by Nina Mason
Praise for The Captain of Her Fate,
The Other Bennet Sisters, Book One
“I found myself devouring every word, swooning throughout whilst alternating between biting my nails and sitting on the edge of my seat urging Theo and Louisa to end up together.”
—LBM Book Blog
“Ms. Mason captures the essence of the era through her obvious love of Regency England, aided by her meticulous research and legendary attention to historical detail.”
—Fresh Fiction
“I loved this book ... The Captain of Her Fate is a great story ...”
—Night Owl Romance
“A well-written, well-researched, sweet and steamy Regency romance.”
—Comfy Chair Books
“Great characters and an entertaining story line.”
—Love Infinity Book Blog
“Laced with unrequited love; imminent forced marriage; a good many shocking family secrets; family abduction; elopement to Gretna Green; and all sprinkled with a little coarse spicy language and hot sex in places.”
—Romance Reviews Magazine
“The history is well researched, as all of Ms. Mason’s books are, and the romance is both sweet and steamy. It is a perfect Regency Romance.”
—Page Princess Book Blog
“Wonderfully written and with such engaging characters, this is a book not to be missed ...”
—Amazon Customer
Books by Nina Mason
The Other Bennet Sisters series
(Regency Romance)
The Captain of Her Fate
The Rogue of Her Heart
The Brontë Brothers series
(Victorian Gothic Romance in the style of the Classics)
The Governess Next Door
Knights of the Tarot series
(Divination and Celtic Myth-Based Fantasy)
Knight of Wands
Knight of Cups
Knight of Pentacles
Knight of Swords
Royal Pains series
(Historical Erotica)
Devil in Duke’s Clothing
The Duke’s Bedeviled Bride
The Devil’s Masquerade
The Devils Who Would be King
Single Titles
The Twelve Nights of Christmas (Regency novella)
Children of the Sea (Romantic Urban Fantasy)
Queen of Swords (Paranormal Romance, out of print))
The Tin Man (Political thriller, out of print)
the rogue of her heart
The Other Bennet Sisters, Book Two
___________________________
NINA MASON
Copyright © Nina Mason 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieved system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, excepting snippets or small excerpts for blogs and/or reviews. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is an original work with bits and pieces quoted from or inspired by works of literature and poetry in the public domain.
One
December 12, 1816
Much Wenlock, County Shropshire
Georgie Bennet closed Sense and Sensibility with a deep sigh of frustration. Why was Louisa being so secretive? Not so long ago they kept no secrets from one another. So why did she not just come out and say whatever it was she knew?
“Read it,” Louisa said, pressing the book into her younger sister’s hands. “For I daresay you will find it illuminating with regard to a certain gentlemen we both know.”
The gentleman in question could only be Lt. Christian Churchill. Who else did they both know apart from the Captain? No one Georgie could think of who mattered a whit to either of them. And yet, what illuminations could the book reveal about the Lieutenant? As far as Georgie knew, he’d been completely up front with her, as she had been with him.
Except about her feelings for him, of course, which were much stronger than she’d let on. She was, in fact, hopelessly besotted with the man. But then, how could she help but admire him? His good looks and natural grace were only the icing on a cake baked with all the ingredients she most desired in a husband; wit, charm, intelligence, good conversation, and perpetual good humor being paramount among them.
In secret, she had written him letters—in French, no less, the language of love. In them, she poured out the feelings she strove so hard to hide behind a mask of friendship. Then, with an aching heart, she had read each soul-baring billet deux time and again before finally burning them all.
What else could she to do? Certainly not send them. No indeed. For to write love letters to a gentleman to whom she was not engaged would be the height of impropriety. Neither could she keep them and risk their discovery. If her father found them in her desk, he would have beaten her as severely as when he discovered she’d abetted Louisa’s clandestine courtship.
Papa had birched both of them soundly before packing them off to their Aunt Hildegarde’s in Bath. There, Louisa was to marry their odious cousin, and she would have had the Captain not come to her rescue.
Papa had taken his revenge by shutting the newlyweds out of polite society and forcing his wife and daughters to shun them. Nay, not just shun them, but to act as if they did not exist. For months and months, he’d forbidden the whole household to speak their names—or even remark upon the birth of their son.
Such tyranny was not to be borne!
Guilt twinged in Georgie’s heart. Did it make her a terrible person not to mourn her father? For what had she lost apart from anxiety and abuse? When she returned from Scotland after Louisa and the Captain eloped, the insufferable brute had locked her in her bedchamber. She’d only learned he was at death’s door when Mama let her out after months in captivity.
Oh! Just thinking about the injustices she suffered at his hands made her stomach ache and her temples throb. But she settled the score in the end. The minute he was entombed, she threw his birch rods on the fire and danced a gig as she watched them burn.
Goodbye King.
Fiddle-dee-diddly-dee-dee.
Goodbye Duke.
Fiddle-dee-diddly-dee-dee.
Goodbye Marquess.
Fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee.
And, most of all, goodbye Papa.
Goodbye, good riddance, and may he burn in Hell, which he surely would for the wicked things he’d done.
Something dark and defiant awoke somewhere deep in her core. Something wild and ferocious that had been tethered by fear while Papa was alive. If entertaining such uncharitable thoughts about him now made her a terrible person, then so be it. She could not forgive her father his trespasses against her, or her mother and sisters. She was just grateful little Nelson had supplanted Cousin Charles as Papa’s heir before he passed on, so the threat of eviction no longer hung over their heads.
Nor did the threat of any of them having to marry that monster.
God be thanked the baronetcy contained a remainder that the title and estate would go to the eldest son of the grantee’s daughters, if such a one was born prior to the present baronet’s death. The timing of her nephew’s birth, therefore, could not have been more providential—or more telling. Evidently, the Captain’s wooing of Louisa had not been as chaste as honor and propriety required.
The thought of her sister and the Captain hav
ing sexual congress out of wedlock intrigued Georgie. When had they done it and where? Not at Greystone Hall, certainly, for she couldn’t believe the Captain capable of committing an indiscretion of that magnitude.
Bedding Louisa was one thing; behaving like a libertine with his sister in the house—a ward who relied upon him for moral guidance—was quite another kettle of fish.
As for Louisa … well, clearly, the Captain’s disability did not dampen her enthusiasm for him. And why should it when he was perfectly attractive and agreeable in every other way? He even danced exceedingly well for a man with one leg. Not as masterfully as Christian, of course, but a far sight better than many of the provincial rubes who gamboled about at the monthly assemblies.
It was all a girl could do to save her slippers from being trod upon by their clodhoppers!
With Papa gone, the Raynaldses were free to attend the assemblies once more … and would perhaps bring the Lieutenant to the Twelfth Night Ball. For the Captain had said his friend was to come for an extended visit at Christmastide.
Just before Louisa pressed Sense and Sensibility upon her.
Georgie frowned her disgruntlement at the parlor’s familiar furnishings: the tea-green settee under the diamond-leaded window, the side-by-side crewel-work chairs, the old barometer hanging on the smoke-blackened oak paneling. The fire beside her chair—once Louisa’s favorite spot for reading and needlework—snapped and crackled cheerily, oblivious to her frustration.
Reaching to the chairside table, Georgie picked up her teacup. The contents had gone cold in the hour she’d been reading, but she drank it all the same.
Would Lt. Churchill welcome her admiration?
She had reason to suspect he would. For one, he’d been as attentive to her as any suitor could be. Far more attentive than mere friendship dictated, to be sure. And, for another, there was, at times, something in his eyes—those arresting, ever-sparkling blue eyes that set her heart aflutter—which suggested he felt the same spark as she did when they were in company together.
Still, she couldn’t be certain, since he’d made no romantic overtures. In fact, he’d been perfectly cordial and gentlemanly at all times. So cordial and gentlemanly, in fact, she’d begun to question her assumptions that he was a commoner, like his friend the Captain.
Was he perhaps of more consequence than she supposed? And, if so, could that be the secret Louisa desired her to learn from the book? Georgie worried her lip as she considered this before dismissing the thought as absurd. For why should his being of nobler birth than presumed be such a great secret? No, it must be something else. Something Louisa was not at liberty to disclose for whatever reason. But what could it be? And why could her sister not tell her what it was?
Picking up Sense and Sensibility, Georgie flipped through the pages, scanning a line here and there in search of clues. Finding nothing helpful, she set the book back on the table with an indignant scoff. She’d never been one for reading novels, as Louisa well knew. She vastly preferred her tomes on botany, history, and moral science.
Not that she ever mentioned her intellectual interests in mixed company. For experience had taught her that potential suitors, even well-educated ones, did not want a learned wife.
Releasing another sigh, Georgie got up and went to the window to look out at the kitchen and cutting gardens, now covered over by a foot of snow. Had they not been buried and barren, she might have diverted herself by puttering amongst the fragrant flowers and herbs.
Sadly, with all this snow on the ground, riding, too, was out of the question. The horse could lose its footing and throw her, risking serious injury to both. She might venture out in the sleigh, though … and perhaps pay a call at Greystone Hall.
Snow was unusual at this time of year. Normally, the temperature did not drop below freezing until after the New Year. A notable exception was the winter three years ago, when it got so cold the Thames froze over, giving rise to the now-famous Frost Fair.
The prospect of visiting Greystone Hall lifted Georgie’s spirits; for she did so long to see her sweet nephew again. If Sonny, as his parents called the babe, was not the most chère enfant on the face of the Earth, she was not Georgianna Lavinia Bennet.
Plus, there was always a chance Lt. Churchill had already arrived for his visit … and even had he not, she could try her best to winkle this ridiculous secret about him out of Louisa. First, however, she would plow through another chapter of Sense and Sensibility here by the warmth of the fire—on the very good chance Louisa, who had always been too headstrong for her own good, would refuse to divulge what she knew.
Biting her lip, Georgie returned to the chair by the fire, opened the book to Chapter Two, and began reading:
Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors. As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility; and by her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody beyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed them, with some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no plan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she could accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his invitation was accepted.
As Georgie absorbed the passage, she thanked God again for sparing her family from a fate similar to the displaced Dashwood ladies. Imagine being turned out of one’s own home by the heir to the estate, especially when said heir was one’s own relation. Such lack of compassion was insupportable. Worse yet, John Dashwood had promised his father on his deathbed—his deathbed, no less—that he would help his stepmother and half-sisters.
Only a scoundrel of the lowest order would break such a solemn oath … or one under the thumb of an avaricious shrew of a wife, as John Dashwood certainly was, poor man.
Georgie took a breath and resumed reading. Another paragraph on, she snapped the book shut and pursed her lips. This would not do! She must know what Louisa was keeping from her with regard to Christian Churchill.
Leaving the book and the fire, she went in search of their butler. Finding him in the pantry, she asked him to instruct the grooms to ready the sleigh. “I should like to pay a call upon my sister and nephew this afternoon.”
“Shall I ask one of the footmen to accompany you?”
“No, no. I do not wish to inconvenience anyone … or take them away from their other duties.”
“Very well, Miss. But do be sure to bundle up, for it is below freezing out of doors.”
Heading upstairs, Georgie went into her bedchamber and rang the bell for the maid who saw to her and her younger sisters, Henrietta and Charlotte. While waiting for Miss Cooper to come, she removed from the wardrobe her heaviest cloak and warmest muff: the ermine one half as big as she was.
She must take care not to catch cold, because being under the weather might prevent her from attending the Twelfth Night Ball. And that was not to be borne, especially if her favorite would be in attendance. She sincerely hoped he would be, so they could dance together again … or, better still, share a kiss under the mistletoe.
Lord, but how heavenly it would be to feel his lips on hers!
Just for a moment, she imagined herself in his arms, locked in a passionate kiss. If she gave him the chance, would he seize it? Oh, do let him; because she was certain the manner in which he kissed her would tell her if he, too, longed to be more than friends.
With similar daydreams dancing in her head, Georgie finished getting ready and made her way to the stable, pleased to find the horse and two-person sleigh ready to depart. The horse, a shaggy chestnut mare in a bell-covered harness, snorted a cloud of white and tossed her head as Georgie approached.
Climbing into the seat, she relished the heat of the coal-heated foot-warmer and plaid lap blanket the groom had provided. When she was ready, she shook the reins and clucked to the horse. The sleigh started forward, squeaking and jingling. The merry sound instantly imbued her with the spirit of the
season.
As she drove at a steady trot along the narrow path through the woods, the freezing wind burned her cheeks and nose. The rest of her, thankfully, bundled as she was in layers of wool and fur, remained tolerably warm.
She came out of the trees into a clearing whose snowy expanse sparkled in the sunlight. All was quiet except for the ringing harness and labored breathing of the horse. A little farther on, she saw a man walking alone along the side of the road. By the clerical hat on his head and the large basket over his arm, she knew him at once to be Edmund Goddard, the sober young curate who had lately joined Holy Trinity, the parish church.
Christian charity demanded that she stop and offer to take the cleric wherever he was going. She just hoped he was not on his way back to the vicarage, as that would take her at least five miles out of her way.
As she drew nearer, he turned to see who might be coming along the road. When recognition dawned on his cold-reddened face, his dark eyes lit up. “Miss Bennet! Well met. Are you merely out for a breath of fresh air? Or are you bound somewhere in particular?”
“The latter.” She pulled the horse to a stop alongside him and explained where she was going. “Where are you heading, Mr. Goddard? If it is not too far out of my way, perhaps I can get you there a little quicker.”
“I’m paying a call upon Mrs. Johnstone, who is in bed with a cold,” he explained. “I have brought her some chicken soup, which was hot when I set out.” He laughed uneasily. “Though now I suspect it is as cold as my feet.”
“Oh, Mr. Goddard. You poor soul. Do climb in and let me drive you the rest of the way.”
Thankfully, Mrs. Johnstone’s cottage was not much farther up the road, so dropping him there would not inconvenience Georgie in the least. Not that she would have hesitated for a moment to take him wherever he wanted to go. Yes, she was eager to reach her sister’s house—for lots of reasons—but she also was perfectly capable of setting aside her own desires in the interests of others.
