Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set

by Wendy Lacapra

  Arriving in Texas with her lady’s maid and all the determination she can muster, Cecily sets out to conquer both the new world and her reluctant fiancé.

  Excerpt:

  As Lady Cecily Thorndale stepped down from the train that had brought her at last to Texas, she wondered why she'd waited until she was twenty-four years old to run away from home.

  "I never dreamed the rest of the world would be so different from Devonshire," she said to Alice, her lady's maid, as the two stood on the station platform. She glanced toward the trio of brightly-dressed women who'd sat near them for the last day on the trip. "Or that I'd meet such interesting people."

  "Where are we, Lady Cecily?" Alice's voice took on a plaintive whine as she set her carpetbag on the platform next to her mistress.

  "Didn't you hear the conductor? We're in Fairweather, Texas." Cecily gathered her fur-lined cape more closely around her throat and scanned the area around the platform. In this case, fair weather also meant cold weather. A bitter wind whistled across the platform and white smoke poured from the chimneys of the square-fronted, wooden buildings facing from the depot. The roughly dressed men and women who crowded the board walkways in front of the shops were heavily bundled against the chill. Beyond the buildings, an expanse of frost-bitten land stretched toward the horizon, washed in the copper light of the setting sun.

  She took a deep breath, and the cold air stung her nostrils with the aromas of sawdust, cinders, and manure. Texas even smelled different from home. She put one hand to her stomach, hoping to calm the nervous quiver there. You've come all this way, Cecily, she silently scolded herself. Don't act the coward now.

  Alice sniffed. "Begging pardon, m'lady, but I don't see what's so fair about it." She scowled at a cowboy walking past; he tipped his high-crowned hat and gave her a lewd wink. "Well, I never!" Alice gathered her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air.

  Cecily bit back a smile. Alice was too stuffy for her own good sometimes. Granted, the wink had been improper, but then, so had Alice’s look of disdain. "As soon as Nick fetches our trunks, we'll set about locating Lord Silsbee," she said.

  "If Nick Bainbridge remembers to come back for us." Alice shook her head. "I don't trust that one m'lady. All he's talked about since we left England is seeing cowboys and riding horses and such. I’m thinking we’d be better off never having brought him along."

  Cecily gave Alice a tolerant look. Despite the maid's harsh words, Cecily suspected she secretly had tender feelings for handsome Nick. "We couldn't very well travel half away across the world with no man to escort us," she said.

  Alice looked away, cheeks stained bright red. She cleared her throat. "I do hope his lordship isn't angry with us for coming," she said.

  Cecily's stomach gave another nervous lurch. "I'm sure Charles will be delighted to see us." She spoke with more conviction than she felt. After all, in his last letter, Charles had expressed a desire to postpone their wedding yet again. She'd traveled all this way to convince him to change his mind. "I imagine he'll be impressed that I took the initiative to pay him a visit."

  "About as impressed as Lord and Lady Marbridge will be when they receive that letter you wrote aboard ship." Alice gave her a scolding look. "Really, m'lady, running all the way to America without telling a soul -- it's not at all like you."

  Cecily frowned. Of course it wasn't like her. But what else was she to do? She was of little use to anyone as Lady Cecily Thorndale of Devonshire. Truth be told, no one outside of her parents was likely to miss her in the least. And even they hadn't been able to hide their eagerness to have their spinster daughter safely wed and out from under their roof. At least Charles needed her, even if he didn't realize it yet. Every successful man needed a wife to look after him.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cynthia Sterling loves reading and writing historical romance, and is the author of more than a dozen award-winning historical romances. She is also the alter-ego of contemporary romance author Cindi Myers. Connect with her on Facebook at facebook.com/CynthiaSterling.

  A Lady of Courage

  Catherine Tinley

  A LADY OF COURAGE

  Following a scandalous elopement and a cloud of mystery over the legitimacy of her child, Elizabeth has spent years in exile, hiding away from society.

  Now back in London for the first time, can she find the courage to regain her place and find love?

  Other Titles by Catherine Tinley

  The Chadcombe Marriages:

  Waltzing with the Earl

  The Captain’s Disgraced Lady

  The Makings of a Lady

  The Earl’s Runaway Governess

  A LADY OF COURAGE

  Copyright © 2019 Catherine Tinley

  All rights reserved.

  For my family, with love

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brussels, March 1815

  To elope to France with the man you love must surely be the most adventurous, the most exciting, the most reckless thing a young lady can do. Elizabeth, now a respectable mother who had recently marked her forty-second birthday, could only dimly remember the impulse that had led her to escape from a London ball in the middle of the night. At the time, she had been motivated by an all-consuming passion for the dashing Honourable John Milford, known as Jack—and the knowledge that her father would never countenance her marrying him.

  She and Jack, with all the confidence of youth, had been convinced that all would be well. They would be together, and surely Elizabeth’s father, faced with the inevitability of their marriage, would come to accept it in time.

  The reality had been rather different. Elizabeth shook her head at the memories. How foolish I was! And how young! Oh, she had never doubted Jack’s integrity, or his love for her. But he had been, she now knew, just as naïve as she, just as unsure of the ways of the world. Only a few weeks after their arrival in France, he had gone off to fight in the Flanders campaign, promising to return in ‘a very few days—a week at most.’

  He had been dead within a sennight.

  Eight months later, and just weeks before her twenty-second birthday, Elizabeth had given birth to her daughter. My Juliana! she thought fiercely. What a daughter I have!

  ‘Good day, Mama.’ Juliana entered the parlour and stooped to kiss her. Elizabeth felt the usual rush of pride. Juliana was now a beautiful, accomplished young lady. As well as being beautiful, she was passionate, headstrong, and perfect in every way. Well, of course, occasionally Elizabeth might wish for her daughter to be a little calmer, or quieter, or amenable—she felt a little guilty at the thought.

  Juliana was every inch her father’s daughter—Jack’s impulsiveness and sense of adventure had been one of the aspects of his character that had seemed most attractive to the twenty-year-old Elizabeth. Just now, she had difficulty in recalling exactly why she had found such traits so admirable.

  ‘Mama, I have had the most wonderful idea!’

  Elizabeth’s heart sank. Some of her greatest trials had ensued from statements just like this. She maintained her normal calm demeanour, asking simply, ‘Oh? What might that be?’

  Juliana crossed to the desk in their little parlour, fetching the pile of letters from her best friend, Charlotte. The girls had attended school together and became firm friends. Elizabeth approved of Charlotte—her calm reasonableness was the perfect foil to Juliana’s passionate nature.

  ‘You remember I told you of Charlotte’s recent marriage?’

  ‘Of course. She married the Earl of Shalford, did she not? What a triumph for her! And indeed, no-one could begrudge her this good fortune, for she is one of the most amiable young ladies of my acquaintance.’

  Juliana beamed at this praise of her favourite. ‘Indeed, Mama. Well, she has invited us both to visit her in her new home.’

  Elizabeth’s heart immediately skipped a beat. ‘In England?’ She could feel the colour draining from her face.

  ‘Well, yes, Mama.’ Juliana�
�s tone was patient. ‘That is where she lives now—in the earl’s country estate, Chadcombe, in Surrey.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Elizabeth reflexively. ‘I—we—it’s impossible!’

  Juliana eyed her levelly. ‘But why not, Mama? We have never visited England, the land of your birth. This would be our opportunity to do so. You know I love living in Brussels, and we have a great many friends here, but this would be the perfect opportunity to visit England.’

  Elizabeth could feel anxiety flutter to life inside her. ‘It’s out of the question!’ How can I possibly go back now and face the shame? How could I bring such disgrace on my beloved daughter? Living in Brussels all these years had enabled Elizabeth to gloss over the details of her marriage and Juliana’s birth. Why, Juliana herself had no idea of the shame surrounding her conception! And so, it must remain.

  ‘Perhaps I could travel by myself, with a maid to accompany me.’ Juliana’s expression was thoughtful.

  ‘By yourself? All the way to England? Impossible.’ Besides, you would not even know where not to go, what questions to avoid. Elizabeth shuddered.

  Seeing her mother’s resistance, Juliana’s face settled into a determined expression Elizabeth recognised well. Her heart sank—Juliana would doubtless return to this conversation. Oh, how she hated to deny her child anything! But on this, she had to be firm. There was absolutely no possibility of them travelling to England.

  Two months later

  ‘Dear Mama, I am so happy that you agreed we could travel to England!’ Juliana peered at Elizabeth anxiously through the gloom of the ship’s cabin. ‘But I fear this journey has been hard on you. We shall arrive shortly in Dover, so can I assist you to rise and dress?’

  ‘Rise?’ Elizabeth’s tone was unusually sharp. ‘I am astonished to find that I am still alive. Why, I have been constantly sick ever since we left France.’ She indicated the basin by her bedside. ‘Please ask them to empty this again, for the smell of it threatens to set my stomach off once more.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’ Juliana took the basin outside the cabin door, where she gave it to an unseen sailor.

  Elizabeth groaned. ‘Tell them to be quick about it, for I may have need of it again shortly.’

  On her one and only previous sea journey—the one where she and Jack had been eloping—she had been equally nauseous and had disgraced herself on numerous occasions as they crossed the Channel. Jack had mopped her brow and emptied her basin himself, while laughing about the fact that they would be in no danger of anticipating their wedding vows that day. ‘Indeed not!’ Elizabeth had retorted—the very thought of even kissing him being well beyond the capabilities of her tortured belly. To her great surprise, she had survived that crossing, and she may well survive this one.

  Within a short time they had docked, and soon afterwards, the ladies left the rocking, unstable ship for the safety of firm ground. Elizabeth felt a queer sensation as she walked along—as if she remained on board. The very stones of the earth seemed to roll and rumble, and she gripped her daughter’s arm as they proceeded along the dock.

  Ten minutes later, they had found shelter from the rain in a snug quayside inn. Juliana took charge—something she did remarkably well—and secured them a private parlour, where Elizabeth was able to enjoy tea, cake, and the feeling of being on dry land. Despite a brief, deeply unpleasant altercation with two young army officers—they wished to share the parlour, but Juliana sent them away with an acerbity that made Elizabeth feel profoundly uncomfortable—Elizabeth gradually felt her stomach settle and her mind ease.

  She had decided that the best way to endure this ordeal—for it must be endured—was to put out of her mind any thoughts about the fact that she was in England, for the first time in twenty-two years. England, where her father, General Hunter, still resided. England, where her elopement had provided plenty of meat for the gossips.

  She had accepted her banishment a long, long time ago, and made peace with it. It had hurt her pride to write to her father back then, yet for her daughter’s sake, she had done it. She had had no money for passage home and had been living on the generosity of friends in Brussels. Her conscience would not allow her to impose for too long, and so she had put quivering pen to paper, explaining that Jack had died and that she was left with a new baby and a small Army pension.

  Weeks later, Papa had arrived in Brussels, expressing himself in no uncertain fashion. She, fearful of society’s reaction, had begged to be allowed to stay in Brussels, and he had agreed. ‘Very well,’ he had conceded, ‘here you will remain. I shall provide an allowance for you and your offspring, so long as you shall do so.’

  She had not seen him since that day.

  That allowance, on top of her meagre Army widow’s pension, had sustained her and her daughter all these years. Papa had even agreed to pay for Juliana to attend a select girls’ school in Vienna, at Elizabeth’s request. How she had quaked when writing to him again to beg for the funds! She had sent him letters every Christmas and birthday, updating him on Juliana’s growth and virtues, but he had never replied. The money had, thankfully, kept coming though.

  And now, she risked losing it, should the general find out that she had disobeyed him by returning home. Her stomach knotted at the very thought. How would they survive without the allowance? Why, they would be all but destitute without her father’s begrudging generosity! Oh, Lord, why did I ever agree to this madness?

  She stood behind Juliana in the taproom of the inn, thinking of all the things she ought not to be thinking about, when her eye was drawn to a portrait on the wall—an Army general, severe of expression, scowling with displeased arrogance. It was not Papa—of course, it was not—but there was enough of a likeness to send her pulse racing and sweat beading on her forehead. Her stomach, meantime, had dropped to the floor.

  The landlord appeared from the back room, all bustle and busyness. ‘I am sorry to keep you waiting, miss,’ he said to Juliana.

  ‘I should like to pay the reckoning,’ Juliana replied, her back to Elizabeth.

  ‘Yes, miss.’ The landlord glanced at Elizabeth, and his expression changed. ‘Ma’am, you are unwell! May I be of assistance?’

  Juliana whirled around, her face creasing in concern. ‘Mama!’ She took Elizabeth’s arm and gently led her to a nearby settle. The two soldiers, who had leaped to their feet, approached with concerned expressions.

  ‘Oh, dear! I am sorry! I do not wish to make a fuss!’ Elizabeth heard her own voice, and the tremble in it. She hated to be the centre of attention and detested her own weakness.

  Minutes later, they were back in the parlour, Juliana having agreed to postpone their onward journey until the morrow. Not a particularly auspicious beginning to their trip. Lord! I hope that I shall not disgrace myself by being vapourish. She was likely to be jumping at shadows until they were safely back in Brussels. I must be strong for Juliana’s sake.

  They dined that evening with the young soldiers—Captain Fanton and Lieutenant Evans—and Elizabeth, in control of herself once more, was almost able to convince herself that all would be well.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Juliana’s friend, Charlotte, was just as warm and charming as she had ever been. Her new home, Chadcombe, was one of the most impressive houses Elizabeth had ever seen. It reassured Elizabeth to understand that Charlotte’s new husband, Adam Fanton, Earl of Shalford, was wealthy as well as titled. It reassured her even more to see the evident regard he had for his young wife. Should Papa cut us off, perhaps Juliana could stay here for a time.

  The earl’s family was just as welcoming as their host. His young sister, Lady Olivia, was well-mannered and agreeable, and his Great-Aunt Clara—Miss Langley— was just the sort of delightful elderly lady that Elizabeth enjoyed spending time with. To her great surprise, when the earl’s younger brother arrived home, he turned out to be none other than Captain Harry Fanton, who had been so kind and obliging to them in Dover. He and Juliana had not had an auspicious beginning to their fr
iendship—Juliana having taken umbrage at what she had felt was the Captain’s judgement of her. Still, Elizabeth saw that Harry was a perfectly amiable young man and hoped that in time, Juliana would warm to him as she had.

  Elizabeth could happily have stayed in Chadcombe forever, enjoying the relaxed pace, good food, and country air. She was enjoying getting to know the family and felt increasingly comfortable in their company. However, it was not to be. The family were moving to their London townhouse for the Season, and so Elizabeth gently suggested to Juliana that they book their passage back home to Brussels. Unfortunately, she was immediately overruled, not just by Juliana, but by Charlotte, Adam, Harry, Olivia and dear Miss Langley.

  ‘Oh, do say you can accompany us to London!’ Miss Langley had pleaded, ‘For I am enjoying your company, and I should so love to go shopping with you and take tea in the afternoons as we are quite in the habit of doing!’

  Against this wall of genuine persuasion, Elizabeth conceded, though it made her deeply anxious to do so. Papa was in London and travelling there would greatly increase the chances of detection. ‘So long as you can assure me,’ she had said to Juliana and Miss Langley, ‘that I shall not have to go out in society. The very thought makes me shudder!’

  Miss Langley was all sympathy. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I, too, have no desire to attend balls, routs, or promenade in the park to be Seen. My idea of heaven is to visit friends or simply spend an afternoon reading or conversing with amiable companions.’

  Elizabeth looked at her helplessly, but the elderly lady was not to be denied.