A Week in Brighton

by Moore, Jennifer

  Uncle Joseph’s normally kind face was stern. “The Earl of Leiderton would never countenance a marriage between his heir and a girl of your standing.”

  The truth cut through her, leaving her wounded and bleeding.

  “I love him,” she gasped through a sob. “We just needed more time. We could have found a way.”

  Tears burned her eyes, and her voice left her.

  Rowan turned the corner and disappeared from her life.

  Isabella’s heart shattered. Every fragment vibrated in pain and loss.

  Conflicted in every possible way, Rowan numbly followed his father. Mother awaited. Responsibilities awaited. Isabella’s guardian had forbidden Rowan from courting her; marriage was out of the question. He had failed to find Hadley’s Ann.

  He faced a future bearing a name and a title that did not fit him, one which he would try and fail all of his life to fill. He must do it without Isabella Montgomery. Alone.

  A haze enveloped him like a fog blowing in off the ocean. Rowan looked back longingly at Isabella. She had turned away and stood hugging herself. She must be devastated that she hadn’t been chosen as the newest student.

  Could it be possible she wept for Rowan?

  “Do hurry, Hadley,” Father said. “I promised your mother we wouldn’t be gone long. She’s anxious to see you.” He entered the carriage.

  Rowan gritted his teeth against the scream building in his throat that Hadley was his brother’s name, not his.

  With a long last look at the sea, the town that had helped him find a measure of peace, and the remarkable girl who had reignited a flame of life and feeling in him, Rowan stepped into the carriage. They drove through the town, passing now-familiar storefronts and shops. Townhouses unique to Brighton streamed by, including the home of Old Pete.

  “Wait!” Rowan banged on the side of the coach. “Stop the coach!”

  “Hadley, what . . .”

  “I need to check on one more thing.” Rowan leaped out of the coach and banged on the front door. No answer.

  He was probably at the art show. Since the artist had failed to contact Rowan, he had probably been unable to find the name of the girl whose eye graced the miniature in Rowan’s pocket.

  His failure was complete. If only he could turn to Isabella for comfort.

  In the wake of her disappointment, she must be needing comfort now. Instead of giving it to her, he’d allowed others to place obstacles in his way.

  What had he done? How could he leave her?

  “What is the meaning of this?” His father stood beside him.

  “I was trying to find a girl that Hadley loved.” He turned accusing eyes onto his father. “He loved her for years, but you deemed her unworthy.” A sudden truth struck him. “You know who she is, don’t you?”

  “The poor girl from Brighton?” Father swept her away with his hand. “She was nothing.”

  “Hadley loved her to his last breath. He told me the day before the accident that his biggest regret was not marrying her.”

  Father stiffened. “Hadley was overly sentimental.”

  “What is wrong with wanting to spend the rest of your life with the person you love?”

  “Preserving a pure bloodline is more important than fickle emotions. I married your mother because she has good breeding and a healthy dowry. We built a relationship on mutual respect, and that grew into affection. Marrying the wrong sort based purely on passion is irresponsible. You have a duty to this family, and I expect you to uphold it. You have much to learn. We must make up for lost time.”

  “Why? What is the rush? You aren’t on death’s door, and yet you whisked us away from our grieving family to tour all the houses in the estate.”

  “You never know what will happen. Accidents are unpredictable.” Father stopped and looked away, clenching his jaw. His first sign of grief. Perhaps Isabella had been right.

  Rowan gripped his father’s shoulder. “We need time to breathe. Time to grieve.”

  His father nodded jerkily. “That’s partly why I left you here. It had become clear to me that you were not in the right frame of mind to learn what you need to know.”

  “You’re right; I wasn’t. Thank you for giving me additional time.” He squeezed Father’s shoulder. “I vow I will fulfill my responsibilities to the best of my ability.”

  Courage and determination bloomed inside him. With Isabella Montgomery next to him, he could accomplish anything. Without her cheer, her optimism, her zest for life, he might always remain a numb shell who allowed his father to push him around.

  With her at his side, he was a stronger, better man. He must fight for her. He must fight for himself.

  Rowan drew himself up. “I will not make the mistakes Hadley made; I won’t allow you to deny me true happiness.”

  His father stared at him.

  “I’m going back for her.”

  “For whom?”

  “Isabella Montgomery, the remarkable young lady who was next to me. I need her.” He took off at a run.

  “Hadley!” A pause. “Rowan!”

  At the sound of his Christian name in his father’s voice, Rowan checked his step and turned back. “I won’t leave without her.”

  Rowan raced back to the art event. She wasn’t there. Where had she gone? He searched for her, for her guardians, anyone who could tell him where she might be.

  “Mr. Law, I was hoping I’d find you.” Old Pete grinned at him.

  “Pete!” Rowan panted. “Do you know where Isabella Montgomery is?”

  “I saw her over that way, but first I have to tell you: I found the name of the girl you seek.”

  Rowan went still. “You found her?”

  “Her name is Nancy Stockton.”

  Nancy Stockton. Wasn’t that the name of the girl George Montgomery courted? “Nancy? But Hadley always called her Ann.”

  Pete shrugged. “Ann is a nickname for many names, including Nancy.”

  “Thank you, Pete. I’m in your debt.”

  He continued his search and found Isabella’s brother escorting Nancy Stockton along the shoreline while breakers lapped at the sand behind them. Rowan hesitated, torn. His vow to speak with Ann—Nancy—warred with his desire to declare himself to Isabella.

  He chose Isabella. He must always choose Isabella.

  Searching up and down the shore, he found Isabella sitting on the sand with her back against a pile supporting the pier.

  “Isabella,” he called as he raced to her.

  She lifted her head. Tears streaked her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away.

  He ran to her and fell to his knees. “Forgive me. I abandoned you when you were most in need of a friend.”

  She sniffled. “You have become more than a friend to me.”

  Had he? That was good, right? “I’m sorry the art master didn’t choose you. You must be devastated.”

  “I was very disappointed. But I wasn’t devastated until you left.”

  Did she mean that? “I couldn’t leave. The shock of seeing my father and learning that he had orchestrated my staying with your family impaired my reasoning. Also, I was trying to respect your uncle’s wishes. But I can’t. I love you, Isabella.”

  Isabella’s sweet mouth made an O shape that called to him. Throwing away all caution, he leaned in and kissed those taunting lips. She responded with the kiss of an inexperienced girl but with growing confidence. So soft. So warm. So right.

  He ended the kiss and drew her into his arms. “I love you. I can be anything if you are with me. Please say you’ll give me the chance to prove to you how much you mean to me.”

  “You want to court me?”

  “I want to marry you, but I’m willing to give you time.”

  She smoothed a hand over his cheek and hair. Every wounded place inside him opened up to her healing touch. She smiled with such tenderness that a lump arose in his throat.

  “I don’t need more time, Rowan. I love you, and I’d marry you today if possible.�
��

  Hope sprouted in his heart.

  “But I fear that isn’t possible.”

  He smoothed a few strands from her face. “You fear disapproval from my parents and your uncle?”

  “Aunt approves. Uncle Joseph . . . well . . .” She chewed on her lip. “And I don’t wish to put a wedge between you and your parents.”

  “You won’t. Once they meet you, I’m certain they will fall in love with you.”

  “How can you be certain?” She held her lip between her teeth.

  “Because I did in only a matter of days. Besides, we won’t live with them. We can live on any one of our properties. You’ll love Crestwood Manor—the one with a view of the ocean from nearly every window—and it’s close enough to Brighton that we can visit your family often.”

  “It does sound lovely.” But doubt still colored her tone.

  “And no matter what, I will always love you.”

  “I cannot imagine loving anyone as much as I love you.” The adoration in her eyes stirred his heart. How had he ever gotten along without her?

  “Isabella Montgomery, will you marry me—even if it’s against everyone’s wishes?”

  “No. I won’t begin our lives together with such adversity. We must find a way to secure our families’ blessing.”

  “Very well, then we must speak first to my father. Then to your Uncle Joseph.” He stood and helped her up. “If they give permission, will you marry me?”

  An impish smile slanted her eyes and those delicious lips. “Can I bring Little Muse with us?”

  He laughed and pressed her soft body against him. “Of course you may.”

  “Then my answer is yes.”

  He kissed her again. How he loved this sweet, joyous young lady!

  He could have kissed her for hours, but they had a task to accomplish. They found Father moments later, standing next to the coach, gazing at the sea. With Isabella on his arm, Rowan strode to his father with purpose.

  Father turned to him, looking a bit dazed. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is at the seashore.”

  Rowan squared his shoulders and donned his most formal manners. “May I introduce my father, the Earl of Leiderton? Father, this is Miss Isabella Montgomery, the daughter of a famous sea captain and war hero. More importantly, she is the love of my life, and I am asking for your blessing to marry her.”

  Isabella sank into a formal curtsy. “My lord.”

  His father lost his dreamy expression. “You cannot marry a girl you met only a week ago.”

  “You met Mother a week before your marriage,” Rowan reminded him.

  Father frowned. “We were betrothed.”

  “Strangers. And yet you’ve been happily married for thirty years. I feel as if I have known Isabella forever. I love her with all of my heart.” At his father’s silence, he added, “I mean to marry her regardless, but I do wish for your blessing.”

  His father sputtered.

  With Isabella holding his arm, Rowan took courage. “With her at my side, I will work diligently to learn everything to one day manage the estate so that it will be prosperous for generations to come.” Quietly, he added, “Please, Father. This means everything to me.”

  Father studied Isabella as if measuring her worth, then stared out over the sea.

  Rowan held his breath.

  After a moment, Father’s shoulders relaxed. “Very well. You have my blessing. And my permission.” He shook Rowan’s hand and said to Isabella, “Welcome to the family.”

  She rose up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Father sputtered again. “Yes, well . . .” He cleared his throat.

  The three of them went in search of Isabella’s family and found them in the tent next to Isabella’s artwork, along with several others gazing upon the pieces.

  At their arrival, her guardian turned. “Oh, there you are, Isabella . . .” He trailed off as his gaze moved to Rowan.

  Rowan stepped forward. “Sir, I know how you feel about me, but please understand, I love Isabella, and I mean to marry her. To her credit, she prefers not to go against your wishes. My father has given his blessing, and you are the only person standing in our way. Will you give your permission?”

  Mr. Williams glanced at his wife, who clasped her hands together in front of her face, nodding. He exchanged glances with Father.

  “What do you offer her?” the vicar asked Rowan.

  Rowan answered without a pause. “My heart, my name, and my title. She will lack for nothing, and I will love her all of my life.”

  His heart drummed in his eardrums, so hard that it might have shaken the ground. Mr. Williams considered. Even the wind held its breath.

  Uncle Joseph pulled Isabella off to the side so they could speak in private. “Do you want him?”

  “I do. I love him so very much.”

  He paused, as if weighing her fervency, and searched her eyes. “Very well.” He turned to the waiting gentlemen, the father looking resigned and the son looking anxious. “She says she will have you, so I give my permission for you to marry her.”

  Isabella threw her arms around her guardian, who had been like a father to her these past few years, then went to Rowan’s side and wrapped both hands around his arm. Happiness bubbled over her and filled the world with beauty.

  Aunt Missy threw her arms around them both. “I’m so happy for you!” She brought Rowan’s head down so she could kiss his brow. “Welcome to the family!”

  Rowan grinned. What a beautiful sight!

  George walked up with Nancy Stockton on his arm. “Sorry you didn’t get chosen this year, Issy. But look—all of your art sold.”

  She looked around. Sure enough, all of her art had sold signs on them. A few were being carefully wrapped and handed to eager hands.

  “That’s wonderful!” she said.

  With Rowan’s love secure, the sting of losing the position of student to the art master no longer hurt. Perhaps the master artist didn’t want her as a student, but clearly people appreciated her art. With a wedding to plan and her new role as a bride, she might be too busy to seriously study art—at least, for the time being.

  Rowan stepped toward Nancy. “Miss Stockton, I have been searching for someone who I think might be you. Were you acquainted with John Law, the Viscount Hadley?”

  A guarded expression entered her eyes. “I was. I haven’t seen him in two years.” She glanced apologetically at George.

  Rowan reached into his pocket and pulled out the miniature. “Then I want you to have this.” He held it out.

  She drew in her breath and took it, fingering it reverently. “Oh . . .”

  Gently, Rowan said, “I’m so sorry to tell you that he perished in a riding accident two weeks ago. He loved you. He was sorry he never fought for permission to marry you.”

  She closed her hand around it and said nothing for a long moment, simply stood with her eyes closed and head bowed. Then she looked up at Rowan. “Thank you for telling me. It means a great deal. It would have been difficult to hear it in passing or reading of it. Please accept my condolences for your loss. He was a good man.”

  She looked up at George to explain. “I was very young and fell in love with someone far above my station. He used to come here every summer. When he left that last time, I pined away for him. But no longer.” She eyed George cautiously.

  George nodded. “I understand.”

  “But the lock of hair is blonde,” Isabella said to Nancy, “much lighter than yours.”

  Rowan pulled out the item in question to show Nancy.

  Nancy laughed softly. “My hair was blonde when I was younger. Blondes don’t often stay blonde, you know. Many darken to brown, as mine has.”

  All along, Isabella had expected Ann to be broken-hearted at the news. Fortunately, Nancy had recovered—perhaps after meeting someone who healed her heart. George looked at Miss Stockton with soft affection, which she clearly returned.

  The earl beckone
d to Rowan, and they stood apart, speaking for a few minutes. Rowan returned while his father got into the carriage and drove away.

  Rowan smiled all the way to his eyes and took her hand. “He went to bring Mother here to meet you and your family.”

  It all seemed too good to be true. “Are you sure you want to marry a simple country girl like me?”

  His smile brightened his eyes and stole her heart all over again. He touched her cheek. “You put the color into my formerly black-and-white world. I want you with me always.”

  Ignoring all the people around him, he cupped her face and kissed her softly, once. A kiss of promise. A kiss of love.

  Check out Donna’s next romance!

  Visit her Amazon author page here.

  Donna Hatch is the award-winning author of the best-selling Rogue Hearts Series. She discovered her writing passion at the tender age of eight and has been listening to those voices ever since. A sought-after workshop presenter, she juggles her day job, freelance editing, multiple volunteer positions, not to mention her six children (seven, counting her husband), and still manages to make time to write. Yes, writing IS an obsession. A native of Arizona, she and her husband of over twenty years are living proof that there really is a happily ever after.

  For sneak peeks, specials, deleted scenes, and more information, visit Donna’s website: www.donnahatch.com.

  Twitter: @DonnaHatch

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