by Sophia Nash
She glanced toward him and saw the surprise and delight in his expression. “I hope you are pleased with it. It is not quite right, I know. I did not capture—”
“You captured it all,” he said in awe and wonder. “I only hope I can live up to the heroic and intelligent gleam in these noble eyes,” he said, then chuckled.
“I am so glad you like it.”
“I had thought it was a bust of your irascible cousin.”
“I know. I am sorry he acted toward you as he did,” she said.
“Actually, I am pitying him, now. Of course, I was feeling differently when I assumed it was you who had gone off with him. But once I knew it was the lovely Lady Susan, well—” Nicholas said, scratching his head, “—I daresay he will be hard pressed, as a gentleman, to disentangle himself from parson’s mousetrap. That would put a quick end to his humorous nature.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Knowing Alex as I do, he will not only convince Lady Susan of the foolishness of her bold flight but find a solution to avoid her complete ruination— that is—if she ever finds him.”
“I know I should feel more compassion for your cousin but at this moment I can think only of you, here with me,” Nicholas said, cupping her face with his hands. “Although I daresay my conscience shall get the better of me soon enough and I shall go riding helter-skelter toward London in search of the pair of them. Perhaps I can persuade dear Edwin to help me. But enough of that. We have waited long enough for our own happiness.”
Charlotte felt awash in feminine excitement mixed with newfound boldness and confidence. The first raindrops sounded like pebbles hitting the rushes of the cottage. A moment later, the skies let loose the full fury of the heavy clouds and lightning flashed.
“But first you must have your present. I am afraid it is not jewels or pearls, as would be much more fitting. It is a kiln, my dearest, newly constructed for your use. Not very romantic, I know.”
“A kiln,” she said in wonder. “You had a kiln made for me? Why it is exactly what I most wanted! Thank you, oh, thank you, Nicholas.”
In her exuberance, she flew into his arms and kissed him using every wicked technique her cousin had suggested.
“Well, if I had known you would react like this, I would have given you the silly brick oven ages ago,” he said, after pulling reluctantly away from her. “Now what say we ascend to your chamber above and pray that this storm does not let up for a fortnight?”
“Or two,” Charlotte responded, looking up into his loving eyes. “Or three,” he said, as he laughed and swung her up into his arms, where he swore she would always remain.
Epilogue
“You have delighted us long enough.”
—Pride and Prejudice
AS the last few notes of a concerto died away in the air of the room, the gleeful laughter and clapping of two young children could be heard.
“All right, my loves, your father has favored you with not one but three pieces of music, and it is long past your bedtime,” Charlotte said, looking up from a letter in her hands.
“But Mama, Father promised us a story too,” said a little girl of six, with the same dark looks and emerald eyes of her father.
“And I’m starving. Nanny promised to bring me an apple and cheese,” wailed the younger brother, whose countenance matched his mother’s.
Nicholas looked at the happy scene before him. “Now Solange and Richard, your delaying tactics are well known to us. But I suppose,” he paused when he saw the delighted smiles overspread their innocent faces, “we can have a brief, very brief reading lesson and story as we wait for Nanny.”
Nicholas walked the two children to the long table and began asking them the names of the old fired-clay letters he and Charlotte had formed so long ago in the cottage. He patiently corrected them when the sounds of the letters did not correspond with their shapes.
He glanced up to catch the loving, proud gaze of his wife. Their eyes met, and Nicholas was filled with the joy he had never dreamed would be his.
Nanny appeared at the doorway of the west salon, bearing the promised apples and cheese. The children rushed to her with the endless hunger of the very young.
“Dearest?” inquired Charlotte.
“Yes, my love?” He walked over to sit on the arm of her overstuffed armchair.
“Shall we invite Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn for supper tomorrow night?”
“I think a visit with grandmamma and the vicar is very much in order, now that they have returned from Italy. It is a wonder she did not burst in on us this afternoon when they returned.”
Charlotte laughed. “I assume she has someone, a very special someone, who occupies her uppermost thoughts.”
“Ah, yes. The vicar. He is an old rogue, is he not? I suspect St. Peter will have many questions for him when he meets him at heaven’s gates. Knowing Mr. Llewellyn, he will charm him into acceptance,” Nicholas said, shaking his head.
Nicholas could see the happy glow of laughter in Charlotte’s large gray eyes. She still appeared to him as a girl of seventeen instead of five and thirty. “And we should have Mr. and Mrs. Roberts to celebrate the transfer of the brewery to him as he has worked devilishly hard.”
“Oh, I love impromptu parties! You must give Charley the pleasure of laying out your finery tomorrow. It is only proper, on his final night,” Charlotte said. “I am so glad you acceded to his request to apprentice with Mr. Babcock, here. I think he will make an admirable steward for one of the other properties in a very short time.”
Charlotte paused to brush a lock of his hair from his brow. Her touch brought the familiar wave of pleasure to him.
“I fear your stepmother, Edwin, and Susan would expire from shock at the idea of common folk invading the hallowed grounds of Wyndhurst Abbey.”
“Yes, well, I for one take comfort in knowing that we have provided the three of them enough fodder over the years to warm their conversations at every meal in the wilds of Yorkshire. But, I have been pleasantly surprised by their behavior since Edwin and Susan wed, although I suppose I should not be. Living so far removed, with her ten thousand a year, it would be next to impossible for them to overspend. In fact, I had thought to send them word that I would make good on my promise. Do you think the shock of an offer to use the house in Bath would be too much?”
A gurgle of laughter escaped her. “I don’t see why not.”
Nicholas reached down for the letter on his wife’s lap. “What does your cousin have to say for himself? Still showing Lady Sheffield the delights of Paris in the springtime?”
“No. I’m afraid he has wearied of that lady and of Paris. He talks of coming to visit us. Let’s see,” she said, looking at the letter. “He writes, ‘I shall bestow on you and your husband my presence if you can assure me that Edwin and Lady Susan will not make an untimely appearance. I should not want to have to disappear again for a year, although I cannot say my year in Biarritz and St. Jean de Luz was not well-spent.’ “
“I do believe, dearest, that you are not translating the last part very well. There seems to be a somewhat delicate reference to a certain lady and what he did to her anatomy. He may come as long as he does not contemplate any part of your anatomy.”
Charlotte smiled and folded the letter.
The two children piled into their mother and father’s laps. “Now, Father, you promised us the story,” said Solange, with the same commanding tone Nicholas used.
“Why, you know I cannot read, my sweet,” Nicholas said, looking into the serious expression of his daughter and mussing the top of her dark hair.
“That’s a great bouncer, Father. Now read our favorite story again, please,” begged his son with large gray eyes. “Yes, the one about the girl who saves the knight who is then saved in return,” Solange said, handing her father a storybook. “Ah, yes, A Passionate Endeavor, my favorite, too!” he said, smiling at Charlotte as he opened the book. The soft touch of Charlotte’s hand glided through his hair. He closed his eye
s and felt her gentle kiss on his forehead. “Once upon a time…”
The End
~Bonus excerpt after the Author’s Note~
Author’s Note
In November 1896, an English doctor published Congenital Word Blindness, the first description of a learning disorder that would come to be known as dyslexia. Until that time and beyond, many children and adults were cruelly labeled “slow to learn” and much worse.
In today’s more enlightened world, many theories abound as to the cause and treatment of dyslexia. While researching the many different techniques employed to teach individuals with dyslexia, I read about an unusual method that used clay and large solid forms of letters to help certain dyslexics learn to read. This technique was the inspiration for several scenes in A Passionate Endeavor. However, I must add that I have no firsthand knowledge of the pro-gram’s actual success. If you would like to read The Sunday Times (London) article that provided the inspiration, please go to: http://www.times-archive.co.uk/news/pages/tim/ 2000/03/21/timfeabam03003.html. There are also many more library books and sites on the interne with helpful information.
One final note: There is a scene in this book during which the hero suggests a knowledge of the female reproductive cycle. In fact, during the Regency period, it was mistakenly believed that conception could only occur at the beginning of the cycle, very much like other mammals. It is no wonder some women, in the past, had ten or more children! It was not until the early twentieth century that this concept was proven incorrect, thereby introducing a more successful rhythm method.
Bonus Excerpt!
Lord Will & Her Grace
by
Sophia Nash
“Top Ten Romance of the Year” – Booklist (The American Library Association)
The Beacon Award
The Write Touch Readers Award
Chapter One
AH, violets on soft flesh. Heavenly. A dizzying sensation long familiar yet always irresistible swept through William Barclay, younger son of the sixth Marquis of Granville. The lady nestling in beside him sighed softly and the bedclothes rustled and settled into place.
Oh, he was glad Miss Wyn — or was it Winter — had come to him after all. Abigails and governesses were his evening dessert of choice. They were not as vulgar as the rest of the serving class and not as jaded as the widows.
William breathed in more of her heady scent and stroked the back of her neck, twining downy tendrils in his fingers as he nipped her earlobe.
She giggled and lay still.
William smiled in the heavy darkness. He adored the innocent ones — or rather the ones who chose to play the virgin. It was amazing the little jewels of femininity one could find in the wilds of Yorkshire, far from the practiced coquettes of France, his mother’s homeland.
He grasped her hand and kissed it before placing it around his back. “Ah, ma petite chérie, I’m so glad you changed your mind,” he whispered into her ear. “I shall have to make sure you don’t regret it.”
He unbuttoned her night rail’s front line of closures with expert dexterity and kissed her, coaxing her to soften her locked lips.
She moaned and opened beneath him like a tight rosebud unfurling in summer’s heat.
He trailed kisses down her neck to the large swell of her bosom. She was better endowed than he remembered. No matter. He liked them all, small or large. Well, maybe he did prefer petite packages of femininity. But, an occasional foray into more padded fortresses could be quite satisfying too.
Long minutes passed and her breaths quickened.
A slow course of desire flowed in his veins. In the foggy sensual haze, a distant clock chimed four times.
She plucked at his back now, in mock nervousness, he was sure. “Ma chérie, have no fear. I won’t rush you. I must have time to enjoy this glorious feast.” He moved her hand to his derriere to feel her touch on his nakedness.
Another giggle escaped her lips.
Again he smiled and wished a candle burned so he could look into the abigail’s lovely violet eyes that complemented her violet scent. William deftly rearranged her nightclothes for better access. He tasted her breasts, paying each of them their rightful share of attention, teasing them to tightened perfection as his hands worked their magic on her generous lower curves. Her corsets had hidden well her ample charms.
She tensed then relaxed while he massaged her hips and dared to trace the warm skin of her abdomen.
Settling one leg between hers, he kissed her soft lips many more minutes until she seemed to almost purr. She was all pliant softness and smoldering desire.
She was ripe.
He sighed as he knew what would come next, surprise and delight mixed with a tinge of fear at his size usually. He moved her hand to the front of his body and urged her to touch him.
She gasped.
“Mon petit chou, it’s all right, I promise I shan’t hurt you.”
Another shaky giggle.
Ah, thank God she wasn’t naive. He didn’t deflower innocents, only imaginary virgins. He contemplated prolonging the pleasurable first course of this seduction or gorging on the main feast itself. She was very good, playing the shy maiden to the letter.
The sound of a knock on his door filtered through his mind. Then the noise of many quick steps in the hallway followed. In a thrice he bounded out of the warm bed and belted his velvet dressing gown as the door to his chamber banged open with a force that exercised the hinges to the utmost.
A portly gentleman with his nightcap askew stormed into the room, a gaggle of people with candlesticks held high illuminated his passage. “What are you about, Lord Will?”
A female shriek came from behind the enraged gentleman.
“Hush, Margaret. We’ll have no more witnesses to this atrocious display.” The older man grabbed a candlestick from a servant, strode to the bed, and flung back the covers.
The unwed, young daughter of the house lay in all her glory before the visitors. Of course. Her freckled, horselike face complemented her large girth and flanks. It would have been laughable if it had not been so tedious. At least she had rearranged her nightclothes before her exposure.
“How dare you, my lord?” Lord Tolworth’s jowls waggled back and forth like a hound on a scent. “I’ll have you horsewhipped after the marriage ceremony.”
“Marriage ceremony?” William replied, quietly examining his fingernails.
“You are beneath contempt, you half-French swine. I’ll not like having Gallic blood in my grandchildren’s veins, but I’ll see you married to my Penelope even if I have to lock you in the larder for the night. You Frenchies have no notion of honor.”
William looked at the large girl in his bed. He shook his head. His overindulgence in Lord Tolworth’s excellent brandy last night had cost him. How could he have mistaken this rotund girl of six and ten for her pretty Abigail?
“And what have you to say, Lady Penelope?” William asked.
A nicker escaped her mouth as she brushed her chestnut-colored forelock out of her eyes. “Oh, my lord, I dare not countermand Papa.”
William stubbed a desire to throttle her. “Ah, I see.” Caught as effectively as a fox in a well-guarded henhouse.
“You’ve ruined her, you feckless, hot-blooded, good for nothing slubber de Gullion.”
“On my honor, Lord Tolworth, your daughter is as pure today as the day she was born, that is — as long as she hasn’t made a habit of frequenting the bed chambers of other male guests.”
A loutish hobbledehoy of no more than eight and ten lumbered past Lord Tolworth. He swiped at William’s jaw, but missed and almost lost his balance. “You’ll meet me at dawn on the north field to avenge my dear cousin, if you have any honor whatsoever,” said the young man whose heavy frame would challenge his uncle’s in several years.
“Actually, I don’t fancy dueling gentlemen who have yet to grow whiskers,” replied William.
Lord Tolworth stepped in front of his heir. “You’ll
eat grass before breakfast, if you cannot find an excuse to avoid my challenge.”
The father looked barely more of a test than the thickheaded nephew but at least he was well past his majority. “Oh, all right, then, if you think it really necessary. Pistols or swords, my dear sir?” William asked with a slight smile.
“Not before the wedding,” cried his corpulent wife. “You promised!”
“Pistols, then — after the wedding,” replied the husband, halfheartedly.
Lady Tolworth swooned into her spouse’s arms. The housekeeper refused to dash away for the much needed smelling salts lest she miss any of the vastly entertaining goings-on. She patted her mistress’s hands ineffectually.
William successfully stifled a laugh when he noted one of Lady Tolworth’s eyes half-open and spying on him. He scratched his chin and glanced at the belligerent father. “It will be hard to comply if I am locked in your larder, my good sir. May I offer you my word of honor, as a gentleman of course, that there is no need to keep me chilled, as a good bottle of wine, before a wedding and an affaire of honor? A watch at my door will suffice, I assure you. Unless of course your intention is to keep me like a well-preserved, Spanish ham for a month while the banns are read.”
“We’ll not be needing the banns, my lord,” Penelope said. “‘Tis but a half day’s trip to Gretna Green and father will take us — just like he did when it was Ginny’s turn.”
William looked down to rearrange the folds of his dark blue velvet dressing gown. “You are a veritable font of information, my dear.” It was fortuitous he had clothed himself in time; otherwise he would have felt a bit more guilty facing the premeditated inquisition. But then, he had always been lucky, if this situation could be described as such. He looked down at the bulging, watery eyes of the silly girl in his bed and wondered to whom he owed eternal thanks for the warning knock on his door.
