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77p & 0.99c.
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The Duke's Heir is now available on Amazon - this story is a favourite of mine and I hope this taster is sufficient to tempt you to buy it.
http://amzn.to/1i9VnzP (.com)
http://amzn.to/1qrLTSK (UK)
‘Mama, shall I arrange to have the roof mended or not?’
Emily waited, fists clenched, for her mother to reply.
‘What was that, my love?’
‘The roof, Mama, shall I get it repaired?’ Her mother
frowned and closed her eyes again.
‘Whatever you please, my love. You know best.’
She watched her mother sink back into a deep sleep and
her eyes filled. It had been so different two years ago, before her father had
been killed in a carriage accident. Then Glebe House had been a happy place;
her mother lively and beautiful.
Now she lay on the chaise
longue all day, taking no interest in anything, making no decisions,
leaving everything to her. Her mother was only two and forty but looked years
older. Her lovely brown hair was fading and her skin held an unhealthy pallor.
Emily realised she was watching her mother slowly fade away, but there was
nothing she could do about it.
Her father had died, taking his annuity with him. The
small estate produced barely enough revenue to keep herself, her mother, and
her two younger sisters, Amelia aged thirteen and Serena aged nine, from
penury. She sighed and crossed the room to pull up the patchwork comforter, sad
to see that her mother’s skeletal frame barely made a dent in the cover. She
returned to the study to continue her search for a way to keep her small family
afloat. Her youngest sister poked her head around the door.
‘Em, are you coming for a walk with us? Mary says we
can go and look for blackberries in the woods.’ Serena already had her cloak
and walking boots on ready for the promised outing.
‘No, Serena, I’m sorry, I have too much to attend to
this morning. But I will be up this afternoon to see how well you have learnt
yesterday’s lessons.’ Emily reached down and refastened Serena’s bonnet string.
The early autumn weather was fine, but since her younger sister’s near fatal
illness two winters before, she had remained susceptible to chills and fevers.
Serena grinned. ‘Millie has not finished her French so
you had better not come up before teatime.’ There was a clatter of boots on the
uncarpeted stairs behind them.
‘I have finished;
do not tell tales, Serena. I did it just now.’
‘I am delighted to hear it, Millie.’ Emily kissed her
sister and automatically rectified the girl’s appearance. ‘Must you always look
so harum-scarum, my dear? If you travelled about the place a little more slowly
I’m certain you would get less dishevelled.’
Amelia was at that stage when she appeared to be all
legs and arms and flying hair. But even at thirteen her oval face with her huge
violet eyes, framed by tumbling nut-brown curls, gave promise that she would be
a great beauty in years to come.
Millie shook her head dislodging several more strands
of hair from what was meant to be a tidy, waist-length braid. ‘I like to run,
Em; I would never have time enough to do all the things I wish to do in a day
if I walked everywhere, as you do.’
‘I’m a responsible adult of almost twenty years. I can
hardly race about Glebe House. Mama would be scandalized.’ They all knew their
beloved mother scarcely noticed their existence but she liked to pretend things
were as they should be. She would do anything to make life easier for Serena,
Millie and her mother.
Mary, the girls’ nurse, appeared, a trifle breathless,
from the narrow servants’ passageway. ‘Goodness me, Miss Millie, you fair wear
me out! I can scarce keep up with you.’
‘Then don’t try, Mary. We’re quite content to wait for
you.’ Mary had nursed all three of them with love and devotion but was now in
her middle years, finding her energetic sister a sore trial to her plump legs.
‘It’s unladylike to run downstairs, Miss Millie, and
well you know it.’
Fearing another argument Serena intervened. She
slipped her hand into Mary’s. ‘Mary, shall we go and fetch a basket from Cook?
If we’re to pick blackberries we will need something to put them in, will we
not?’
‘I’ll run and get one. Wait here for me.’ Millie was
gone with a flurry of fading blue calico and crisp starched cotton, leaving
them no choice.
Emily laughed. ‘It’s no good fretting, Mary. Millie
will grow out of it; after all I did, did I not?’ She watched the three depart,
chattering happily, down the weed filled drive and closed the heavy oak front
door before returning to her duties. It seemed a lifetime since she'd had
either the freedom, or the inclination, to dash about the place.
The past two years had been grey and oppressive.
Angrily she slammed the study door behind her. Her maternal grandfather, the
Duke of Westerham, was entirely to blame for their present miserable situation.
Her mother, Althea, had been born unexpectedly to the
duchess when in her forties, and had been much petted and spoilt by both doting
parents. Her older brother, Peregrine, had already left home and set up his own
nursery by the time his parents presented him with an infant sister. He had
viewed the whole proceedings with extreme distaste and had never exchanged more
than a few words with his sibling.
When her mother had married, against the wishes of her
parents, to her father, a country squire of impeccable birth but moderate
income, the duke and duchess had been displeased. However, all might have been
well if the duchess had not died soon afterwards before they could be
reconciled. The duke had unfairly blamed his daughter for his wife’s death and
had never forgiven her.
Whilst her father had been alive she knew her mother
had been able to contain her grief at the duke’s harsh treatment, but now the
misery of losing her husband had uncovered the old wound and the situation was
proving too much for her. Mama was suffering from a nervous condition which
became worse as each day passed. This decline had started immediately after she
had become a widow.
Emily had written to her grandfather telling him of
her father’s death, and her mother’s poor health, but had received no response.
She knew there was no point applying to her Uncle Peregrine for he had died
many years ago. She supposed that she must have cousins and second cousins but
the connection was too distant to be of any use to her now.
Her spirits sank when she looked at the pile of papers
on the desk. These were all demands for payment and she had scarcely enough
funds to cover them. And now the roof had sprung a leak and there was nothing
she could do about it. At this rate Glebe House would fall down around their
ears before they had the wherewithal to repair it.
She sank back on one of the threadbare, sagging chairs
and her shoulders slumped. What could she do? Was there no way out or did
certain ruin face them? Where could she obtain the necessary money to solve
their problems?
She sat up and clapped her hands to her mouth as an
incredible notion occurred to her. Yes; this was the only way. She would find a
wealthy man and marry him. She frowned as a potential problem occurred to her.
She didn’t know any men, wealthy or otherwise. But she knew someone who did!
She scrambled up and hurried over to the desk. She
pushed the pile of bills to one side and placed a clean sheet of paper in front
of her. She would write, one last time, to her grandfather. He was, after all,
her guardian and the head of her household, even if so far he had completely
ignored his duties.
She carefully trimmed a quill and prepared to write
the most difficult letter of her life. She was going to ask her grandfather to
find her a suitable husband. Years ago he had arranged a match for his daughter,
but she had refused his choice. Perhaps his granddaughter’s willingness to be
married to a man that he selected would heal the breach between the families.
If her mother had been well Emily would not have
contemplated such a drastic step, but in the present circumstances she doubted
that her decision would be questioned.
