by Laura Martin
The Ashburton Reunion
Two estranged brothers find each other and two special women to love!
Orphaned as children, Joshua and Leonard Ashburton were thrown half a world apart when Josh’s guardian moved to India. Leo remained in England, being groomed to become the next Viscount Abbingdon.
Reunited after twenty-five years, both brothers are happy to be together again, until Josh starts to fall for the woman almost promised in marriage to his brother! The two brothers have found each other—now they need to find the right women to love...
Read Joshua’s story in
Flirting with His Forbidden Lady
And Leonard’s story in
Falling for His Practical Wife
Both available now!
Author Note
No one can deny 2020 has been a strange and challenging year in so many ways. I feel my whole way of life has changed, and in with all the hard parts there have been a few unexpected positives. Spending more time at home has meant more family time, more time to just be with the people who are important to me. It has also meant that for the first time in many years I have made a good dent in my to-be-read pile as trips out have been replaced with cozy evenings in with a good book.
With so much uncertainty in the world, it felt even more imperative than ever to write for escapism, and I already had the perfect characters on hand. Quiet and reserved Leo and Annabelle, who try their hardest not to fall in love despite being, underneath it all, perfect for one another. I hope you find their story as wonderful an escape as I did.
LAURA MARTIN
Falling for His
Practical Wife
Laura Martin writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing, she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, UK, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.
Books by Laura Martin
Harlequin Historical
The Pirate Hunter
Secrets Behind Locked Doors
Under a Desert Moon
A Ring for the Pregnant Debutante
An Unlikely Debutante
An Earl to Save Her Reputation
The Viscount’s Runaway Wife
The Brooding Earl’s Proposition
Her Best Friend, the Duke
One Snowy Night with Lord Hauxton
The Ashburton Reunion
Flirting with His Forbidden Lady
Falling for His Practical Wife
Scandalous Australian Bachelors
Courting the Forbidden Debutante
Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella
Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To my boys. What more can you ask for than days filled with love and laughter?
Contents
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from Captivating the Cynical Earl by Catherine Tinley
Chapter One
Eastbourne 1815
Dear Beth,
Do you remember when I promised I would never climb out of a window again? Well...
Trailing a hand over the silky wallpaper, Annabelle paused for a moment and closed her eyes. It had been a busy few days, packing up the last of their belongings, organising the carts of furniture to be taken to the little cottage overlooking the sea she and her mother were renting. Annabelle had barely stopped, itemising and sorting, all the time trying to ignore the deep sorrow she felt at leaving her childhood home.
‘It’s a fresh start,’ she murmured, taking her fingers off the wallpaper and forcing herself to stride purposefully out of the room.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Lady Hummingford announced as Annabelle came downstairs to see Mr Lennox and Mr Hardy, two men from the village who had been hired to do the heavy lifting, struggling with a weighty mahogany desk. She had watched them take it out to the cart only a few minutes earlier and now it was coming back in through the front door.
Quickly Annabelle pulled down her veil, hiding her face from the men and also conveniently hiding the eye roll she allowed herself at her mother’s behaviour.
‘Mr Lennox, Mr Hardy, would you mind if I had a private word with my mother? If you would be so kind as to take the desk back out to the cart and then why don’t you get a refreshing drink from the kitchen. You’ve been working so hard.’ She half expected her mother to protest, but Lady Hummingford stayed quiet until the men were back outside.
‘It is ridiculous to leave before the house is even sold, Annabelle. We could live here for months longer.’
‘We can’t afford the upkeep. We can’t afford the staff. We can’t even afford the wood for the fire.’ Annabelle took a step towards her mother and reached out for her hand. This might be her childhood home, the sanctuary she had only left a handful of times in over a decade and a half, but it was where her mother had met her father, where they had been a family, where she had mourned him. She had to remember this was just as hard for her mother as it was for her. ‘The cottage is comfortable and in a beautiful location. If you give it a chance, I think we could be happy there.’
Lady Hummingford scoffed and turned away and Annabelle clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t say anything she would regret.
‘What I don’t understand is why Mr Ashburton couldn’t pay for the upkeep of this place for a few more months until it sells rather than paying the rent on a new cottage.’
Sensibly Annabelle remained quiet. She knew exactly why. Birling View was a beautiful property, sat on the cliffs of the south downs with uninterrupted views of the sea. It had suffered from a gentle neglect over the last few years, with no money and no staff to maintain it to a proper standard. Despite this it should be easy to sell to the right person who was willing to spend some time and money restoring the house to its former glory.
The problem they’d had was that Annabelle’s mother was so reluctant to leave that she would point out the flaws of the property to any interested party. Lord Warner had come to look around only last week and had seemed enthusiastic about the sale. Five minutes with Lady Hummingford and he’d scuttled away, mumbling something ominous about collapsing roofs and subsiding walls.
Mr Ashburton, the brother of the man who had just married her beloved sister Beth, had promised to help with the practicalities of selling the property. Beth and her new husband, Josh Ashburton, had sailed for India straight after the wedding, but Mr Leonard Ashburton had offered hi
s services in overseeing the sale of the house and setting Annabelle and her mother up in a smaller property. He had quietly paid the first few months’ rent on the new cottage and settled the most pressing of their debts. It was Mr Ashburton who had taken Annabelle aside and pointed out that they would never sell Birling View with Lady Hummingford still in residence, doing her utmost to put off everyone who showed an interest. Reluctantly Annabelle had agreed, so here they were, almost ready to leave their home for good.
‘Have you all your personal belongings packed, Mother?’
‘Yes,’ Lady Hummingford said tersely. Annabelle squeezed her mother’s hand, trying to show she understood the pain and turmoil, but Lady Hummingford glanced down and then stepped away without a word.
Trying not to feel hurt, Annabelle turned and walked from the room, heading out of the house to check how the loading of the cart was going.
On Mr Ashburton’s advice they were leaving most of the furniture behind at Birling View. They could only fit a select few pieces in their new cottage and she knew a house as large as this one would sell better with the rooms furnished. It had been difficult to decide what to take and what to leave behind, and she suspected despite her ruthlessness they would arrive at their new cottage to find the rooms overstuffed with belongings.
Outside Annabelle was checking the ropes holding the furniture in place when she heard the clatter of approaching hooves. After a moment a carriage rounded the bend of the drive and she sent thanks to whoever was watching over her. Mr Ashburton had promised to send his carriage for her mother to travel in to their new home. When the carriage hadn’t turned up earlier in the morning she had been dreading telling her mother she would have to ride in the cart with the furniture. Their own carriage had been sold months earlier and much to Annabelle’s distress the horses had been taken by their new owner a week ago. She had sobbed then, burying her head in her mare’s mane and soaking it with her tears.
‘Ah, good,’ Lady Hummingford said, stepping out into the warm July sunshine, pulling her gloves on to her hands. ‘The carriage is here at last.’
‘I need to do one final check of the house before we go, Mother.’
Her mother toyed with the heavy set of keys, tapping them against her leg. ‘You should ride in the cart, Annabelle. Ensure our belongings survive the journey in one piece. Heaven knows we have little enough left.’
Annabelle tried not to let the hurt show on her face. For years she had been dismissed and belittled by her mother, treated as an inconvenience and an embarrassment. It shouldn’t surprise her, this suggestion that she was better placed with the furniture, but it hurt all the same.
‘I shall wait in the carriage. Let me know when you have finished in the house and I will lock up.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
Fighting back the tears, she ran up the steps and through the front door, closing it softly behind her and resting her forehead on the cool, solid wood. She reminded herself that this had been her choice, her decision. Before Beth had departed for India she had once again urged Annabelle to join her and her new husband as they set sail for their new life.
‘You’re a fool,’ Annabelle muttered to herself. Right now she could be strolling the decks arm and arm with her beloved sister and instead she was running herself ragged, trying to ease her and her mother’s descent into genteel poverty.
Straightening up, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Now was not the time to mope. There was too much to do. Later tonight, when she was tucked in her bed in the attic room of the cottage, she could let the tears fall and allow the self-pity to flourish, but right now she needed to check they weren’t leaving anything essential behind.
Walking slowly through the rooms, Annabelle tried not to remember all the happy times. The spot in the drawing room where she and Beth used to giggle together as they stabbed at their needlework and plotted minor pranks to play on their governess. The comfortable chair in the library where she had lost herself between the covers of the thousands of books she loved to read, curled up and momentarily able to forget her true place in the world. Then there was the bedroom she had shared with Beth, the heavy four-poster bed they had lain in night after night, whispering about their hopes and dreams.
It was cathartic walking through the house like this and Annabelle wished she could linger in the silence for longer, but she knew the men from the village would be eager to set off on the journey to Eastbourne and her mother was likely getting increasingly impatient.
As she began descending the stairs, she froze as she heard the heavy click of the key turning in the front door, followed by the unmistakable scratch of the key being withdrawn.
For a moment she couldn’t move, unable to process what was happening, and then she flung herself down the rest of the steps, dashing across the hall to pull at the front door.
The handle wouldn’t turn, the door was locked firmly from the outside and without a key there was no way she would ever be able to get out that way. Quickly she ran to the drawing room, throwing herself at the window, hammering at it to catch the attention of whoever had locked her in.
Annabelle saw the door to the carriage close and a moment later the wheels began to turn. Her mother had locked her in and instructed the carriage to move off.
Even though she knew it was pointless, she continued to rap on the window, hoping her mother might decide to check she hadn’t left her younger daughter behind.
‘How could you?’ she whispered, sinking on to the large wooden windowsill. The carriage was now halfway down the drive, turning the corner so it was obscured by the avenue of trees. The rational part of her brain told her it was of course an accident. From what she could work out the cart with their possessions had already left. Lady Hummingford, thinking Annabelle had exited the house and climbed aboard the cart without telling her, had locked the front door. Still, most mothers would have bothered to check before they’d locked their daughter in a deserted house.
Annabelle watched until the carriage had disappeared completely, feeling the panic begin to build. Her mother would realise eventually. It was only an hour’s journey to the cottage, so at most it would be a little over two hours before she was let out. Two hours was nothing, but she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to get out of the house. She didn’t want to be in this empty shell of what used to be her home.
Upstairs, on the first floor, there was a window just above and to the left of the main entrance that had never locked properly. Annabelle had used it to creep out a few times in her youth and had mostly found it was an easy climb over to the pillars next to the front door and then a small drop to the ground. If she was careful, she could be out of the house and waiting in the sunshine for her mother to realise her mistake.
Before she could talk herself out of it she hurried upstairs and tested the window, finding it swung out with a soft creak. The drop didn’t look too bad even if she didn’t make it to the pillars. With one final look back at the house, she climbed up on to the windowsill.
* * *
Leo entered through the wrought-iron gates at a steady trot. He was late and he hated being late. As usual his great-uncle had been reluctant to let him leave, wanting to discuss the minutiae of estate business before Leo had been able to make his escape.
His lateness wasn’t the only reason for Leo’s bad mood. Once again his great-uncle had brought up the subject of Leo’s unmarried state, a subject Leo hated discussing. Months earlier Lord Abbingdon had declared that much of his money wouldn’t pass to Leo on his death unless Leo was married. As heir, the title and estates would become his, but the money that was needed to run such large parcels of land Lord Abbingdon could leave to whomever he wanted. Leo knew it was likely an empty threat, a ploy to get him married off and producing heirs to secure the family’s future before the old man died, but it was a matter that had been on his mind more and more recently. Even more so since
his great-uncle’s doctor had pulled him aside and told him gravely there wasn’t much more they could do for the old man.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the headache of his inheritance and his great-uncle from his mind and tried to enjoy the warmth of the sunshine of his shoulders and the fresh sea breeze. He liked this part of the country, appreciated the stunning white cliffs and rolling hills. Even the dilapidated estate Lady Hummingford had clung to over the past few years since her husband’s death was charming in its own way.
‘What the hell?’ He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. The façade of Birling View looked as it always did, pretty but in need of some loving care. The drive was quiet, with the carriage and cart of furniture seemingly already departed. What caught his eye and caused him to curse was the slender form of a woman climbing out of a first-floor window.
Quickly he urged his horse forward, stopping just underneath the window in question and dismounting even before Emperor had come to a complete stop.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
The figure hanging from the window ledge went completely still.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Ashburton,’ Lady Annabelle said eventually. She turned her head a fraction and he saw the flush of colour on her cheeks, but whether it was from embarrassment or exertion he could not tell.
‘I suggest you climb back inside right away.’
‘I’m afraid that is impossible,’ she said quietly.
Taking a step closer and peering up, he saw the full extent of her predicament. For reasons known only to her she had climbed out of the window, swinging her legs down and then turning round in an attempt to lower herself closer to the ground before dropping the last few feet. Somewhere in the process her skirt had snagged on part of the window frame and now was tethering her to the window. Where she had twisted it was impossible for her to climb back in and if she dropped her dress would tear from her body.
Suppressing the questions on his lips, Leo frowned as he tried to work out the best way to get her down.
