
undivided attention to ensure they did not feel slighted in any way. The elderly widow,
Lady Mostyn, whose son was a baron too filled with self-importance to visit his ailing
mother, required cosseting to soothe her disappointment. Miss Laidlaw, thrilled to
receive an invitation to visit her wealthy aunt and uncle in Bath, beamed when Hannah
congratulated her on her good fortune. If the young lady’s luck continued, she might
even find herself a husband.