Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  Louise had brought a dress she’d sewn for Helene. She held it up to show her.

  ‘I do not think you should have bothered with a new dress when I am due so soon,’ Helene told her. She was uncertain precisely when she was due, but it must be soon.

  ‘Your dresses are becoming too tight in the bodice,’ Louise explained. ‘Let us see if this one will fit better.’

  The three women walked upstairs and had Helene try on this newest creation.

  ‘This takes me back,’ Mrs Jacobs exclaimed, as she handed pins to Louise. ‘Were we not similarly engaged a year ago?’

  Helene smiled. ‘For my beautiful gold ball gown.’ So much had happened since then. ‘I must admit, I am able to breathe better in this dress.’

  ‘Now remember, Madame Helene—’ Madame Helene was the name Mrs Jacobs had settled on when mademoiselle would no longer suit ‘—Louise and I will come when it is your time, and I am prepared to be your baby nurse for as long as you wish it.’

  Helene smiled at her. ‘How could I forget?’

  After her friends left, Helene washed their tea dishes in the scullery. She occasionally hired a maid of all work to help with the cleaning, but mostly she did not mind these daily chores. This was not the life she’d been brought up to expect, but it was one she much preferred.

  Especially because she was with Rhys.

  Their months in Paris had been idyllic, strolling along the Seine, exploring the glorious Notre Dame cathedral, dining at outdoor cafes. Helene would not have missed those days for the world. Paris after Waterloo had not at all been the atmosphere Rhys feared. The French people, if not welcoming the British army, were at least tolerant. They’d been very tired of war. But Helene had no wish to stay in Paris as some English expatriates chose to do. She much preferred Brussels where, in her mind, love abounded.

  Rhys returned home. He entered the kitchen and gave her a hug from behind while her arms were plunged in dishwater.

  ‘I collected the post,’ he murmured as he dropped kisses on the tender skin of her neck.

  ‘Mmm…’ was all she could say.

  He released her and pulled out two envelopes. ‘A letter from Grant.’

  ‘How nice!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘A letter from your brother.’

  ‘Oh?’

  David rarely wrote to her, although he was doing fairly well in Yarford. Marston stayed on as his valet and proved a steadying force for the young Earl. David was not yet old enough to take total control of his estates, but he seemed to have no difficulty asserting his will and having it accepted.

  ‘Open David’s first,’ she said. ‘My hands are wet.’

  Rhys broke the seal and unfolded the page.

  He paraphrased the letter. ‘It is quite civil.’ Sometimes David’s letters were a bit irate when he was worked up about something. ‘It is difficult to make out. He wishes your input on an estate matter. I can tell that. You should read it for yourself.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘David wants my opinion?’

  He glanced at the page again. ‘I am not certain. I think he wants you to agree with his opinion.’

  She smiled. ‘That does sound more likely. I’ll read it later, when my hands and apron are dry and I have time to make out his hand.’ She wiped a plate clean in the soapy water and rinsed it in clear water. ‘And the letter from Grant?’

  When the regiment disbanded, Grant returned to England. They’d not received a letter from him in a long time.

  Rhys opened the letter and read to himself.

  He gasped. ‘I don’t believe this!’

  She turned around to face him. ‘What is it? He is not ill, is he?’

  ‘No. Not Grant. He is well.’ Rhys shook his head. ‘It is his brother.’

  ‘The Viscount?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked up at her. ‘His brother was killed in a carriage accident. The Viscountess, too. They had no sons, so Grant is Viscount Grantwell now.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and came to his side.

  He read further and looked over at her, all expression leaving his face. ‘There is more.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, alarmed.

  ‘Grant wants me to manage his estate for him. His brother left matters in disarray and the present estate manager seems to have been skimming funds.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘Do you want to do that?’ she asked finally.

  Did she? she asked herself. Their lives had settled into this comfortable routine—at least Helene’s life had. Her days were busy with cooking, cleaning, shopping. Rhys was more at loose ends. Sometimes Helene wondered if he yearned to be back in the army, leading his men.

  He perused the letter again as if to assure himself he’d read it correctly. ‘What do I know about managing an estate? I do not know if I am even capable.’

  She put her arm around his waist. ‘Of course you are capable! Grant would not offer it to you if he thought otherwise.’

  He turned to face her. ‘Would you like to do this?’

  She was so happy here in Brussels. ‘I would miss Mrs Jacobs and Louise and Wilson.’

  He nodded, but she thought the corners of his mouth turned down in disappointment.

  On the other hand, they could always visit Brussels. ‘There is much I miss about being on an English country estate, too, though.’

  His expression brightened. ‘You would consider it?’

  She leaned her cheek against his arm. ‘Of course I would.’

  He frowned. ‘I would not wish to disappoint Grant.’

  She laughed. ‘I am not sure of your meaning. Disappoint Grant by refusing?’

  ‘By not doing the job well,’ he said.

  She reached up to touch his cheek. ‘My love, you have led men in terrible circumstances. You found my brother in—’ She swallowed. ‘There is nothing you cannot do. And you will be with your friend.’

  He still looked uncertain. ‘The daughter of an earl married to an estate manager? Would that not be difficult for you?’

  A return to England would certainly put her back in the society where status and titles mattered. ‘Perhaps that will matter more to other people than to me. We will not know until we try. It will be another risk.’

  The corners of his mouth turned up. ‘Another grand adventure, you mean?’

  She grinned. ‘Another grand adventure!’

  And nothing was set in stone. If this new life did not suit them, they could always embark on a different grand adventure.

  She winced. A sudden pain took her mind in another direction entirely.

  ‘I will agree on one condition,’ she managed.

  ‘What condition?’ Rhys looked uncertain again.

  She glanced down at her widening girth. ‘I wish to wait until after the baby is born.’ The pain recurred and she looked up at him in wonder and anxiety. ‘Which I think might be very soon!’

  His brows rose. ‘Do you mean…?’

  She nodded. The pain recurred.

  He swept her into his arms and carried her to their stairs.

  ‘Rhys, I can walk!’ she protested.

  He did not heed her. ‘Is there time for me to summon Mrs Jacobs?’

  ‘I think so.’ Her water had not broken. ‘And Louise.’

  He lay her on their bed, but she immediately sat up. ‘Wait!’

  He turned back.

  She slid off the bed, reached up and tilted his face towards hers. Their lips touched. ‘I have a feeling this will be our grandest adventure of them all!’

  He embraced her, holding her close as he had on other occasions of their parting. The morning after the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. At the stables before the battle. At the carriage here in Brussels.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I will
be back soon with Mrs Jacobs.’

  She climbed back in bed and he turned to go.

  ‘Rhys!’ She sat up and called him back again.

  He stopped.

  ‘Come back to me soon.’

  ‘Always,’ he said, and rushed out through the door.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9781488071706

  Her Gallant Captain at Waterloo

  Copyright © 2021 by Diane Perkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Isabel finished the last stitch and made a secure knot.

  She rubbed a salve liberally over the wound, her fingers lingering over the smooth, taut skin, then fetched lengths of clean, dry linen and wrapped it a few times around his broad chest, which of course brought her tantalizingly close to him.

  His lips were only a fingerbreadth apart from hers, and as his eyes dropped to her lips, she licked them without intending to.

  Oh dear… Her stomach flipped on itself and her breath hitched, stuck in her throat. They both stared at each other for a moment, neither of them moving. There was a question in Will’s gaze, a question that she was only just beginning to understand. He wanted to kiss her and, to her shame, she wanted him to…very much.

  He edged near, his lips hovering just above hers, his breathing coming in shallow breaths.

  “I shouldn’t, Isabel,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble.

  Her heart was pounding against her chest. “I shouldn’t allow you to.”

  Will cradled her cheek with one hand, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “No…you mustn’t,” he whispered as he dipped his head, pressing his lips to hers lightly.

  Author Note

  The First Barons’ War began in 1215 in England, after King John reneged on the Charter of Liberties (Magna Carta). It lasted two bloody and bitter years, yet much of the troubles and deep divisions in the country had been brewing for most of King John’s reign.

  However, the king’s timely death in October 1216 and the decisive win for the men loyal to him at the Battle of Lincoln a year later meant that the country could start to heal under the stewardship of William Marshal—the Earl of Pembroke and Lord Protector of England (the newly crowned Henry III being too young to rule).

  In the aftermath, old wounds were still raw. As was the case for Sir William (Will) Geraint, the hero in this book.

  It was a time when young noble girls could be sent to live with their betrothed’s family to strengthen ties. Which was what almost happened when Lady Isabel de Clancey, the heroine, was a little girl.

  Will and Isabel embark on the most important journey of their lives, but can they discover a treasure that guides them home? Or do they find more than they bargained for?

  I hope you enjoy their story!

  Her Banished Knight’s Redemption

  Melissa Oliver

  Melissa Oliver is from southwest London, UK, where she writes historical romance novels. She lives with her gorgeous husband and equally gorgeous daughters, who share her passion for decrepit old castles, grand palaces and all things historical. When she’s not writing, she loves to travel for inspiration, paint, and visit museums and art galleries.

  Melissa Oliver won the Joan Hessayon Award for new writers from the Romantic Novelists’ Association in 2020 for her first book, The Rebel Heiress and the Knight.

  Books by Melissa Oliver

  Harlequin Historical

  Notorious Knights

  The Rebel Heiress and the Knight

  Her Banished Knight’s Redemption

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  To my three treasures—Bella, Scarlett and Sofia. Always and forever.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  PROLOGUE

  AD 1206—the remote outskirts of La Rochelle, Poitou region, Aquitaine. A region still part of the English Crown.

  She was going to die today. Now, at this very moment…

  Isabel opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It was as if her voice had frozen, owing to the unspeakable horrors she had just witnessed. She wanted her mother to comfort her, soothe her and make this all go away, but that was not possible.

  Mama was far away from here.

  Her whole body shook violently as she lay on the ground, gawping at the bad man hovering over her. He had caught her easily as she had run away into these woods, trying to get away from the carnage that he, along with the other bandits, had inflicted. It had all come to this: staring death in the face. Isabel drew in a shaky breath and screwed her eyes shut, thinking that she had let her father down, through no fault of her own.

  Oh, please, God in heaven, let it not hurt…please let it be over quickly, she said over and over again in her head like a prayer, as she wrapped her small hand around the pendant dangling from her neck.

  But nothing happened. Instead, the man made strange, unexpected noises. Isabel slowly opened her eyes and saw the bad man swaying from side to side, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before he fell with a thud on to the ground. It was then that she saw him…a boy, several years older than her, eyes wide and holding the blade of a sword, the hilt pointing down. He must have surprised the bad man and struck him from behind using the heavy metal hilt. The boy had hit him well because the man was lying motionless.

&nbs
p; ‘Are you all right, miss?’ he said gently. ‘My name is Will Geraint and I’m here to help. He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  It was a nice voice, with so much warmth that she was instantly put at ease after what she had witnessed and almost endured.

  Not that she knew whether the voice belonged to someone that she should readily trust. Isabel cautiously shook her head as the boy moved forward to help her on to her unsteady feet.

  ‘You’re safe now, but it’s best if you don’t look back there,’ he said, pointing towards the smouldering wagons, which were shrouded by an eerie silence. All the people she had been travelling with were now dead, as she would have been, if it had not been for this boy.

  ‘Do you know what happened here?’ He was watching her. ‘Who did this?’

  He seemed to be about the same age as her eldest brother, twelve or possibly thirteen, and his eyes were the bluest she’d ever seen. They were kind eyes.

  But she couldn’t answer. She dared not.

  ‘Was it an ambush?’

  She nodded slowly, suddenly shaking uncontrollably.

  ‘Can you tell me your name?’

  Again, she said nothing as she tried to compose herself.

  He exhaled as he dragged his fingers through his matted hair. ‘Very well, but you can’t stay here. You’ll have to come with me and I will ask Sir Percy what is to be done with you.’

  She stilled before taking a step back. She couldn’t go with him! Who was his lord? For all she knew he could be another enemy of her father’s.

  As though he sensed her apprehension, he tried again, ‘Whoa, easy now. Sir Percy is a good man and he’ll help, I know he will. Besides, you really can’t stay here. It’s not safe.’

  No, she really couldn’t stay in this place, with the carnage all around her, the repugnant smell of burning flesh. Oh, God, it was all too much. She turned and retched violently, emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground. The boy patted her gently on the shoulder.

  ‘I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing for you here any more, miss,’ he whispered. ‘Come, I’ll take you to safety.’