by Sarah Lark
Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Titlepage
Copyright
Map Jamaica
Young Love Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Island Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Magic Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Betrayal Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Love Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Revenge Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Afterword
About the Book
A new saga from best-selling author Sarah Lark: original, captivating, superb
London, 1732: Nora Reed, the daughter of a merchant, falls hopelessly in love with her father’s clerk, Simon. Despite their differing social class, the star-crossed lovers dream of a future on a tropical island – until tragedy strikes, and Nora must face a life without her soulmate. Hopeless, Nora enters a marriage of convenience with Elias Fortnam, a widower and sugar planter in Jamaica. Even without Simon, she is determined to somehow fulfill their tropical fantasy. But life in the Caribbean doesn’t turn out as Nora had dreamt.
Nora is deeply shocked by the way plantation owners treat the slaves and decides to shake things up on her own sugar cane plantation – for the better. Surprisingly, her adult stepson Doug supports her in this endeavor when he arrives from Europe. However, his return also puts things into a state of turmoil – especially Nora’s feelings.
Just as Nora seems to be settling into her role as lady of the house, one harrowing event rips everything from her but her life … A gripping tale of love and hate, trust and betrayal, and a thrilling destiny set against the pristine beaches and swaying palmtrees of the tropics.
About the Author
Sarah Lark, born in 1958, studied psychology and completed her doctorate on the subject of “daydreams.” She also worked as a tour guide for many years and was always fascinated by the paradisiacal places of the world. Her captivating novels set in New Zealand immediately gained a large readership and have a longstanding position on the bestseller list in Germany.
Sarah Lark is a pseudonym of a successful German writer. She lives in Spain and is currently working on her next novel. Under the pen name Ricarda Jordan, she takes her readers away on a journey into the colourful middle ages.
SARAH LARK
ISLAND OF
A THOUSAND
SPRINGS
BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT
October 2014
Digital original edition
»be« by Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG
This title was acquired through the literary agency Thomas Schlück GmbH, 30827 Garbsen, Germany
Copyright © 2014 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Cologne, Germany
Written by Sarah Lark
Translated by Sharmila Cohen
Edited by Victoria Pepe
Cover design and photo illustration by Travis Harvey
Map © 2014 by Reinhard Borner, Wipperfürth
Project management by Lori Herber
E-Book-Production: le-tex publishing services GmbH, Leipzig
ISBN 978-3-8387-5321-8
www.be-ebooks.com
YOUNG LOVE
London
Late summer to fall 1729
CHAPTER 1
“Just look at the weather!”
Nora Reed shivered before stepping out of her father’s house and hurrying to the carriage that awaited her. The old coachman smiled as she hopped over the puddles in her high-heeled silk shoes in order to keep her dress from getting dirty. The voluminous farthingale revealed more of her ankles and calves than was seemly, but Nora had no inhibitions in front of Peppers. He had driven Nora to her baptism and had been in her family’s service for many years before that.
“Where are we off to?”
Smiling, the coachman held open the door of the high, black-painted vehicle for Nora. The doors were adorned with a sort of crest: elaborately intertwined initials — T and R for Thomas Reed, Nora’s father.
Nora quickly slid into the dryness and immediately let the hood of her large cloak fall back. This morning, her maid had braided her auburn hair with dark green ribbons that matched Nora’s eyes and her emerald-colored, open-front coatdress. Luckily the rain hadn’t disturbed the wide braid that fell across her back. Nora was not in the habit of powdering her hair white as fashion had dictated. Instead, she preferred it natural and was pleased when Simon compared her tresses to liquid amber. The young woman smiled dreamily at the thought of her beloved. Maybe she should stop by her father’s office before visiting Lady Wentworth.
“Down to the Thames first, please,” she gave Peppers rather vague directions. “I want to go to the Wentworths’… you know, the large house in the business district.”
Lord Wentworth had settled near the offices and trading companies along the Thames. Apparently, close contact with the merchants and sugar importers was more important to him than a residence in one of the more distinguished residential neighborhoods.
Peppers nodded. “You wouldn’t like to visit your father?” he inquired.
The old servant knew Nora well enough to read her slender, expressive face. In the last few weeks, she had requested remarkably often that he drive her down to the Reed offices — even when it was a detour and she had no real need to go there. Of course, the urge was not so much to see her father, but instead, Simon Greenborough, the youngest of his clerks. Peppers suspected that Nora also met the young man when she went out for a walk or ride, but he had no intention of interfering. Undoubtedly, his master would be displeased if his own daughter had a dalliance with one of his employees, but Peppers liked his young mistress — Nora had always known how to wrap her father’s staff around her finger — and so he indulged her infatuation with the handsome, dark-haired clerk. Thus far, Nora had never kept real secrets from her father. Thomas Reed had practically raised her alone after her mother had died many years before, and the two had a close, warm relationship. Peppers didn’t think that she would jeopardize it for a mere flirtation.
“Let’s see,” Nora said and her face took on a mischievous expression. “It couldn’t hurt if we’re passing by anyway. We’ll just have a little drive!”
Peppers nodded, shut the door behind her, and climbed onto the box, with some reluctance. With all due respect to Nora’s young love, this certainly was not very inviting weather to go for a drive in. It was pouring rain, and water rushed through the city, dragging refuse and waste along with it. The rain and filth from the streets combined to form a foul-smelling sludge, which gurgled unde
r the carriage wheels. Additionally, it wasn’t uncommon for signs that had been torn from storefronts, or even animal carcasses, to get caught in the spokes.
Peppers drove slowly to avoid risking an accident and to spare the footboys and passers-by, who were walking despite the weather. They fled from the spraying water when a carriage passed, but didn’t always manage to escape the stinking shower. Regardless, Peppers didn’t have to rein in his horses in this weather. The animals moved onwards with reluctance — much like the slender, young man, apparently an errand boy, who was leaving Thomas Reed’s office as Peppers steered his carriage past. Peppers felt sympathy for him, but was now distracted by Nora, who was pounding on the window between the coach and the box.
“Peppers! Stop here, Peppers!”
Simon Greenborough had hoped that the weather would improve, but when he stepped out onto the street from the semidarkness of the office, the sight of soaking wet horses pulling covered coaches disabused him of the notion. Simon tried to pull up the collar of his threadbare coat to protect the lace trimming of his last acceptable shirt. He was in the habit of pressing it himself every evening in order to keep it at least partly in the right shape. Now it was immediately soaked through, along with Simon’s powdered hair. The water ran down his short, thick, dark braid. Simon longed for a headdress, but had to go without because he wasn’t quite sure what was proper for his new position as a clerk. Certainly not the young nobleman’s three-cornered hat, even if his own were still presentable, and not the elaborate style of wig that his father — and the bailiff — had worn …
Simon tried not to think about it any further. He coughed as water ran down his back. If he didn’t get out of the downpour soon, his coat and breeches would be completely soaked. The sodden leather of his old buckled shoes squeaked with every step. Simon tried to take longer strides. He was close to Thames Street, and maybe he could just wait for the answer to the letter that he had offered to deliver. Hopefully the rain would subside by then …
Simon first noticed the carriage approaching from behind when he heard Nora’s bright voice.
“Simon! What on earth are you doing out there? You’ll catch your death of cold in this weather! What was my father thinking, letting you play errand boy?”
The young woman didn’t wait for Peppers to leave his seat to open the door for her. Instead, she spiritedly pushed open the door from inside and invitingly patted the seat beside her.
“Get in, Simon, quickly! The wind is blowing all the rain onto the cushions.”
Simon looked indecisively into the carriage, while Peppers looked awkwardly at the young man, who was standing like a wet cat on the curb. “Your father surely wouldn’t like it—”
“Your father surely wouldn’t like it, Miss Reed—”
Simon and the coachman said the words at almost the same time and looked equally indignant when Nora responded with a light-hearted laugh.
“Now be sensible, Simon! No matter where you want to go, my father also wouldn’t like it if his delivery boy arrived looking as if he’d just swum through the Thames. And Peppers won’t say anything, will you?”
Nora eagerly smiled at her coachman. Peppers sighed.
“If you please, mister … uh … milord.” It ruffled Peppers’s feathers to have to address this unfortunate figure with the correct title of nobility.
Simon Greenborough shrugged. “‘Mister’ is fine. The seat in the House of Lords is sold anyway, regardless of if I call myself lord, or viscount, or anything else.”
It sounded bitter, and Simon scolded himself for having given the servant insight into his family circumstances. Then again, perhaps he already knew too much about him anyway. Nora considered the staff in her house to be like her extended family; who knew what she’d told her lady’s maids or any of the others?
Simon took a deep breath as he slid onto the cushion beside her. He coughed again — this weather really got to his lungs. Nora looked at the young man, partly with reproach and partly with concern. Then she decidedly grabbed her scarf and rubbed his hair dry. Of course, traces of powder were left on the wool. Nora looked at it, shaking her head.
“You always use this stuff!” she reprimanded him. “It’s a stupid fashion and you have such beautiful dark hair, why color it white like an old man? Thank God you still haven’t come up with the idea of putting on a wig …”
Simon smiled. He couldn’t have afforded a wig even if he’d wanted one, but Nora consistently refused to notice his poverty, just as she denied all of the other differences between her own station in life and Simon’s. To her, it was all the same if he was titled and she was not, if he was completely destitute, while her father was among the richest merchants in the empire, or if he lived in a palace or served as a poorly paid clerk in her father’s offices. Nora Reed loved Simon Greenborough and she had no doubt that this love would eventually find fulfillment. Now she leaned, guileless and wide-eyed, on his shoulder, as the carriage rumbled over London’s cobblestone streets.
In contrast, Simon took a nervous glance in the direction of the coachman’s box before happily taking her in his arms and kissing her. Naturally, Nora had chosen a closed carriage on such a rainy day. The window that allowed her to speak to Peppers was tiny and completely fogged over. The coachman wouldn’t notice anything. Nora returned Simon’s kiss without any inhibition.
“I missed you so much,” she whispered and nestled up to him, without regard to the fact that it would make her cloak wet and crumple the lace at the neckline of her dress. “How long has it been?”
“Two days,” Simon replied immediately and gently stroked her hair and temple. He could never tire of looking at the graceful young woman’s smile and delicate features. The days they spent apart had seemed just as dark and dreary to him as they did her. Nora and her father had spent the weekend at the country residence of friends, although it had also been continuously raining there. So, the lovers couldn’t have met secretly anyway. In fact, there was no public or even private space where such an incongruous pair could have spoken to each other unnoticed — not to mention participate in any exchange of affection. When the weather was fair, they met in St. James’s Park, although even that was not without its risks. On the crowded paths, they could be seen by Nora’s friends and acquaintances, and in the hidden niches behind dark hedges, there were also dark figures lurking around … and now it was almost fall on top of all that.
“We really must speak to Father!” Nora exclaimed. Apparently, similar thoughts had been running through her head, too. “The walks in the park won’t do now that the weather is getting worse. Father must allow you to openly court me! If only because I’d like to show you around. My wonderful lord …”
She smiled mischievously at Simon and, as was often the case, he lost himself in the sight of her slender, intelligent face with her green eyes, which seemed like a kaleidoscope of brighter and darker lights that flashed when Nora was excited. He loved her auburn hair, especially when she adorned it with flowers. Orange blossoms … Neither Simon nor Nora had ever seen an orange tree, but they knew the flowers from illustrations, and they dreamed of one day picking them together.
“Your father will never allow it.” Simon pessimistically replied, and pulled Nora in closer. It was nice to feel her; to imagine that this was his own carriage; that he was bringing his beloved home to a beautiful manor in the sun …
“Where is it you actually wanted to go?”
Peppers’ terse question made the lovers quickly pull away from each other. It was unlikely that he had seen much. He had only turned around to his passengers, and the traffic on the London streets required all of his attention, especially in this weather.
“To … to Thames Street,” Simon answered. “To the office of Mr. Roundbottom!”
Nora happily smiled. “Oh, we’re practically going there anyway!” she delighted. “I’m on my way to see Lady Wentworth to return this.”
She pulled a small, beautifully bound book from h
er lace-trimmed bag and held it towards Simon.
“Barbados,” the wrinkle that invariably appeared on Simon’s forehead when he was worried smoothed itself out at the sight of the book, “I would’ve liked to read it, too.”
Nora nodded. “I know, but I have to bring it back. The Wentworths are leaving for the Virgin Islands tomorrow. They have a plantation there, you know. They were just here to …”
Simon wasn’t listening any longer, but instead, was flipping through the book. He could imagine why the Wentworths were in England. They probably just had to leave their West Indian properties to buy a seat in Parliament, or to look after one that already belonged to their family. The sugar cane growers from Jamaica, Barbados, and other growing regions of the Caribbean jealously guarded the resale-price maintenance of their products and the import embargos from other countries. To this end, they consolidated their power through the acquisition of seats in the House of Lords, which were offered up by impoverished nobles such as Simon’s own family. As far as Simon knew, the representatives of Greenborough County now included a member from the Codrington family, who owned a large part of the small Caribbean island of Barbuda.
Nora didn’t linger on the Wentworth family for long. Instead, she looked again at the book that she’d already read several times.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she commented on a drawing.
Simon had just turned to a page that illustrated an etching of a shore in Barbados. Palm trees and a sandy beach which seemed to then go directly into the dense jungle … Nora leaned eagerly over the book and Simon was then so close to her that he could take in the scent of her hair: not talcum powder, but rose water.
“And there is our hut!” she fantasized and pointed to a sort of clearing. “Covered with palm branches …”
Simon smiled. “As far as that goes, you’ll have to decide sometime,” he teased her. “Do you want to live with the natives in their huts or run a tobacco plantation for your father?”
