Contents
Unveiling Love
Saving a Marriage or Winning the Trial of the Century
Dedication
Books by Vanessa Riley
Cast of Primary Characters
Chapter One: Amora to The Rescue
Chapter Two: Seeing The Past
Chapter Three: Secret Pregnancy, Maybe
Chapter Four: An Outing to Vaux Hall
Chapter Five: A Dangerous Dinner
Chapter Six: A Peek in the Cellar
Chapter Seven: What Will He Do For Her
Chapter Eight: Pharaoh-In-Training
Chapter Nine: Images of the Mind
Chapter Ten: Finding the Past
Chapter Ten: Finding the Past
Chapter Ten: Finding the Past
Chapter Ten: Finding the Past
Chapter Ten: Finding the Past
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Sneak Peak: Episode IV copy
Episode IV of Unveiling Love
Chapter One: Finding Sarah
Extras
Glossary
Sneak Peak: Unmasked Heart
Sneak Peak: The Bargain III
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Unveiling Love
A London Regency Suspense Tale: Episode III
Vanessa Riley
Dear Lovely Reader,
Unveiling Love is a serialized historical romance or soap opera told in episodes. Each episode averages three to eight chapters, about 18,000 to 30,000 words. Each episode resolves one issue. Emotional cliffhangers may be offered, but the plot, the action of the episode, will be complete in resolving this issue.
My promise to you is that the action will be compelling, the romance passionate, and the journey like nothing you've read before. I will tell you in the forward the length. This episode, Episode III, is ten chapters long, 33,000 words. Enjoy this Regency Romance.
Vanessa Riley
Winning in the courts, vanquishing England's foes on the battlefield, Barrington Norton has used these winner-take-all rules to script his life, but is London's most distinguished mulatto barrister prepared to win the ultimate fight, restoring his wife's love?
Amora Norton is running out of time. The shadows in her mind, which threaten her sanity and alienate Barrington's love, have returned. How many others will die if she can't piece together her shattered memories? Can she trust that Barrington's new found care is about saving their marriage rather than winning the trial of the century?
In this episode:
Barrington Norton has always made the right decisions but desperation, lies, and unexpected truths make things go terribly wrong. Can London's top mulatto barrister protect Amora, himself, and their loved ones from ruin? How much will Barrington sacrifice to save the woman he loves?
Amora Norton has come to terms with her abduction and forgiven her Egyptian mother of betrayal, but hasn't the strength to do the same for Barrington or God. Can finding a lost friend and discovering an unexpected blessing be enough to make her whole?
Yet, all their efforts to solve the crime of the century may be for naught. A divided couple is the perfect prey for a criminal who needs all the sins wiped away.
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Dedication
I dedicate this book to my copy editor supreme, my mother, Louise, my loving hubby, Frank, and my daughter, Ellen. Their patience and support have meant the world to me.
I also dedicate this labor of love to critique partners extraordinaire: June, Mildred, Lori, Connie, and Gail.
Love to my mentor, Laurie Alice, for answering all my endless questions.
Love to Sharon & Kathy, they made me feel the emotion. You're never second place in my heart.
And I am grateful for my team of encouragers: Sandra, Michela, Felicia, Piper, and Rhonda.
Books by Vanessa Riley
Madeline's Protector
Swept Away, A Regency Fairy Tale
The Bargain, A Port Elizabeth Tale, Episodes I-IV
Unveiling Love, A London Suspense Tale
Unmasked Heart, A Regency Challenge of the Soul Series
Sign up at VanessaRiley.com for contests, early releases, and more.
Copyright © 2016 Vanessa Riley
Published by BM Books
A Division of Gallium Books
Suite 236B, Atlanta, GA 30308
All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-943885-11-4
Barrington Norton: a barrister by trade, he is a free-borne mulatto gentleman of a wealthy black merchant's daughter and a landowner's ne'er-do-well son.
Amora Norton: the wife of Barrington Norton. She is of mixed blood, the daughter of an Egyptian woman and a wealthy Spanish apple merchant.
Henutsen Tomàs: Amora's Egyptian mother.
Smith: a man convicted of coining.
Cynthia Miller: a songstress and sister of Gerald Miller.
Gerald Miller: Barrington's best friend who saved his life during the Peninsula War.
Mr. Beakes: Barrington's solicitor.
Vicar Wilson: a minister serving at St. George.
Duke and Duchess of Cheshire: the newly married interracial couple William St. Landon and Gaia Telfair, reformers.
Mrs. Gretling: an abigail to Amora.
James: a man-of-all-work to Barrington.
Mr. Charleton: a rival of Barrington from their youth.
Mr. Hessing: Barrington's mentor and barrister colleague.
Hudson Solemn: Barrington's cousin.
Chapter One: Amora to The Rescue
The cup of warm tea mother made from the peppermint leaves sat on Amora's bed table. If she sipped it, the potion would make her eyes heavy and her lids droop, but sleep was not what she wanted. Every nerve was on edge. Barrington hadn't come home.
A groan welled inside. Why was she worrying about him? The man was levelheaded, detail oriented, and decisive. That's why he couldn't understand weakness or desperation.
She blew out a breath, hoping the air would leach her system of longing - of wanting his laugh in her ear, his kiss on her lips.
A shiver swept over her, tightening about her middle as she remembered how sweet he'd been taking her on the balcony to distract her from Papa's loss. So kind and protective. So Barrington.
Did his pride hurt when she refused a last kiss?
Oh, how she wanted to weaken.
If not for that irksome Cynthia, she might've surrendered to the heat in his eyes, that fleeting promise of not being alone. He'd be with her now holding her, loving her to distraction, not lost to the outside world.
She glanced back at her perfectly creased sheets, allowing her heart to remember the last time she let him in her bedchamber. The memory -- his breathing in rhythm with hers, his hands, rough and strong drawing her closer and closer -- raced her heart. Right now, the jingle of his buttons on a divested waistcoat would be music to her lonely soul.
Yet when morning came, would anything change? He still wouldn't understand her fears. She'd always be otherworldly to him and to herself.
She counted her fingers and paced again. Images of Barrington robbed or
hurt in a carriage accident filled her brainbox. She rubbed her temples and tried to focus on the gnarled bedpost, but the smooth empty sheets of her bed taunted her as well.
Nothing but Barrington could calm her soul. Her thoughts whirled and whirled. She kidded herself thinking she'd be well without Barrington. Feeling weak-minded and angry at him for staying out late and making her fret, she lunged forward to pound the wall but missed.
Swaying, she caught the window sill. She blinked her dizzy eyes, but the world continued to spin. Breathing in and out, she waited for the bad thoughts twisting inside to slip away.
Resigning her waiting, she pressed an ear to the window glass and listened for hope.
Silence.
A deathly stillness.
Not even a lone horse's clip-clop.
Where was Barrington?
Had he found Sarah?
What if the monster killed him like he promised to?
Again, she paced. Her teeth chattered thinking of the monster hurting Barrington. Her muscles coiled tighter. "Oh, Barr, come home."
Knock. Knock.
The sound upon her door made her flinch with happiness. He was here, outside her room. He was alright. She cinched up her thick woolen robe and ran to the entry.
Flinging open the door, she felt her heart shrivel and fall back to the bottom of her chest.
Her mother stood there, dressed for bed with curl papers in her hair. "Amora, I wanted to make sure you were alright. Is the tea helping?"
"I'm well. You needn't be concerned."
Mama pushed her way inside. "I am concerned."
Amora folded her arms tighter about her chest. She needed to prepare for the tongue lashing that only Henutsen Tomàs could bring. "Truly. Be at ease, Mother. I'm just tired."
The woman looked around then rubbed her chin. Her onyx black hair with hints of salt glistened about the stark white papers.
Was it Amora's imagination or was she putting more effort into her appearance for tomorrow's outing with the vicar than the Hessing's ball?
Mama came closer. "What if we stay a little longer? Being here in London hasn't been so bad. Even Barrington hasn't been so bad."
Feeling her forehead crinkle with suspicion, Amora patted her brow, then leveled her shoulders. "We have seven days left. You might change your mind."
Mama sighed. A look of defeat swept over her. She frowned her lips. "I've been wrong about many things, even Barrington. He loves you, you know? Why not give him another chance? With more time you may find more reasons to love than wrongs to hate."
Amora bristled on the inside. She moved to her bedframe and rubbed the smooth sheet as if it had wrinkles. "Things have been good between us, Mama. Let's not argue."
Mama came to her side and caught her fingers. "Is it good because I tell you what you want to hear? Is it good because I keep my opinions to myself?"
Amora straightened and glanced directly into her mother's coal-colored eyes. "Frankly, yes."
She released Amora's hand as if she'd touched burning kindling wood. "I know you haven't forgiven me, but at least you talk to me. Maybe you will listen and not close your ears this time."
"I've forgiven—"
"Vicar Wilson has told me of forgiveness. It's not this. Careful words, feeling trapped or scared. Always reminded of my sins. No, that can't be forgiveness."
Amora fanned heat from her face and glared at the petite fireball. "Careful, Mama. You're cavorting with the vicar's and Barrington's God. Your Isis one may hear and strike."
"Why?" The woman's brow rose as her tone lowered. "Why do I need to worry about a piece of wood's wrath when I have yours?"
"What?"
"Amora, saying you forgive is different than being forgiven. Who would Papa say was a la mula?"
Amora covered her mouth and backed away from the truth. Barrington knew the difference between being loved and just craving safety. Surely, her mother could tell the difference in pretending to forgive to claim an ally. "Forgiv—"
Amora blinked her eyes hard as nausea flooded her stomach. The weakness must originate from her stubborn heart and neither would quit. She scooted to her vanity, dropped to her knees and lowered her face into the wastebasket. Mrs. Hessing's foul fowl dinner and maybe breakfast flowed out.
Amora wasn't sure how much time passed. Footsteps came and went as she knelt. Maybe she needed this cleansing to rid the anger caught up in her bones. It wasn't right to hold Mama and Barrington in bondage. It just wasn't.
When the heaving stopped, she sat back and dropped against Mama's legs. The woman's strong fingers had scooped up her loose hair to keep the locks from soiling. "My sweet Ala mula, you'll feel better in a moment."
She patted a cold damp cloth across Amora's neck. It felt wonderful.
Mama lowered a cup that smelled of roses. "Rinse your mouth with this."
Amora washed bitterness from her tongue. It was time to let some of the awfulness be rinsed away. She took in a long cooling breath and released the words she never wanted to say again. "I'm sorry."
Her mother smiled for a moment then brushed at her eyes. The coal pupils shimmered as if relieving the weight of condemnation had turned them to diamonds.
Mama helped her stand and plopped her atop the mattress. She wiped at the stream of water drizzling down Amora's damp cheek. "I need you too. Please, let us be friends."
She nodded and put her arms about Mama's hips, smashing her tired head against her stomach. "I want to try forgiveness. You may have to remind me everyday."
"Write one of your notes. The ones you read each morning."
Amora nodded and strengthened her hold.
Mama lifted her chin. "Amora, you do know why you've been so sickly as of late?"
Her mother's gaze pierced deep into Amora's imprisoned mind, the place she locked away truth and forgiveness.
"Mama, you think I am increasing, too?"
Her mother nodded her chin, as the prison guards in Amora's head, denial and self-pity took leave.
She put a palm to her flat, needed-to-be-empty stomach. "I can't be. That would mean three months, almost four."
"We'll know soon. I want you to talk with Barrington. Invite him in this room and don't come out until you both have an understanding. I've sent Mrs. Gretling home, and I'm going to have a long deep sleep with my special tea. You two will be able to scream at each other or love on each other. Fix this before you can't."
Surely it was too late for her and Barrington. He wasn't here anyway. She shook her head. "He and I aren't good at talking."
"Even better. Sometimes words get in the way. I saw the vulture that's after him. Don't let the loose Miller woman pick at his bones. Don't allow him think you no longer care."
She drew Amora forward and kissed her brow. "Don't be a la mula. Be love."
Mama headed to the door. She glanced back. "I won't side against you ever again, but I won't be silent anymore. Get your husband back."
The door closed, but mother's rebuke stayed.
Amora rubbed her arms and stared at the moldings framing the door. How could she be love when it always disappointed or was cruelly taken away?
Another sleepless hour passed. Amora closed her eyes at least a hundred times, but couldn't submit to tiredness. Her mother's hints kept repeating in her ear, the part about getting your husband back, the vulture part, not the ones of increasing-with-child.
Her stomach hadn't gotten bigger. The nausea, the weakness, all had to be from a prolonged winter cold and a poor dinner.
She stroked the empty pillow beside her and drew it to her chest. His pillow. Where was Barrington?
She kept hoping to hear him settling into his chambers, but heard nothing. No sound. No shuffle. Nothing.
He still hadn't made it home. Where was he?
Didn't he know she would be in a state waiting for him?
No, maybe he didn't.
She tossed the pillow and drew up from the mattress, bringing her knees to her. Every
thing sounded of silence. Coldness. Emptiness.
What if Cynthia took up Amora's challenge to seduce Barrington? What if she waylaid him into an errand and finally sunk her claws into his neckcloth?
Amora froze and slapped her palms together. Oh, let him not be with that viper.
She drew her palms to her temples and blocked her eyes. Her husband was honorable. Something had to be wrong.
She leaned over and pulled her candle closer. The orange flame with hints of blue danced upon the wax. Calm needed to fill her, so when Barrington showed unharmed, hopefully with their vows intact, he wouldn't find her worn as a fraying thread from fret. Or worse, having lost control of her reason.
Tip tap. She clapped her nails against the bronzed holder and sniffed the scent of char and dribbled wax.
A creak sounded.
Another noise, maybe a door closing whispered from below.
She heard heavy footfalls. Someone had entered the house, but not through the front unless she'd missed carriage noises. Barrington?
Juggling her heavy Dresden rhinoceros statue and candlestick, she rushed to her threshold, turned the knob and slipped to the stairs.
The lower level remained dark. Breathless and scared, she let her heart push her forward.
Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 3) Page 1
