“Benjamin!”
He shifted closer, twining his fingers through hers. “Surely you cannot begrudge my wish to spend time with you before we two are three?”
“Hush! Your siblings approach. I’d rather George not know yet.”
She suspected George was none too happy to know his baronetcy ranked lower than Benjamin’s honor—he had not seemed thrilled to learn of the gift of their estate. But George was rejoicing in Tessa’s blissfully happy marriage to Lord Featherington, regarding the match proudly, as if taking credit for its devising—or so he boasted to his wife’s relations whenever Ben and Clara were obliged to attend a family function at Chatham Hall.
Mattie and David were also expecting an addition, in early summer rather than mid autumn, thus necessitating their absence from London these past weeks.
Tessa drew near, enveloping Clara in a warm embrace. “It’s so good to see you!”
“And you. How was Italy?”
“Oh, lovely! Charlotte said we would have the most marvelous time. Did I tell you she and Hartington visited there last year? Back before they knew she was expecting.”
“And how are the twins?”
“Adorable!” She cast a look across the room at her husband, which made Clara wonder how long it would be until the baby of the Kemsley family was having her own babies. “Oh! Please extend my good wishes to your parents.” Tessa’s blue eyes rounded with concern. “I trust they are well after everything? I’m sure these past months have not been terribly easy.”
They hadn’t been. But Mother seemed to find some comfort in having had Richard restored to them for a brief time, if only to have held him before he died. “They are doing as well as can be expected, thank you.”
Tessa nodded, eyes soft with sympathy. “And you?”
“I am very well, thank you.”
“I thought I detected a certain glow.” Her lips quirked to one side, her eyes dancing with merriment as she leaned forward. “Twins do not run in our family, just so you know.”
“Tessa!” Ben said with a laugh. “How you will ever attain the dignity of a marchioness, I’ll never know.”
“Good thing I only married a viscount, isn’t it?” she said saucily, before moving off to join her husband, whose face lit at her approach.
Other guests obliged them to engage in social niceties for a few minutes more. When these further exchanges had been exhausted, they were finally released to find Lord and Lady Hawkesbury. Seated beside her was a brown drab of a girl, someone Clara felt sure she’d once been introduced to, but searching her memory, she could not recall …
“Ah, Clara, or should I say Lady Kemsley?” Lavinia held out a hand, gently squeezing Clara’s outstretched one. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“I should think so, with your handsome husband, and your lovely manor house.”
“Oh, and it is lovely, too,” Clara nodded. “Not quite the cottage we were led to believe.”
“I’m glad Lord Exeter found such worthy recipients.”
“He is all that is generous. I trust you are in good health? You certainly are in good looks.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Lord Hawkesbury agreed. “But then, I am a little biased.”
“Or a lot,” Lavinia blushed, her gaze now on her husband.
Clara looked at the brown-haired girl beside the countess. She was somewhat plain, with a long nose, and large brown eyes. Now she remembered. “Miss Winthrop, is it not? Forgive me, I am sure you are married by now.”
“I am n-not,” Miss Winthrop said, with a blush every bit as rosy as the fire Clara could feel filling her face.
“My dear friend Catherine is here to spend some time with me before heading back to Gloucestershire,” Lavinia said.
The brunette nodded, her gaze wary, shaded with something like sadness.
“I remember now. You enjoy riding.”
The brown eyes lit. “Y-yes. Yes, I do. As do you, as I r-recall.”
“I find I do not ride as much as I used to. My husband much prefers to sail than to ride.”
“I im-imagine that proves inconvenient when one wishes to travel across land.”
Clara laughed. Miss Winthrop had a nice sense of humor.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, before Ben drew her to one side, into a little alcove. “There. That wasn’t too hard, was it?”
How well this man knew her. “You were right. But I assure you, I truly did not feel one sting.” He lifted a brow. “Not one!” she asserted.
He chuckled, drawing her close once again. “I believe you.”
Of course he did. And that was why she was the most fortunate of women. She had loved, and lost, then found new love. But this time her affection was returned—returned a hundredfold. She didn’t deserve Benjamin, nor deserve to feel such heights of happiness, but she reveled in the love of a man who loved her just as she loved him: freely, without guilt or stain or blemish.
Ben’s blue eyes darkened, his smile stretching. “Have we stayed long enough that we can make our excuses so I can take my wife home?”
“Take me home.” She pushed to her toes and kissed him.
His breath caught. His grasp tightened. “How scandalous of you, my dearest.”
“Not scandalous, simply necessary, seeing as you seem so unsure about my affections, my dearest, only love.”
He laughed, the sound filling her heart with warmth, and tugged her from the shadows towards the door.
They would live, and not look back. The gloom of night had proved a mere interlude; now the light shone bright once more.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I TRY TO blend fiction with certain historical facts to help ground my stories. Here are some notes you may find interesting.
In April 1815 a catastrophic eruption of Mount Tambora in the Dutch East Indies (modern-day Indonesia) destroyed all vegetation on the island, produced a tsunami, and was responsible for over fifty thousand deaths in surrounding islands. The eruption column reached an altitude of over forty-three kilometers (twenty-seven miles), one of the most powerful volcanic eruptions in history. The ash and particles lingered in the atmosphere for months, producing brilliant sunsets witnessed in London in late June, early July, and September. These are the stunning sunsets Clara witnesses in this novel. This eruption is believed to have led to a global lowering of temperatures, which led to Europe and North America experiencing harvest failures in 1816, in what is known as “The Year Without a Summer” (which also led to mass migration, but that’s another story … ).
The wreck of the Ansdruther is based on the sinking of the Arniston, a British East Indiaman bound for England from Ceylon, carrying 378 passengers and crew, that was wrecked off the coast of South Africa in May 1815 with only six souls saved. These men survived for nearly a week, burying the bodies washed onto shore, until they were rescued by a farmer’s son. It is generally believed that the lack of a marine chronometer—a piece of expensive navigational equipment used to determine longitude—was responsible for the wreck, as it meant the captain was unable to determine an accurate location due to the immense storm, and so he steered into a reef rather than towards the Cape of St. Helena as intended.
I could not kill so many people (even fictionally!) so I adjusted matters accordingly.
Fortuitously, in 2015 I was able to visit my sister, who was living in England at the time. A packed itinerary saw us visit Bath, Ireland, Derbyshire, Scotland, and London, and we even spent a day in Brighton. If you ever have the opportunity, visit the Royal Pavilion in Brighton. The Prince Regent’s monument to excess (and questionable taste) is a wondrous building, filled with Chinese, Indian, and Moorish elements so fantastic it must be seen to be believed.
The wonderful staff at Brighton–Hove Pavilion—in particular, David Beevers, keeper of the Royal Pavilion—were extremely helpful in giving guidance as to the time frame of the Prince Regent’s refurbishments. The Making of the Royal Pavilion by John Mor
ley was invaluable in recreating period-precise detailings of the ornate décor. If you visit today, you may find the décor slightly different from what is described here, but that may be due to later refurbishments and, of course, creative licence.
The Prince Regent (later King George IV), after whom the Regency period is named, was by many contemporary accounts considered something of a hedonist, seeking pleasure in women, food, and appearances. For the style of his manners and address, I found The Letters of King George 1812–1830, edited by A. Aspinall, to be an excellent resource.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU, GOD, for giving this gift of creativity, and the amazing opportunity to express it. Thank You for teaching us how to love through the example of Your son, Jesus Christ.
Thank you, Joshua, for your love and encouragement. You are a rock.
Thank you, Caitlin, Jackson, Asher, and Tim, for understanding why Mummy spends so much time in imaginary worlds. I’m so thankful that God has blessed us with you in our lives.
To my family, church family, and friends: thank you for cheering me on. Big thanks to Roslyn and Jacqueline for being patient in reading through so many of my manuscripts and for helping me brainstorm the tricky bits.
Thank you, Tamela Hancock Murray, my agent, for helping this little Australian negotiate the big wide American market.
Thank you to the authors and bloggers in Australia and the United States who have endorsed, encouraged, and opened doors along the way. You are a blessing.
To the Ladies of Influence and Ladies Who Launch: your support and encouragement are gold!
To the great team at Kregel, thank you for making Miss DeLancey look pretty and read better.
Finally, thank you to my readers. I’ve really appreciated your messages of encouragement and kind reviews; your words are treasured. Thanks for helping spread the love for Miss Ellison and Lady Charlotte. I hope you enjoy reading Clara’s story, too.
God bless you.
The first in a new Regency Brides series
Winning Miss Winthrop
REGENCY BRIDES
A PROMISE of HOPE
BOOK 1
releases Spring 2018
Visit carolynmillerauthor.com for a book club discussion guide and more about upcoming titles.
Don’t miss
REGENCY BRIDES
A LEGACY of GRACE
BOOKS 1 & 2
The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey Page 31
