This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2019 by Paullett Golden
Excerpt from The Colonel and The Enchantress copyright © 2019 by Paullett Golden
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Fiona Jayde Media
Interior Design by The Deliberate Page
Editing by Bre’ Davis Edits
Refining by Word Refiner
Proofreading by John Druga
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming novel The Colonel and The Enchantress by Paullett Golden. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect final content of the forthcoming edition.
Contents
Also by Paullett Golden
Praise for The Enchantresses
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Prologue
About the Author
Also by Paullett Golden
The Enchantresses Series
The Earl and The Enchantress
The Duke and The Enchantress
The Baron and The Enchantress
COMING SOON
The Enchantresses Series
The Colonel and The Enchantress
The Gentleman and The Enchantress
The Heir and The Enchantress
The Sirens Series
A Counterfeit Wife
A Proposed Hoax
The Faux Marriage
This book is dedicated to the readers. With you, happy ever after is always possible.
Praise for The Enchantresses
“The author adds a few extra ingredients to the romantic formula, with pleasing results. An engaging and unconventional love story.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“It is an extremely well written novel with some subplots that add to the already intense main plot. The author Paullett Golden has a gift for creating memorable characters that have depth.”
—Paige Lovitt of Reader Views
“Golden is a good writer. She knows how to structure plot, how to make flawed characters sympathetic and lovable, and has a very firm grasp on theme.”
—No Apology Book Reviews
“What I loved about the author was her knowledge of the era! Her descriptions are fresh and rich. Her writing is strong and emotionally driven. An author to follow.”
—The Forfeit author Shannon Gallagher
“Readers who enjoy a character driven romance will find this a story well worth reading. Paullett Golden is an author I will be following.”
—Roses R Blue Reviews
“I would say this is a very well-written novel with engaging characters, a compelling story, a satisfactory resolution, and I am eagerly anticipating more from Ms. Golden.”
—Davis Editorials
“With complex characters and a backstory with amazing depth, the story … is fantastic from start to finish.”
—Rebirth author Ravin Tija Maurice
“Paullett Golden specializes in creating charmingly flawed characters and she did not disappoint in this latest enchantress novel.”
—Dream Come Review
“…a modern sensibility about the theme of self-realization, and a fresh take on romance make the foundation of Golden’s latest Georgian-era romance.”
—The Prairies Book Review
“What a wonderful story! I have read a number of historical fiction romance stories and this is the best one so far! Paullett does a masterful job of weaving so many historical details into her story….”
—Word Refiner Reviews
“The novel is everything you could ever want from a story in this genre while also providing surprising and gratifying thematic depth.”
—Author Esquire
“I thoroughly enjoyed meeting and getting to know all of the characters. Each character was fully developed, robust and very relatable.”
—Flippin’ Pages Book Reviews
“It is a story that just keeps giving and giving to the reader and I, for one, found it enchanting!”
—The Genre Minx Book Reviews
“The minor King Arthur plot was also a lovely touch, and the descriptions of the library fulfilled my book-loving dream.”
—Rosie Amber Reviews
“It features characters who exhibit traits and emotions that go above and beyond passion.”
—Melina Druga Reviews
Chapter 1
July 1791
Miss Lilith Chambers stepped onto the stone bridge, determined. She swallowed against her brewing anxiety.
They would not best her today, she resolved, nor best her again.
She strode across the bridge that separated the village from Sir Graham’s property, chin held high, spine rigid, bag braced against her chest, and marching more confidently than she felt.
And then she saw them approach.
They saw her.
Her grip tightened around the bag.
Two ladies on horseback cantered down the path ahead. The bobbing plumes on their cylindrical hats would be comical in any other situation, but Lilith did not laugh. One of the ladies sneered and flicked her reins, urging the mount to pick up the pace.
Lilith hastened her steps. Her quickening stride spurred the ladies to match theirs.
Just as she reached the dirt path at the end of the bridge, the two riders veered towards her. One woman with bouncing blonde ringlets tittered as her mare darted forward, nearly knocking Lilith off her feet. Lilith wobbled backwards onto the muddy river bank to avoid being trampled.
“I can’t imagine what could have startled my horse,” said the woman, laughing to her companion.
“Must have been a horsefly,” the other woman added.
The ladies continued towards the estate without a backward glance.
Lilith stepped back onto the dirt path, wiping her muddy boots against the stones of the bridge and surveying the damage to her dress. Could be worse, she concluded. Only her dress and shoes were muddied. At least she hadn’t careened into the river like the last time; and best yet, her bag of midwifery herbs and tools remained clean and safe.
A smug smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
She had not given them a wide berth, but rather stood her ground. Though they had pushed her off the path when challenged, she smiled that only the concern of being trampled had forced her movement, not the ladies. Orphan or not, Lilith would bow to no one, least of all those leeches who called themselves aristocrats.
She resumed her trek into town with a confident spring in her step, despite the mud-drenched hem of her dress clinging to her half-boots. All in all, a successful morning with the quiet victory at the bridge and before that, the visit to Arbor House, home of Lady Graham.
That morning, Lilith had seen to the health of the twins, not yet one year of age, and to Lady Graham’s growing belly, ripe with her third child. Lady Graham was the only peer of the realm in Allshire Parish who did not treat Lilith as a pariah. Despite Lady Graham’s blueblood lineage, she respected Lilith, and Lilith esteemed her in return. Since Lilith succeeded where several doctors had previously failed—aiding Lady Graham in carrying a child to term—the woman showed Lilith the utmost deference as the parish’s midwife.
The remaining walk through town could only be described as pleasant with the sun drying the previous three days’ worth of rain. The milliner and her husband waved from their shop window as she rounded the bend into town. Other familiar faces smiled greetings. Even a group of farmers walking out of the Black Bull Inn nodded to her.
Through a lifetime of effort, she had earned her place in the parish as a trusted member of the community.
Just past the church, her cottage stood, a welcoming sight for tired eyes. She loved the cottage with its walled terrace and herb garden in front, hilly paddock in the back, and wisteria climbing the stone façade of the one-and-a-half-story building. True, it was small with only a single parlor and kitchen, and a set of curved, wooden stairs from the kitchen leading to the bedchamber upstairs, but it was all she needed.
It was home.
Her first order of business was to change into a fresh dress and wash the caked mud before it hardened. At least that was her plan until she saw her visitor.
The Reverend Harold Sands, fourteenth rector of Allshire Parish, paced in the garden. She knew from his agitated sight that he had likely waited for some time, as he always did. His brows furrowed over a frown twitching with impatience.
With a sigh, she approached.
“Miss Chambers!” exclaimed the rector, wiping away all evidence of agitation. “What a lucky coincidence you should arrive at the precise moment I decide to pay you a visit.” He scurried to greet her at the gate, his youthful face lighting with exaggerated, and feigned, exuberance.
“Yes, a lucky coincidence, I’m sure,” Lilith replied, shifting her bag under one arm so she could reach for his outstretched hand. “How are you, Harry? Would you like a cuppa?”
“Your kindness knows no bounds! I would love tea.” He released her hand and tugged at his forelock before following her to the front stable-door of her cottage.
Lilith opened the door and invited the rector inside, feeling more obligated than cordial. Closing only the bottom half of the stable-door, she left the top open for the breeze and the welcome view of the deep purple wisteria trailing up the terrace wall. Setting her bag next to the door, she invited the Reverend Sands to sit at the table while she went to the kitchen to set up a tea tray.
With a hearty stoking of the dying embers in the kitchen grate, she managed to rouse the remnants enough to heat the kettle. A quick glance to the parlor won her the view of Harold’s expectant and watchful visage.
Harold’s visits were not quite daily occurrences, but they felt that way, especially when Lilith had her own plans and little time for his flirtations. While he appeared to believe their union inevitable, she resented his determination to wed her and his abuse of power.
“Packed for your grand adventure?” he asked, raising his voice more than necessary given the short distance from the parlor to the kitchen.
She replied, her eyes trained on the kettle, “I will pack this evening. I leave at first light, so I can no longer procrastinate.”
Stealing a handful of currant cakes from the basket she had made for the orphans, she set up the tray.
“I do wish you would reconsider my offer before parting. Think how grand to arrive at your brother’s home an engaged woman!” Harold exclaimed.
Lilith inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her teeth as she poured the boiling water into the teapot. The tea leaves steeped while she gripped the edge of the counter, answering him with silence.
He did not act the least perturbed by her failure to respond. On the contrary, his eyes twinkled malevolently when she carried the tray to the table. After a dash of milk in his cup, she poured the tea, focusing her eyes on her task rather than his stare.
He had always been her spiritual advisor, the single person to whom she confessed her troubles, but her confessions over the past year had been twisted from spiritual to personal confidences, which was never how she intended them to be taken. Everything she had told him about the recent discoveries of her identity had led to persistent presses for marriage on his part, all in the guise of helping her.
While he may turn out to be a devoted husband, and while she may become content as his wife, she resented his pity and questioned his motives.
“Now, Harry,” she admonished lightheartedly. “Let’s not revisit that now.”
Sitting across from him, she hid her displeasure behind a steaming cup.
“You can’t possibly be happy at the prospect of spending time with him. I know how you feel about aristocracy.” He cast her a knowing glance. “And I cannot imagine his wife’s family being kind to you.” His hand slid across the table to take hers.
She ignored the outstretched hand. “I’m afraid I can’t see that,” she said, returning her cup to its saucer with a clink. “I’m positive they’ll welcome me. I believe they want me there as a family member, not a servant.”
At least that was what she hoped.
It had been a shock last year to learn she had a half-brother, the legitimate heir of her father. While she had had the privilege of learning her family identity, which she knew most orphans did not, that privilege had come with the rude discovery that not only had her father been an earl, but she had been the by-blow of a premarital affair with a groom’s daughter. The only person unperturbed by the details was her half-brother, who was determined to treat her as a legitimate sister regardless of the facts.
“But what of her family?” Harold huffed, pulling his hand back to his side of the table. “They’re members of the peerage! Has your brother been truthful with them about your lineage? I cannot believe they would accept an invitation to stay in the same house with you if they knew. Your visit will be a lie, and that is hardly Christian behavior.”
Leaning forward in his chair, he tapped his cup with a dirty fingernail.
With another huff, he altered his plea. “Be sensible, Miss Chambers, Lilith, oh, my dearest Lilith,” he implored. “Be sensible and marry me so we can remove the impediments to your happiness. If you delayed your departure, we could marry before your visit. You would go as a respectable woman.”
“Stop pressing me,” she snapped, exasperated. “You’re my closest confidante, so I appreciate your offer, but no.”
He shook his head. “You’re not being sensible. Who will ever offer you what I’m willing to provide? There is not an honorable soul who would offer you marriage, not once they find out you’ve spent your life in an orphanage.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Not once they learn you’re illegitimate.”
She turned from him, tipping her cup to her lips for the comforting liquid.
He continued unabated, “Your age is no great attribute, either. Three and thirty is not an attractive age, Lilith. Men marry for breeding, and you’re past your bloom.”
Ire heated her cheeks in what might have been mistaken a
s a blush if not accompanied by her pursed lips. Although she knew the truth of his words, she hated that he held her past over her head like the sword of Damocles. Could he not admit undying love, woo her like a proper suitor? No, he would not feel the need to woo an aging spinster of questionable birth. From his perspective, he offered her an irresistible proposition.
She traded her teacup for a currant cake but only tasted her frustration.
“Can’t you see what I’m offering?” The rector laid a clammy hand on her arm. “I only wish to help. Let me care for you. I will not hold these facts of your life against you as other men will.”
No, he would never woo her like a proper suitor. He wanted her to believe the offer an honor, for he, a respected man of God, was willing to look past her faults and provide her security and a home. Had he not already proven his willingness by letting the cottage to her? Oh, but she could not live daily with the look of pity in his eyes. Then, it was not pity that motivated his offer.
Glaring at his hand with its spindly fingers tightening around her forearm, she suspected she knew his motive. She swallowed against the suspicion, such an unchristian notion to have of a man of the cloth, but she could not help using it as a shield against his so-called honorable intentions.
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