Promised

by Leah Garriott

  © 2020 Leah Garriott

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®, at permissions@shadowmountain.com. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

  Visit us at shadowmountain.com

  Proper Romance is a registered trademark.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Garriott, Leah, author.

  Title: Promised : proper romance / Leah Garriott.

  Description: Salt Lake City, Utah : Shadow Mountain, 2020.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019019684 | ISBN 9781629726144 (paperbound) | eISBN 978-1-62973-797-3

  Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | LCGFT: Romance fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3607.A77345 P76 2020 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019019684

  Printed in the United States of America

  LSC Communications, Crawfordsville, IN

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover photos: Elina Simeonova / Trevillion Images; Mukul Banerjee / Shutterstock.com

  Book design: © Shadow Mountain

  Art direction: Richard Erickson

  Design: Heather G. Ward

  To David—

  You are my happily ever after.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  Warwickshire, England, 1812

  “She knows how to host a party, I’ll give her that,” my brother Daniel muttered, stopping beside me. “I’ve never seen so much silver in my life.”

  Someone from behind jostled us and a matron passed, yanking her young daughter forward to obtain a position closer to the front. Daniel scowled at them before his dark eyes focused on me. “Margaret, you cannot be serious about going through with this.”

  “I am.” Once I was married, there would be no more rumors preventing Daniel from marrying. And I would no longer have to endure the whispers regarding the scandal of my broken engagement. Everything would finally be as it should have been two years ago.

  Mrs. Hickmore clapped her hands, silencing the excited murmurs. “Now, everyone.” She surveyed us with a smile so full of satisfaction it squeezed her round cheeks up, making her eyes nothing more than small slits. “To your seats. You’ll find your names at your plates for tonight only. Hereafter, you may sit wherever, or should I say with whomever, you wish. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

  She spread her arms, officially welcoming us to the opening of the event. Three gentlemen strode boldly forward, nodding at her as they passed, and one of the braver women laughed and followed in their wake. Soon the group moved almost en masse toward the tables, and footmen stepped out of the shadows to assist the more timid in finding their places.

  Those who hurried around us carried anticipation in their tentative smiles and hope in their excited eyes. Yet there must be others who, like me, sought a union of convenience. Others who knew how much giving your heart to someone hurt.

  A woman paused and inspected Daniel with a calculated smile. Daniel turned his back to her and clasped my arm, his voice low and insistent as he said, “Change your mind. You don’t have to go through with this.”

  Instead of seeing this party as a means to right the wrongs that had been inflicted on our family, he viewed my coming as a rash decision made by a heartbroken sister. It had been devastating to discover Edward, the man I’d pledged my heart to, had entertained a string of mistresses and had only pretended to care for me because of a stipulation of his father’s. He had made me look such a fool for loving him. I had been a fool. Edward’s family’s estate bordered our own; his sister was my best friend and the woman Daniel wished to marry. We had known each other practically our whole lives. I should have realized it wasn’t real, should have seen him for what he was, should have perceived that my love meant nothing to him. That I’d meant nothing to him.

  But I hadn’t. He’d courted me and made me laugh and treated me with all the attentiveness I’d ever longed for. And I’d loved him.

  After I discovered the truth, I of course had my father call off the engagement. Yet for a long time it was all I could do to rise from bed each morning, the darkness of Edward’s deception like a lake of poison seeping through my emotions, killing my happiness and drowning my efforts to move on.

  Now, though, I was no longer brokenhearted. In fact, I was no longer controlled by my heart at all. And, if everything worked as I hoped, I never would be again. I had learned my lesson well. “This is what I want,” I told my brother. All would be made right once I found someone safe.

  Daniel sighed. “I can see you are determined. Let’s get you settled.”

  “Ah, Miss Brinton. Mr. Brinton.” Mrs. Hickmore stepped before us, grabbing each of us by the hand. “I’m so pleased you made it.”

  “Thank you for extending the invitation yet again,” I said.

  She patted my hand. “I am delighted you finally took me up on the offer, for of all the people here, I most wish you the match you seek.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, flattered by her concern.

  “Now, Mr. Brinton,” she continued, “I believe you will find your seat there.” She pointed toward the head of the second table. “And Miss Brinton, if you will follow me?”

  She took my arm and led me toward the first table. Leaning over conspiratorially, she said, “It would not suit our purposes to have you seated too near your brother. Relations have a way of meddling at the most unfortunate of times where young ladies are concerned. I made certain he was situated with his back to you. You will be free to converse at your leisure.” She tapped her nose knowingly before coming to an abrupt halt before her husband. “Oh, Henry. Look who finally decided to join us.”

  Mr. Hickmore took my hand in his bulky one. “So glad you made it.”

  Mrs. Hickmore beamed. “Won’t she just be the catch of the party?”

  “She’ll have her fair share of offers—I’d wager this year’s harvest on it. A man would be daft not to fall for those green eyes and that mop of dark curls.”

  His grasp on my hand tightened. I tried to free myself while mumbling something about his being too kind, but Mrs. Hickmore cut me off, her eyes
wide with astonishment. “A ‘mop of dark curls’? You’re calling this beautiful hair a mop? And ‘dark’ doesn’t even describe it. It’s more the color of that box you bought me, the one made from that Jamaican wood. Oh, what do they call it?”

  “Mahogany,” Mr. Hickmore offered.

  “Yes, that’s it. Very rich. I dare say, Henry, I don’t think describing her hair as a mop is the compliment you mean it to be.” She turned back to me. “Mop, indeed. Don’t pay him any heed. I never do, you know.”

  “No, you don’t,” her husband grumbled, finally releasing my hand.

  Mrs. Hickmore pulled me away, directing me to an empty spot at the table. “Here you are.”

  The man standing to the right of my seat glanced over, his gaze sweeping over me. His dark hair was styled with disregard, as though he’d just run his hands through it. Yet his perfectly snug dinner coat, outlining his muscled shoulders and trim form, was in the latest style, and his cravat, though simply tied, was starched and pressed and without spot. He carried an air of self-assured unconcern that didn’t waver as Mrs. Hickmore proceeded with the introduction.

  “Let me present Mr. Fredrick Northam. He owns a large and well-kept estate to the south of here, as well as a house in London. He enjoys riding, hunting, and has a keen eye for business. His grandfather was aristocracy and his mother one of the kindest women I’ve ever met. No one can deny that he is quite the catch. However, he’s been known to break a heart or two with nary a backward glance, so be on your guard.”

  I was always on my guard now. As for the rest, this man appeared confident and disinterested. That he possessed a country estate far enough from my own neighborhood to provide a restart in life made him nearly perfect. Perhaps he was exactly what I was hoping for.

  I waited for something to draw me to him, a spark of interest warning me to look elsewhere.

  No flicker of attraction came.

  Smiling, I said, “I assure you, I shall keep my heart quite secured.”

  Mr. Northam inclined his head, his smile unchanged though he raised a brow.

  “And on your other side,” Mrs. Hickmore continued, “is a man with such an upstanding reputation I didn’t dare leave him out.” The man she indicated finished his conversation with the young woman next to him and turned to greet me. His short hair was a lighter brown than Mr. Northam’s, and his eyes were blue. His clothes were not quite so fitted, though still expensively tailored. His expression was guarded, but there was an ease to his smile that made me want to smile in return.

  I only just kept myself from flinching away in alarm. Whatever this man’s attributes, that moment told me all I needed to know. He was not safe; he would never do for me.

  “Lord Williams is, from what I understand, the very epitome of a gentleman. Well-bred, well educated, well-mannered, and a baron to boot.” She leaned toward me. “He’s the reason half the women agreed to come so readily. I have placed you in quite the favored position.”

  I smiled politely. “Thank you for such a choice seat.”

  Mrs. Hickmore turned to the men. “Gentlemen, Miss Brinton is the best kind of company. She is intelligent, determined, and able to hold her own. Yes, Mr. Northam, even against your wit and wiles. Though bearing no title, her family has property and means, and her mother is a true lady in action and spirit. You both must promise to be kind to her, for she is my special guest, and she has had her fill of broken hearts already.”

  I cringed. That last line of information would have been better left unrevealed. But being straightforward would save time, and Mrs. Hickmore was determined to see as many matches made by the end of the week as she could.

  “We shall be perfect gentlemen,” Mr. Northam replied.

  Mrs. Hickmore raised a brow. “I’m counting on it.” Then she glanced at a man approaching her. “Ah, Reverend Michaels. Let me assist you.”

  Mr. Northam stepped beside me as she moved away. “Please, allow me.” He pulled out my chair.

  This was a good start. “Thank you.”

  Lord Williams glanced at us. His eyes narrowed before he turned to the woman on his other side and offered her his assistance with her own chair.

  After seating himself, Mr. Northam inclined his head toward me. “Mrs. Hickmore doesn’t beat around the bush with introductions, does she?”

  It was more of a statement than a question. “I have certainly never known her to mince words.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. “Is your acquaintance of long standing?”

  “She is an old family friend.”

  “Interesting. Only I thought it rather obtuse of her to introduce you in such a way. Well, that last bit, anyway. The rest was quite flattering.”

  My smile relaxed into one of shared sympathy. “She did little better with you.”

  He grinned and settled back against his chair. “Oh, I don’t mind. I think she summed me up pretty accurately.”

  “She practically warned me away from you.”

  “As she should,” Lord Williams interjected, turning toward me. “Northam is a rogue.”

  I hadn’t realized he’d been listening, and I couldn’t help but resent the interruption. But Lord Williams’s comment didn’t seem to bother Mr. Northam in the least. He smiled. “I prefer the term rake. It is so much more endearing, is it not?”

  A rake—that was exactly who I needed. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? He couldn’t deceive me, for I already knew his character. And my heart would never be in danger from anyone so profligate. I’d be safe with him.

  I sat back to allow the baron admittance to the conversation, though I kept my attention directed to Mr. Northam. “You two are acquainted?”

  “Cousins, actually.” Mr. Northam raised his glass as though in toast of Lord Williams. “Can you not see the resemblance?”

  I glanced between the two. There was nothing to indicate a family likeness. “Is it in the nose, perhaps?”

  Mr. Northam laughed. “And so it is. How astute of you.” He leaned closer. “What on earth are you doing here? Surely someone as charming as you doesn’t need to attend a gathering such as this.”

  Footmen came forward with soup, and I waited until they’d finished serving us before replying, “No more than a baron and his wealthy cousin.” I dipped my spoon into the white liquid and took a noiseless sip. The creamy broth and crushed almonds tasted like resolve and opportunity swirled together in a perfect blend of promise.

  “Touché,” Mr. Northam said. “Still, I cannot say I regret your coming. This party would surely have been dull without your presence. As it is. . . .” His gaze shifted past me to Lord Williams.

  I turned. Lord Williams was shaking his head but stopped abruptly. His eyes met mine before he turned away and reached for his glass. “Yes, quite dull.”

  Something had transpired between them, but I ignored it for the larger question: had Lord Williams intentionally insulted me by calling me dull? “I do not believe anything dealing with Mrs. Hickmore could ever be considered dull,” I countered.

  “This information augurs well for the rest of the week, does it not, dear cousin?” Mr. Northam asked.

  Lord Williams’s frown deepened. “Perhaps for you.”

  I raised my brows in polite question.

  “He didn’t wish to come,” Mr. Northam confided. “He detests social gatherings of this kind. Something to do with his title and scheming young women.”

  I nodded. “A bachelor with a title. I understand perfectly.”

  Mr. Northam shook his head as though his cousin’s predicament was to be pitied. “He compounds the problem of his own volition. I have told him time and again to simply offer for a young lady and be done with it.”

  “My cousin is a romantic,” Lord Williams said sarcastically.

  “Romance is highly overrated,” I replied. “You are more likely to find
happiness following your cousin’s advice than in the modern sentiment of following your heart.”

  “Was it your own broken heart Mrs. Hickmore spoke of, then?” Mr. Northam asked.

  “Northam,” Lord Williams chastised.

  Mr. Northam smiled at me. It was a magnificent smile, no doubt used upon many occasions to beg his pardon. “I do apologize, Miss Brinton. That was very ill-mannered of me.”

  It was ill-mannered of him, but at least he did not hide who he was. “Your question was honest and direct, two traits I admire.” Two traits more people would do well to develop.

  “So, you will answer the question?” Mr. Northam asked.

  I smiled. “No.”

  “No, you will not answer, or no, you do not come to this party bearing a broken heart?”

  “Really, Northam,” Lord Williams broke in. “Do leave the lady alone.”

  Mr. Northam’s attention shifted to him. “If she wanted to be left alone, she wouldn’t be here.”

  “But I doubt she thought she’d be harassed by the likes of you all evening.”

  “And you think she’d rather enjoy your company than mine?” Mr. Northam met my gaze. “My cousin and I have something of a long-standing dispute, and I believe you may be the perfect person to answer it for us.”

  “Northam.” Lord Williams sounded irritated.

  Mr. Northam pressed on. “He argues that women prefer a man of manners and good breeding, and that is why women flock to him. I argue that it is only because of his title that anyone shows any interest in such a tedious and tiresome person. What is your opinion on the matter?”

  Lord Williams carefully set his spoon down. “You must excuse my cousin, Miss Brinton. He is worse than usual this evening, and I apologize that you are bearing the brunt of his beastliness.”

  Mr. Northam didn’t seem disconcerted by his cousin in the least. “Attempting to contain what he terms my ‘beastliness’ is the only reason he’s in attendance, much to the disappointment of many young women who rather hope to catch his eye—and his title.”

  “To be sure,” Lord Williams said, the sarcasm returning to his voice.

  “And will we count you among those disappointed, Miss Brinton?” Mr. Northam asked.