Echoes of the Heart: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 2

by Jennifer Monroe

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Secrets of Scarlett Hall Series

  Newsletter

  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

  Author's Note

  Newsletter

  Regency Hearts

  Defiant Brides

  Echoes of the Heart

  Secrets of Scarlett Hall

  Book 2

  Jennifer Monroe

  Copyright © 2019 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.

  This book, Echoes of the Heart, can be read as a standalone story, but it is best read as a part of the Secrets of Scarlett Hall series. If you have not yet read Whispers of Light, I would highly recommend you do so.

  Secrets of Scarlett Hall

  Whispers of Light

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  Prologue

  Scarlett Hall, January 1806

  Eleanor Lambert awoke with a start from a horrible nightmare concerning her middle daughter, Hannah. In the dream, the girl was in trouble, and Eleanor had been unable to rescue her. From what danger Eleanor did not know, but it sent her heart into a rapid flutter and left her breathless, nonetheless.

  Just enough moonlight filtered through an opening in the drapes to allow Eleanor to light a candle that sat in the brass holder beside her bed. Although it was silly to believe anything was wrong, she felt the need to check on the quietest of her three daughters. Therefore, she donned her dressing gown and, with candle in hand, made her way down the chilly hall toward Hannah’s bedroom.

  The house was quiet, as it should have been past the midnight hour, but she paused at the door to Juliet’s room to listen to the faint snore coming from within. She smiled. Her youngest daughter would be mortified if Eleanor was to tell her she snored, faint or no.

  The next door led to Hannah’s bedroom, and Eleanor listened for any sounds coming from within but heard nothing. It was common for Hannah to sleep quieter than her sisters, but with the fright Eleanor had endured, she knew she would never sleep if she did not check on the girl.

  Girl? Eleanor thought with a clenched heart. Hannah was nineteen and therefore a woman. How could Eleanor still consider her a girl?

  She turned the door handle and entered the room. The figure of her daughter wrapped in a blanket on the bed warmed Eleanor’s heart. Memories of coming in at night and reading the child a story, or telling her one of her own, flooded her mind, and it was early on when Hannah wanted to do the reading. The girl had remarkable abilities in reading and storytelling, even from a young age, and had not given up on either even as a young woman.

  Isabel, Eleanor’s eldest daughter, was now married and made her home in Camellia Estates. At least she was not far from Scarlett Hall. Soon, Hannah and Juliet, a year apart in age, would find gentlemen and be off to new homes, as well, leaving Eleanor alone in a house much too large for one person and a slew of servants. Alone, that is, until Nathaniel, the youngest of Eleanor’s children, returned from boarding school.

  Sadness pressed down on Eleanor, but she pushed it aside. It is what children did; they grew to adults, married, and started their own families. Is that not what she had done herself?

  She made her way to the bed and frowned at the body hidden by the blanket. Hannah was curled up into a ball, and Eleanor could not blame her; the chill of the winter air seeped through cracks in the windowpanes, and she shivered in response. With a smile, she leaned over and pulled the blanket back enough to allow Hannah more air to breathe.

  However, it was not her daughter’s blond tresses she saw but instead an old dress rolled into a ball resting on the pillow and other clothes bundled together to create the body.

  Panic overtook her as she sat on the edge of the bed. How could it be that her sweet innocent Hannah had slipped out of the house? And, where would she go?

  Eleanor had been spending her time worrying over Juliet and her mischief that it never occurred to her to also keep an eye on Hannah. The girl had never done anything to give her cause to worry, unlike Juliet, who lay in the room next door, her snoring audible from here. Poor Juliet had taken a terrible fall two days earlier in the stables, injuring her foot.

  Poor girl, indeed! Whenever Hannah was caught in some misdeed, Juliet was oftentimes not far behind—or rather in front. However, with Juliet unable to move about, Eleanor could draw only one conclusion: Hannah had slipped away of her own accord.

  Oh, there had been rumors amongst the servants, but Eleanor had dismissed them when she had thought they were speaking of Juliet. That girl sneaking out of the house would not have surprised her one bit. But Hannah? That did give her pause.

  She sighed, for she had no one to blame but herself. The last year had been a trying one, and in the process of working through the problems, she had neglected her daughters, and Hannah had sought solace elsewhere.

  The signs had been there all along, but she had ignored them. Hannah had withdrawn from her, their hugs and conversations less over the past year. Eleanor could not stop the guilt that washed over her, and the voice of her late husband came to haunt her. Charles had warned her that Hannah, like all women according to him, could not be trusted. It was one of the few times Eleanor had stood up to the man, a decision she had never regretted, even today.

  Letting out a sigh, she gathered her thoughts. If Hannah sought company this night, Eleanor hoped it was not with a man. She shivered, dismissing such ideas. Hannah had told her she had no interest in courting, and she certainly was not in love. However, what if that had been a lie?

  With a heavy heart, Eleanor rose from the bed and made her way down the stairs to the foyer. She was so caught up in her worries, she did not notice the butler standing beside the front door until she was nearly upon him.

  “Forbes,” she gasped, her hand moving to her breast. “You startled me.”

  The tall man emerged from the shadows. Although he was just a few years older than Eleanor, his hair was a cap of silver and made him appear older than he was.

  “Forgive me, my Lady,” he said with a deep bow. “I heard footsteps and wished to make certain all was secure. Are you all right?”

  Eleanor began to nod but then stopped. “No, I am not all right. Hannah is gone, and in her bed is a decoy to hide her escape.” She narrowed her
eyes at the man. “Do you know anything about her whereabouts?”

  “No, my Lady,” he replied with eyes wide with shock at the mere suggestion of him participating in such a conspiracy. “Shall I search the house?”

  “Thank you,” Eleanor replied. “I will be in the study. Please tell me if you learn anything.”

  Forbes gave a quick nod and then disappeared into the shadows as candlelight lit Eleanor’s way to the study. She used the single candle to light others and took a seat at the desk before taking a quill in hand. Writing letters had always been a way for her to release worry, and now she would pen two, just as she had eight months earlier.

  Taking a deep breath, she released it, but her worry over Hannah did not subside. Where could her daughter have gone? The girl’s love of books and stories would be her undoing if she was not careful.

  When she had gained some semblance of calm, she began to write:

  Charles,

  You would be pleased to know that Scarlett Hall was saved due to the sacrifice made by Isabel. Her strength of enduring the death of her husband and accepting a marriage of convenience has provided Hannah and Juliet with a chance at a better life. I believe you would be proud, for the strength Isabel possesses is admired by many.

  However, Hannah is the main subject of this letter. The most innocent of our daughters, the one who would prefer to remain home and read than to attend parties, the one who dreams of writing a book rather than marrying, has surprised me. In just a few days, she is to leave for her first season, but she has told me she does not wish to attend. If I force her hand in this matter, will she run away? And if so, into whose arms? This is a great concern for me, for I understand all too well that a woman can be easily led astray, and Hannah can be much too trusting for her own good.

  My hand will be forced, and although I can think of many reasons not to stop her from following her heart, I must do so, for her own sake.

  I am aware that this letter is quite unpleasant, but I must do what I must. I only hope that Hannah forgives me.

  Your Wife,

  Eleanor

  With a sigh, Eleanor placed the parchment to the side and took another. Now, she would have to write to Isabel and once again ask for her strength. Although few options existed, the help of her eldest daughter would be needed, and she had no doubt the woman would rush to her aid.

  A knock at the door made her turn to see Forbes enter the room.

  “My apologies, my Lady. The servants who are awake know nothing. I searched outside in hopes of finding her, and it led me to find a horse missing from the stables.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Thank you, Forbes. If a horse is missing, it is clear she has sneaked out. I will wait up in hopes she will return by morning. It is too late to do anything until then, anyway. That is all. You should rest now. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “If you require anything, my Lady,” he said with another of his deep bows.

  “I will not hesitate to ask,” she replied with a smile.

  Forbes nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Eleanor dipped the nib of the quill in the ink and began the second letter as the candles flickered beside her.

  My Dearest Isabel, …

  Chapter One

  Although Miss Hannah Lambert had sneaked from her home after everyone was fast asleep on several occasions in the past, the fear that overtook her each time she did so was not easy to endure. It was the fear of someone catching her or of being set upon by highwaymen, both reasonable rationales of which to be fearful. However, she had one fear less rational, and for whatever reason, she found it frightened her more than the others.

  The fact of the matter was that her younger sister Juliet, one well known for her fantastical stories, had included amongst the possible horrors of being out late at night tales of men who roamed the night in order to kidnap women and force them into marriage.

  The idea of being kidnapped was terrifying enough, but to be forced into marriage was what caused her to shiver as her horse trudged down the road. In her mind, marriage was for the simpleminded, and Hannah was much too intelligent to be tricked into such a relationship.

  For one, a woman would have to fall in love in order to be married, and she had yet to experience such an emotion—not outside of the love she had for her family. She had read extensively on the subject, and although Isabel, her elder sister, had found love for the second time, that did not mean Hannah was meant to find it for herself. It was true she had shied away from any men who attempted to call, and last season—which was to be her coming out season—she had feigned illness in order to remain home rather than join others her age in London. Even her mother did not suspect deception, and although it hurt Hannah to deceive the woman she loved dearly, the cause was worthy of such dramatics.

  The truth was, Hannah had a dream to publish a novel, and that dream would never be realized if she were to fall in love. No man would allow his wife to become a writer—a woman writer was frowned upon, married or not, as it was. Even if she found a man willing to allow her to do such a thing, she knew love would keep her from writing. Had love not consumed Isabel over the past month? The woman would sit and stare at her husband with a grin so wide it was almost silly. Well, seeing such things were nice from afar, but they were far better when one wrote about them.

  Every Thursday at the same time there was a cottage where likeminded men and women gathered in order to share and learn the craft of writing. Hannah had learned of the place while eavesdropping at a party she had attended and soon found her way to the cottage of one Mr. Albert Moore. He was a sheep farmer who had never married, which was an oddity for a man forty years of age. However, his love and knowledge of reading and writing, a strange ability by a man of his station to be sure, intrigued Hannah. More importantly, he helped guide her in her endeavor.

  She recalled her third time at his home, when she had read an excerpt of her novel to the group. Although many had complimented her, it was Albert who later came to her privately.

  “I must say,” he had whispered to her, “you are a far better writer than any of these others.”

  She could not help but beam at his words, for they had boosted her spirit, as well as her confidence that she was making the right decision for her life.

  He lowered his voice further. “However, I would caution you to keep my observation to yourself. We would not wish to upset the others, now, would we?”

  It was that continued kindness and support that Hannah had accepted a personal invitation this Monday night to join Albert in a special meeting. At first, she had been excited. It was to be only the two of them, and he promised a worthy surprise if she agreed. Of course, she had agreed readily. How could she not?

  Now, however, she questioned her judgment. It was one thing to sneak away to join a group and quite another to agree to meet a man alone. She had confided in no one about this meeting, so if anything went awry, no one would know her whereabouts. If the ton learned about this, her name would be ruined forever. If her mother found out, it would crush her. And what if the man had other intentions?

  Juliet had spoken often of men who wooed women with words. Was this what Albert was attempting to do?

  Well, it is too late to turn back now, she counseled herself, for if I do, I may very likely miss the opportunity of a lifetime.

  She guided the horse down the small path that led to the cottage, and her mind turned to Albert. Her worries were unfounded and silly; the man was like her, forsaking love in order to dedicate his time to the love of books. This brought her a sense of relief as she tied the horse to one of the trees as she had done on so many evenings before.

  However, as she walked toward the cottage, she could not stop a tentacle of doubt from tickling her mind once again. Perhaps it would be best if she returned home.

  Before she could change her mind, the door opened, and Albert appeared in the doorway. There was no turning back now.

  “Mi
ss Hannah,” he said with a bow. “You decided to come after all. I worried you would give into the fear with which so many new authors are struck.” He wore a simple white shirt and waistcoat and tan breeches, all well-worn, and she was embarrassed to realize that even Daniel, the stable hand at Scarlett Hall, had better clothing.

  However, it was not the wealth that defined a person but his or her heart, and Albert had been nothing but supportive of her desire to write. And his smile was as inviting as it always was. Why had she been so concerned? The man, though a watcher of sheep by trade, had always behaved like a gentleman.

  “Not at all,” Hannah replied, glad her voice did not expose her lie. “I am not like other authors, for I shall complete my novel one day. And have it published.”

  He stepped back to allow her to enter, and with renewed confidence she moved past him into the now familiar interior of the cottage. The house was small, consisting of only two rooms. One room was a bedroom Hannah had never seen, and the other was a sitting room combined with the kitchen and dining room with space large enough to host the weekly meetings without making participants feel cramped. Few pieces of furniture included a sofa with worn cushions, three small tables, and several simple chairs, all of which would remain empty this night.

  The sound of the door closed behind her, and Hannah’s heart thumped and she let out a small yelp.

  “What is wrong?” Albert asked as he brushed back his dark hair speckled with silver. He placed calloused hands on her arms. “Are you all right? Was your journey safe?”

  She swallowed hard, but the worry behind his eyes made her chastise herself inwardly once again. “I am well,” she replied. “I believe my concern comes from my fear of being caught. Forgive my skittishness.”

  Albert sighed as he dropped his hands to his side. “It is expected that you would be afraid of discovery.”