Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Offer
Whispers of Light
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Echoes of the Heart
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Voices of Shadows Past
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
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
Epilogue
Author's Note
Author's Note
Defiant Brides Series
Regency Hearts Series
Website
Secrets of Scarlett Hall
Books 1-3
Whispers of Light
Echoes of the Heart
Voices of Shadows Past
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.
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Whispers of Light
Prologue
Scarlett Hall, 5th of June 1805
Scarlett Hall had been the home to the Lambert family for over a century and a half with its jutting parapets and grand towers. It represented a vast fortune and a noble place in society since its inception when the First Baron Lambert gained his title and had the house requisitioned. Yet, Lady Eleanor Lambert, the current mistress of the household, feared it would not endure another year.
Oh, it would remain standing, for it was a formidable manor with strong walls and tiled roofs; however, whether or not its deed would remain in the hands of a Lambert was what was in question.
The debt collector had called not an hour earlier, the man offering no mercy as she pleaded for his goodwill. He had left with her promise to pay the debt owed in two months’ time—with interest, of course, which came to no surprise to Eleanor. What had frightened her the most was the promise he made that, when he returned and she did not have the required money, the manor would be taken as payment and the family thrown out on its ear.
Every part of her being wanted to scream, to cry out to the heavens and perhaps even hide in hopes that it would make the troubles disappear. However, Eleanor was no child; she was the mother to three young ladies and a younger heir, and their future depended upon the actions she took in these next two months.
Tracing her hand over the desk that belonged to her husband, she thought back to another time when these worries were not for her to endure. Times when she could focus on her family and not concern herself with matters of business. However, those days where now gone, and she had no other choice than to set matters straight.
The sounds of laughter had her moving to the window, where she watched her youngest daughter Juliet, walking down the garden path with her cousin Annabel, daughter of Lord Lambert’s brother, at her side. They would be up to some sort of mischief, Eleanor was certain but had not time to deal with their antics.
As the two moved out of sight, Eleanor’s eyes moved to her middle daughter, Hannah, who sat beneath a tree with a book in her hand, as was as commonplace as a cookstove in the kitchen.
However, it was her eldest daughter, Isabel, for whom she was searching, and she found her at the farthest gate of the garden gazing out over the rolling green hills as she was oftentimes prone to do. Although it was not cold outside, Isabel stood with her arms crossed over her stomach and her wrap falling around her elbows.
“Forgive me, Charles,” Eleanor whispered as she allowed a single tear to spring forth. There was much she needed to tell her husband, and therefore, she returned to the desk. Readying the parchment and quill, she considered what she would say. How would she tell him what she needed to share?
Her eyes fell to a letter written two days prior, ready to be sent, and she knew what had to be told.
Dipping the quill in the inkwell, she began to write, allowing her heart to guide her words.
My Dearest Charles,
There is much to say, although I will keep this letter short, as I know you prefer it so. The truth of the matter is that Scarlett Hall is in near ruins, and I am afraid acts of desperation will be needed in order to save it. You often boasted of the strength, wealth, and wit of your family who built such a majestic home; that those elements are what bound it together.
However, I realize now that the secrets within its walls will soon tear it apart if I do not find a way to save it. There is enough money to secure us for only a few months. The debt collectors are not pleased, nor should they be, for they only wish what was promised them. It was in that fear a
nd desperation that I made a promise to them, but I cannot lie to you any more than I can to myself.
I knew this day was drawing nigh, and I have prepared a letter in anticipation for the worst. The words contained within are not for you but for the man whose eyes I have seen settle upon our eldest daughter, Isabel. Our daughter who walks in heartache and despair. Soon, I will ask her to do the unthinkable, to take upon a burden that is not hers in order to save our beloved Scarlett Hall.
The secrets that threaten to destroy our home shall, and always will, remain hidden. I carry them alone; not for the sake of integrity, but for our children. I do wish you were still alive to see how they have grown, but that age has passed, and another has come. A new era threatens to unravel the very heart of our family. And destroy it. However, I will do everything in my power to stop it.
I have made my decision. I will send the letter at once.
Your Loving Wife,
Eleanor
Eleanor leaned back in the chair, the burden upon her shoulders heavy. Guilt and worry knotted her stomach as she placed her hand on the already prepared letter. She did not want to send it, yet she knew in her heart she had no choice.
A single knock on the door had her turn. “Come.”
The door opened, and Forbes, the family butler, entered. “Lady Lambert,” he said with a diffident bow, “you asked to see me?”
Eleanor rose, the sealed letter in her hand. “I did,” she said as she approached the man. “See that this is delivered immediately.”
Forbes looked at the name of the recipient. “I will see it sent now.” Then, without another word, the man left, closing the door behind him.
Returning to the window, Eleanor’s heart went out to Isabel. Although her eldest daughter had no idea of what was to come, Eleanor did, and therefore, she managed to whisper but a few words.
“I am sorry.”
Chapter One
Mrs. Isabel Barnet, formerly Miss Isabel Lambert, had not always been sorrowful. In fact, she had been quite happy for the majority of her life. She had grown up in Scarlett Hall, a place she loved. She had married her beloved Arthur during her first season, and the world had been theirs to conquer.
However, that was not meant to be, and now, three years after their wedding and one after his death, she was alone. Not alone as in the sense there were no others around her, for she had her family. No, this was a sense of a constant fog enveloping her mind, which made thinking clearly difficult and constricted her vision. The only thing on which she could focus was how her life was now forfeit.
Sheep dotted the rolling green hills behind the gardens of Scarlett Hall. The sun hung over the horizon, continuing to warm the air, and yet she felt chilled. It was the cold that had sunk in not long after her vows were completed, and the chill had only worsened the day she learned Arthur had died, as did a part of her. Her hopes and dreams were gone at a moment’s notice, replaced with despair in the next breath.
Her mother had welcomed her back to Scarlett Hall with open arms. Her sisters, although troublesome at times, did their best to console her. However, the pain, the heartache inside, could not be healed. And although it might be possible to find new love, she found it difficult to hope for such fortuity.
For love was sweet whispers of promises never kept. It was given and not received, and above all, it destroyed one’s soul. Of course, these were not words written in the poetry she once read, nor was it the advice of a sage of wisdom. Rather, it was the understanding that comes from experiencing the life she had lived thus far.
Indeed, she had experienced many things, most of which she had kept secret. For her burden of shame and guilt was a heavy weight to bear, and she wished not to burden another with that which was for her alone. To do so would be an unfair action indeed.
Hurried whispers came to her ear, and she turned to see her youngest sister, Juliet, aged seventeen, and their cousin Annabel, aged sixteen, walking down the path, their heads close together. Juliet’s hair, which was as dark as the eyes of a fox—an appropriate analogy if one knew of her antics—flowed behind her, and the grin she displayed told much. She wore the blue muslin dress usually reserved for special occasions, and Isabel knew that something was amiss.
The truth of the matter was, Juliet was prone to flights of fancy and getting into mischief, and Isabel feared that one day the girl’s behavior would get her into trouble. That is, more trouble than she had already gotten herself into thus far in her life; the type of trouble from which she would not be able to extract herself. Then, as was typical, it would be left up to Isabel to see her returned to safety.
Sighing, she went in search of where Juliet had gone only to encounter Hannah sitting beneath a tree, her customary book opened in her lap. Hannah was nineteen and had proclaimed her life would be spent reading and writing poetry. In her mind, marriage was old fashioned, meant to keep women under the thumb of men. In a way, Isabel could not help but agree, but it was the way of things, and Hannah would see firsthand how difficult it was for a woman to not marry.
Hannah’s first London season had come and gone, yet she had been unable to attend due to a sudden illness, one of which Doctor Comerford was unable to explain. Isabel suspected her sister had fabricated the entire illness in order to remain home rather than attend the season. At least, she would not put it past the girl.
“It seems our sister has disappeared,” Isabel said when she came to a stop beside where Hannah sat.
Hannah sighed and closed her book, her finger marking her place. Her hair was much like that of Isabel, the color of wheat, a stark contrast to their scheming sister. Also quite different from Juliet, she wore a more appropriate morning dress, yellow in color with white daisies embroidered on the bodice. “Do you not care that she may find trouble?” she asked as she squinted up at Isabel.
Isabel gave a derisive sniff. “It is not a matter of caring but rather a matter of whether or not my words will do any good if I was to warn her. Juliet will do whatever she desires, and no amount of scolding or harsh words will change that.” She gave a heavy exhale of breath. She loved her sisters dearly; however, being the eldest, she had to take their burdens upon herself, something she found tiresome the older she became. Hannah was old enough to take over watching their sister, but she refused to be of any aid whatsoever.
“You wish me to help.” It was a statement, not a question. Did the girl know how to read Isabel’s thoughts? Hannah shook her head and stood, clutching the book to her chest. “One day you will see that our sister is beyond help.”
“Do not say such things,” Isabel said as the two began to walk down the stone path their sister and cousin had taken. “There is no one who is beyond help, and more so our sister. We cannot simply ignore what she does.”
“You should allow Mother to handle her,” Hannah replied with a huff. “It is her duty, not ours.”
Anger flared in Isabel, and she reached out to grab her sister’s arm. “Do not say that about her,” she admonished. “Mother deserves our respect, not insolence. You have no idea what it is like to be a widow and be forced to change everything in your life.”
“I am sorry,” Hannah whispered, making Isabel’s heart ache. “However, Mother never joins us anymore. It is as if she has become a recluse.” Then, the quietest of the sisters added, “And I miss her.”
Isabel wished to weep. To weep for the hurt she, herself, suffered, but also for that of her sisters. Yet, releasing tears would only compound the sadness they all endured; therefore, she held them back. Instead, she embraced Hannah. “I understand,” she whispered. “I miss her, as well. Perhaps, like many of us, she is having a season of sadness over father. It has only been two years since his passing, and you know how close they were.”
“That could be,” Hannah said as their embrace broke. “You believe it is because she misses Father that she hides away?”
Isabel nodded. “Indeed, I believe it is.”
However, as the words left her lip
s, Isabel was not so sure. The entire family had grieved, their mother right there beside her children; however, it was only in the last month or so that she had withdrawn from them all, and her once beautiful face, which had always been full of smiles, was now gaunt.
“Come,” Isabel said with a forced smile. “Let us go in search of Juliet before trouble finds her.”
“Or she it,” Hannah said with a laugh.
***
They had circled the garden twice, checking behind every bush and hedge, and Isabel grew frustrated with each breath.
“One does not simply disappear,” she said. “Where has she gone?” Her eyes searched about once more before she turned to Hannah at her side. The woman held her head low, and Isabel sighed. “Tell me what you know.”
Hannah shook her head. “She threatened me.”
Isabel wished her mother was there to handle the situation; however, she was not. As usual. Although sadness consumed her, Isabel placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder and offered the woman a smile. “Her threats are merely that; there is nothing she can do. You should know this by now. Therefore, tell me. What do you know?”
Hannah gave a heavy sigh. “Very well. Earlier this morning, Juliet spoke to Annabel about Daniel.”
“The stable boy?” Isabel asked in confusion.
“Yes. Although I do not believe what Juliet said, I do wonder…”
Isabel tightened her hand on her sister’s shoulder without thought. “Come now. Tell me. What is she planning?”
Hannah looked up at Isabel. “To kiss him!” she blurted. “She told Annabel that every day she finds him and he kisses her. She wished to prove to our cousin that her story is true.”
Isabel stifled a groan and took her sister’s hand in hers. “Thank you for telling me. Let us go in search of her. And not a word of this to Mother. Understood?”
Hannah nodded, and the two hurried through the garden—several of the gardeners offering them bright smiles, which Isabel returned despite her urgent errand. She had always felt it necessary to be kind to those employed by her and her family, for they worked hard to make her life comfortable, and therefore were deserving of at least a smile if she could not offer them anything else.
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