by Wolf, Bree
How to Wake a Sleeping Lady
(#1 Happy Ever Regency Series)
By
Bree Wolf
Copyright © 2019 Bree Wolf
Kindle Edition
Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Bree Wolf
Happy Every Regency Series
How to Wake a Sleeping Lady
How to Tame a Beastly Lord
How to Steal a Thief’s Heart
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Additional Dragonblade books by Author, Bree Wolf
About the Book
Prologue
Chapter One – The Wrong Wife
Chapter Two – False Hope
Chapter Three – The Moment of Truth
Chapter Four – The Measurements of a Life
Chapter Five – What If
Chapter Six – An All But Forgotten Dilemma
Chapter Seven – Parting Words
Chapter Eight – Truths to be Uncovered
Chapter Nine – The Beast of Ravengrove
Chapter Ten – A Carriage Ride
Chapter Eleven – A Family’s Welcome
Chapter Twelve – A Father’s Open Words
Chapter Thirteen – A Painful Truth
Chapter Fourteen – Mother & Daughter
Chapter Fifteen – Agnes
Chapter Sixteen – In the Gardens
Chapter Seventeen – The Ghost of Another
Chapter Eighteen – Coming Home
Chapter Nineteen – Lingering Sadness
Chapter Twenty – A Mother’s Heart
Chapter Twenty-One – An Accidental Revelation
Chapter Twenty-Two – A Welcome Visitor
Chapter Twenty-Three – A Family’s Counsel
Chapter Twenty-Four – A Matter of Heart and Mind
Chapter Twenty-Five – Belonging
Chapter Twenty-Six – An Echo of the Past
Chapter Twenty-Seven – A Ball at Wentford Park
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Lady Remsemere
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Two Ladies & a Simple Truth
Chapter Thirty – Fear
Chapter Thirty-One – An Informative Supper
Chapter Thirty-Two – A Seemingly Insignificant Moment
Chapter Thirty-Three – The Far Reach of the Past
Chapter Thirty-Four – Return to Wentford Park
Chapter Thirty-Five – A Confrontation Long Awaited
Chapter Thirty-Six – Together as One
Epilogue
About Bree
About the Book
A forgotten love. A twist of fate.
And a second chance at a happily-ever-after.
After being swept out to sea, Nessa Barrett, Countess of Wentford, is nursed back to health at an abbey. While her body heals quickly, her mind remains lost to her. Without even the knowledge of her own name, she has nothing and no one to return to.
Three years pass and Martha—as the nuns name her—settles into her new life…until one day a man shows up on the abbey’s doorstep, claiming that she is his long lost wife.
Grant Barrett, Earl of Wentford, has followed countless leads searching for his wife and, yet, he’d never allowed himself to believe that he would ever find her alive. And then after three years, he sets foot into a remote abbey and his heart reawakens.
Overwhelmed, Grant is shocked to learn that his wife remembers neither him nor herself. Still, after finding his other half a second time, Grant is unwilling to ever let Nessa go again.
What will it take to conquer her heart once more? To make her fall in love with him all over again?
Prologue
London 1805 (or a variation thereof)
Seven Years Earlier
Why was he looking at her? Was he looking at her?
Frowning, Miss Agnes Bottombrook eyed the rakish Lord Wentford from across the ballroom. Couples danced and promenaded between them, now and then blocking her view of the devilishly handsome young lord. Still, as curious as Agnes was, she managed to resist the urge to dance from one foot onto the other in order to keep him in sight.
Was there something in her teeth? Agnes wondered, carefully running her tongue over them as inconspicuously as she could. A rip in her dress? A large wart growing on her nose? What else could it be? After all, there was no reason on earth he should be looking at her.
At the rather ripe age of nine and twenty, Agnes was most likely the oldest unmarried woman in the room that night. Perhaps even in all of England. Widows not included, of course. Even Lord Wentford had to be aware of that, especially considering that he himself had not yet reached her old age. If Agnes was not thoroughly mistaken, the young lord was a few years her junior.
Then why would he be looking at a woman who was as thoroughly on the shelf as anyone ever had been? After all, aside from her advanced age, Agnes could name a few more attributes that would surely not recommend her to a young man like him. Not only did she not possess a dowry, but neither could she be considered a particular beauty nor was she in possession of noteworthy connections; her father was the third son of a baron and her late mother had been a no one as far as society was concerned. In addition, she possessed one of the most unfortunate names to ever reach her ears.
Agnes Bottombrook. Could it get any worse?
As far as popular opinion went, it could get worse for Agnes not only possessed an inconveniently curious mind, but also an equally inconveniently sharp tongue. Two attributes that had never failed to turn any young man’s foolish interest into utter regret.
Not that that had happened more than once or twice.
And not in the past decade.
While Lord Wentford had thus far been oblivious to Agnes’ very existence, Agnes herself had, here and there, taken notice of the young lord. As he was a fine, young gentleman, much sought after by society’s most eligible debutantes, Agnes could not have overlooked him. He was constantly surrounded by young ladies or in the company of other eligible bachelors.
At first, Agnes had thought him a self-important oaf, like many in his position. However, over time, she had become aware of the intelligent glitter in his moss-green eyes that was generally followed by a rather challenging remark toward an obnoxious peer or a rather witless lady. He possessed the ability to laugh in a way that made his eyes glow with mirth, and Agnes could not deny that she liked the way he often ran his hand through his hair, upsetting his valet’s careful style and turning his chocolate brown curls into a tousled mess. He seemed to be a decent and kind man, and Agnes had to admit that she had come to like him—as far as that was possible when one hadn’t even exchanged a single word with the person in question.
Why was he still looking at her?
Carefully, Agnes cast a glance over her shoulder, certain that there had to be a rare beauty hiding somewhere behind her who had caught Lord Wentford’s attention. Quite inexplicably, however, there was not. When she returned her gaze back to the young man across the room, his bright green eyes seemed to light up and a teasing curl came to his lips.
Agnes drew
in a slow breath, willing herself to ignore the foolish little jump her heart performed at the sight of his smile, and urged her mind once more to analyze the situation in a reasonable manner.
As there was absolutely no sensible reason why Lord Wentford should be looking at her, Agnes surmised that there had to be some kind of hidden agenda. More than once, she’d heard it whispered that young gentlemen entered into wagers with one another, all of which generally ended in a rather humiliating experience for their target. Had she become such a target?
As another gentleman addressed Lord Wentford, his attention momentarily ventured away from hers. However, only a few heartbeats later, it returned, accompanied by that same teasing smile that had curled up his lips before. Those in his presence began to follow his gaze, and a frown came to their faces when they took notice of Agnes.
Gritting her teeth, Agnes held her head high as she saw their confusion for they could not understand in the least why on earth Lord Wentford should be looking at her. Agnes knew only too well how that felt. Why on earth was he looking at her? Her of all people? An old spinster with nothing to recommend her.
As the minutes ticked by, more and more guests began to take notice, glancing back and forth between them, probably wondering the same thing. How could they not?
Determined not to be intimidated as well as annoyed with herself for misjudging Lord Wentford’s character, Agnes met his gaze straight on, her brows rising in challenge. If he meant to fool her, he would come to regret this day!
Lord Wentford drew in a slow, somewhat shuddering breath as though somehow, altogether inexplicably he found himself flung off balance by…her?
A moment later, he did something rather unheard off.
With his gaze still firmly fixed on Agnes, Lord Wentford set one foot in front of the other, leaving behind a circle of confused peers with irritatingly haughty looks on their faces.
Agnes froze in shock. Oh, dear God, he was coming toward her!
Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Agnes willed herself to remain where she was. If indeed he sought to intimidate her, she would not make it easy for him. No, she would not cower or run. She would stand and fight.
Her stomach plummeted, and her palms became sweaty. This could only end in a disaster!
Unable to look away, Agnes watched him as he slowly made his way across the ballroom. Still, her mind would not cease, offering suggestions it should long since have discarded. After all, how could he have spotted something in her teeth from across the room?
And then he stood before her, his moss-green eyes even more brilliant up close as they studied her face with what seemed like honest interest. A gentle smile hung on his lips as he inclined his head to her. “Good evening.”
Returning his greeting, Agnes decided that attack was the best form of defense. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
A confused frown drew down Lord Wentford’s brows. “Not that I’m aware of,” he replied, a touch of humor in his voice.
“Did someone spill a drink on my dress?” Agnes continued undeterred. “Or is there a rip in my hem?”
Grinning, Lord Wentford leaned toward her, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are we speaking the same language?” he asked almost conspiratorially. “Or is this some kind of code I should be familiar with?”
Unable not to, Agnes laughed, but quickly turned it into a snort, rolling her eyes at the young lord for good measure.
His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “You’re upset with me,” he concluded as his gaze studied her further. “Or at least you’re trying to be? Do tell, what did I do to deserve this?”
More than anything, Agnes wanted to cross her arms in front of her and glare him into oblivion. Still, that would have been poor manners and, so far, she had merely asked him rather unconventional questions. No need to cross that line…yet. “You looked at me,” she finally said, wondering if honesty would disarm him.
It did. However, not in the way she would have expected.
Laughter spilled from his lips, reaching his eyes and lighting them in a way that Agnes had trouble maintaining her own scowl. “You’re upset because I looked at you?”
Agnes nodded. “There’s no sensible reason why you would. Therefore, you must have some ulterior motive which, in turn, suggests a devious mind, and I’d rather not associate with devious minds.”
Fine. Now, they’d crossed the line to poor manners and possibly veiled insults. Surely, he would take his leave now.
“Is no one allowed to look at you?” Lord Wentford asked, equally undeterred. “Or does that rule only pertain to me?”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “What is it that you want?”
The look on his face sobered and, for a long moment, he simply looked at her. “I want to dance with you,” he finally said, holding out his hand to her.
Dimly, Agnes was aware of the whispers and stares directed at them as she all but stared at his hand. Then her gaze ventured upward until her eyes met his. Her heart almost leapt out of her chest as she saw the deep wish for her to accept him shine on his face. Could she have been utterly mistaken about his motives? Or was he simply a good actor?
Reasoning that it would be unwise to snub a man like Lord Wentford in front of society at large, Agnes slid her hand into his. “As you wish.”
Instantly, his fingers curled around hers possessively as though he feared she would change her mind and retrieve her hand. Another smile lit up his face, wicked, and yet, deeply endearing, a smile that spoke of shared secrets and a deeper knowledge of one another than Agnes had ever known.
Feeling herself completely overwhelmed, Agnes inhaled a deep breath when his hand held hers tighter than expected, pulling her toward him before he led her onto the dance floor.
“As you seem to have a shockingly low opinion of me,” he whispered, leaning closer, “I want to assure you that I won’t bite, step on your feet or intend to otherwise harm you.”
At the teasing humor in his voice, Agnes could not help but chuckle. “Is that so?” she asked as they stood up together and the music began to play. “And is your word to be trusted?”
His brows narrowed in mock indignation. “You wound me, Miss—”
Agnes smiled triumphantly. “Now, you wound me as it seems you do not even know my name.”
Lord Wentford chuckled. “Would you care to enlighten me, Miss…?”
“Agnes Bottombrook,” Agnes supplied with a roll of her eyes as his own widened in surprise. “I’m aware that it is a most unfortunate name.”
He grinned. “That it is,” he agreed honestly.
Agnes’ gaze narrowed. “I admit that although everyone agrees that it is, no one has ever done so openly. I applaud you, my lord, for your honesty.” Following his lead, Agnes belatedly realized that her annoyance with Lord Wentford had all but evaporated and that she was—in all honesty—enjoying herself immensely. How inconvenient!
“What?” he asked all of a sudden, guiding her steps down the ballroom. “Your face just darkened. What happened? Did I upset you by looking at you again? Or should I have let you lead?”
Sighing at the grin on his face, Agnes shook her head. “You’re a tease, my lord. I’m not certain I like it.”
Lord Wentford chuckled. “Oh, but you love it. Otherwise, I have no doubt you would have already told me so outright.” His gaze sought hers, a desire to know her shining in its green depth. “Allow me to ask, why do you think there is no sensible reason for anyone to look at you?”
Swallowing, Agnes forced a chuckle into her voice. “Because…I’m old, and you’re not.”
Lord Wentford’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I must say you have a strange way of looking at things.”
Agnes laughed. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but it was not I who made the rules.”
“Rules?”
“Do not pretend to be ignorant of society’s unwritten rules,” Agnes replied, a sharper tone to her voice than she would have hoped. “Ask anyone, the
re is nothing about me that would recommend me to you, therefore—”
Suddenly, he pulled her close, his green eyes seeking hers. “Then they’re wrong,” he all but growled, a defensive tone in his voice that stole Agnes’ breath.
Blinking, she stared at him. “You cannot be sincere,” Agnes whispered, hoping to convince herself as much as him. “You’re dancing with me because of a bet, a wager or—”
“I’m dancing with you because I want to,” he replied, the look in his eyes determined as he held on to her, “and anyone who cannot see that must be blind, deaf and dumb because everything you do and say recommends you.”
Agnes stared at him as though he had struck her. Her knees had turned to water, and she allowed him to pull her off the dance floor with no resistance at all.
“Here, drink this,” Lord Wentford said, handing her a refreshment. “You look pale.”
Sipping her drink, Agnes tried her best to regain her composure, annoyed with herself that he had managed to upend her balance so easily. “Falsities do that.”
“Falsities?” he demanded, a touch of anger in his voice as he stepped in front of her. Then he sighed as though understanding had suddenly found him. “Believe what you will,” he said as the teasing grin returned to his face, “but consider yourself warned that any resistance on your part will only strengthen my resolve.”
“Your resolve? To do what?”
“To marry you.”
Unable to prevent it, Agnes felt her jaw drop. “Y-you must be insane,” she stammered, staring at him as though he had just declared his intention to travel to the moon. “A man like you does not marry a woman like me.”
That annoying chuckle once more rumbled in his throat as he leaned closer, his gaze lit up with challenge. “He does if he knows what’s good for him,” Lord Wentford whispered. “Come on, Nessa, take a leap of faith with me.”
“Nessa?”
“Do you not like it?”
Agnes swallowed as her head spun rather loosely on her shoulders. “I did not say that.”
