To keep her cherished childhood home, Samantha Everard must marry
by her twenty-fifth birthday. Yet she refuses to marry on a whim, even
to save her fortune. When she returns to Dallsten Manor to say goodbye,
the last person she expects to see is her handsome, disapproving
neighbor William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick.
Will is certain the scandalous Everards are
nothing but trouble. He shouldn't care about Samantha's predicament, but
her feistiness and kindheartedness intrigue him--as do the secrets
surrounding her. Soon his greatest wish becomes to persuade Samantha
that her true home is with him.
Home is where the heart is... The Everard Legacy
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He will make your paths straight.
--Proverbs 3:5-6
Samantha, Lady Everard. Heiress of Dallsten Manor.
Cumberland, England ~ 1813.
Samantha has returned to Dallsten Manor to prepare for the summer reunion with her three cousins and their wives. Her father's Will stipulates she will acquire Dallsten Manor as her own upon her twenty-fifth birthday, provided she is joined in holy matrimony. Following the past eight years in London, and refusing suitors, Samantha has no plans to marry solely for her inheritance. Her birthday is dawning in two weeks, the day after their summer gathering party.
Lady Everard renews her childhood friendship with Jamie Wentworth, now seventeen, who lives on the neighboring estate. Jamie's father returned eight years previously for the burial of his older brother. William Wentworth had been serving in England's corps after the death of his wife in childbirth when Jamie was born. Will received the title of Earl of Kendrick, following the death of his father and brother. He becomes quite taken with Samantha, Lady Everard. He feels protective of her, especially after a hooded rider follows her carriage and then disappears. Will her secrets remain with her, or will she begin to trust again?
This Regency shows the isolation and hidden hearts as the protagonists seek to manage their lives and estate holdings. Decisions that are far-reaching beyond themselves. Were they commoners, would their lives have been different? Regardless of their station, each one must conclude where their dependence lies.
1 I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
4 Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
6 The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7 The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
8 The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.
--Psalm 121, ESV
Regency
author Regina Scott melds history, humor, and adventure in her
Christian romance novels, inviting readers to believe in possibilities.
Visit her online at reginascott.com or blogging at nineteenteen.blogspot.com.
The Heiress's Homecoming
March 2013 (ISBN 978-0-373-82956-9, Love Inspired Historical)
Chapter One ~*~
Cumberland, England, June 1813
Oh, but he needed a diversion.
William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick, gazed about the crowded hall of
his ancestral estate. Every member of the gentry for miles around had
come to celebrate his son's birthday with dinner and dancing. All but
one member of the local aristocracy had also graced Kendrick Hall with
their presence. Even though he had had never met the missing Lady
Everard, he was fairly certain she knew that any Everard was forever
unwelcome in his home.
But his other guests did not seem distressed by her absence. They
promenaded along the gilded walls, wandered out the three glass-paned
doors to the terrace that ran along the back of the house and danced to
the strains of a string quartet. The glow from the twin crystal
chandeliers glinted off velvet, reflected off satin. Voices rose in
conversation and good cheer. Yet Will kept remembering other balls,
other dinners, some held far away, where jasmine scented the air. The
memories made him long to pull off his dramatically tied cravat and dive
into the pond behind the house to escape.
But tonight he must play host. After all, he had only a borrowed
hostess. With a remarkable dearth of females in his family, he had had
to prevail upon the kindness of his nearest respectable neighbor. He was
merely glad that the elderly Mrs. Dallsten Walcott, who had known him
since he was born, had been willing to help.
Still, he felt the breeze of fans plying as he gazed around the room,
noted the speculative glances of a dozen ladies. They thought his
long-awaited step into Society meant he was seeking to marry again. No
chance of that. No reason. He had an heir, even if watching his
seventeen-year-old son dance with Mrs. Dallsten Walcott made Will feel a
great deal older than his thirty-five years.
Another reason he so badly needed a diversion.
Perhaps he should dance as well. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott was looking in
his direction, lips pursed in determination. As the highest-ranking
gentleman present, he supposed dancing was expected of him. But he had
never done things simply because they were expected. Promenading held as
little interest, and he knew engaging his neighbors in conversation was
dangerous. After nearly a decade on the diplomatic circuit beyond the
safe confines of Cumberland, Will had too many opinions that didn't
align with theirs.
So he held up the wall, arms crossed over his green wool coat, and
watched as his fifty-some guests thoroughly enjoyed themselves. The gold
candle sconce beside him gave back a warped picture of his face--dark
wavy hair, thick slash of brows, forest-green eyes. He thought the frown
was the most accurate.
He shook it off, forced a smile. He ought to be proud of this
evening. Mrs. Dallsten Walcott had done a fine job. The music was
elegant, the menu for the supper to come equally sophisticated. The
parquet floor gave back a shine under the dancing slippers of his
guests. Along each wall and the mantel of the marble fireplace, jade
vases held gardenias from his conservatory, their perfume drifting
through the hall.
But the fairest blossom was strolling down the opposite wall from
him, her lithe figure reflected in the windows overlooking the terrace.
She had hair like the burnished gold of Egypt tumbling in curls behind
her; skin like the palest ivory from Africa. In her cerulean satin gown,
she reminded Will of sunlight on the Aegean Sea. She moved with the
energy of sunlight too, her steps sure and swift. The turn of her head
told him she was looking for someone.
Will straightened off the wall. Who was she? He'd grown up knowing
half the people in this room. The other half had either married into the
Evendale valley or been born after Will had left at eighteen. Oh, how
he hoped she wasn't married. She was exactly the kind of diversion he
needed.
He took a step forward, then stopped himself. What was he thinking? A
lady should not be used as a diversion. How many times had he watched
his brother make that mistake? A lady was meant to befriend, to
serenade, to court. He never planned on courting again. He should allow
her to find the person she was seeking and stop wishing it was him.
"Well, that's done." His son hurried off the dance floor and braced
his back against the wall as if intending to defend the space from
desert chieftains. To Will, his son still seemed too young to be the
heir to the earldom. His face looked soft under his thatch of black
hair, his frame too thin. He was just beginning to understand what life
might hold for him. Will envied him that.
"Do you find dancing with a lady so onerous?" he asked his son, returning to his spot along the wall.
James, as he had insisted he be called now that he had finished
schooling at Eton, shook his head, further disheveling his hair. "Mrs.
Dallsten Walcott isn't a lady, Father."
Will raised his brows, mouth curling up in a smile. "I'm sure her family will be sorry to hear that."
Jamie, as Will persisted in thinking of him, grimaced. "I didn't mean
to disparage her. She simply isn't a lady of interest to me." He
shifted against the wall as if finding his blue wool coat too tight or
the gilded paneling too hard. "She is old enough to be my grandmother,
and I have specific ideas for my bride."
Will felt as if the room was warming and adjusted his cravat. He
truly wasn't ready for his son to choose a wife, even if Will had been
Jamie's age when he'd first fancied himself in love. That had ended in
tragedy. The only good to come of it was the young man standing beside
him now.
"For tonight," Will said, "perhaps you should focus on being a good host."
Jamie's brown eyes, inherited from his mother, crinkled around the
corners. "I will if you will. I don't think Mrs. Dallsten Walcott
approves of you right now. You haven't danced once."
Will glanced across the room again and sighted his hostess. Though
her hair was a silvery white, her carriage remained unbent, her steps
firm. He didn't think her pride would allow it otherwise. Tonight in a
poppy-colored gown with an inordinate number of flounces, she dominated
the hall. She was glaring at him down her long nose, foot tapping, and
the jerk of her head toward a bevy of belles clustered by the doors to
the veranda told him her intentions.
"Perhaps I'm as fussy as my son in the lady I choose," Will said,
clapping Jamie on the shoulder. He still had a couple inches on his son,
and some of those broad shoulders on the lad were from the artful use
of padding by their tailor.
Jamie, however, sobered. "I have been meaning to talk to you about
that. I know it's poor timing, but would you be willing to break away
for a few minutes and meet me in the library?"
This was not the diversion Will had had in mind, and he knew where
his duty lay tonight, even if he found playing host difficult. But the
look in his son's eyes was his undoing. He'd missed so many
opportunities to be of use to the boy over the years, and he knew the
days were swiftly approaching when Jamie would no longer bring his
concerns to his father.
"Of course," he said. "I'll leave now to throw Mrs. Dallsten Walcott off the scent, and you follow when it's safe."
Jamie's smile was relieved.
Will wandered through the room, pausing to chat with this gentleman,
compliment that lady, all the while keeping a wary eye on his hostess.
He was disappointed to find that the beauty who had caught his attention
earlier had vanished, and he could only hope she'd found what she'd
been seeking. He made his way out of the hall, across the center
corridor of the house and into the west wing, where his library sat.
The faint music from the dance cut off as he shut the door behind
him, and he felt the crowded shelves closing in. A shame he could not
take more pleasure in the library at Kendrick Hall. The books were
excellent, he knew, with everything from thick tomes on history to more
recent novels of adventure. Unfortunately most of his time in this room
was spent on estate business. He consoled himself with the
thought that his ancestors must have felt a similar need to flee, for
the rear wall was entirely made up of a bow window overlooking the
grounds, with a center door that led out onto the terrace.
The shutters were closed over the view tonight, the estate ledgers
put away in one of the glass-fronted bookcases. Either Jamie had alerted
their butler or his staff had anticipated Will's needs because a merry
fire was burning in the grate of the white marble fireplace, and the
lamp on his desk cast a golden glow over the room.
But in the absence of the noise from the party another sound caught
his attention-a soft whimper and sniff. Will took a step deeper into the
room. "Who's in here?"
He heard the gasp, and then that golden head popped into sight over
the back of the satin-striped sofa that faced the fire. Tears wet her
fair cheeks, and her rosy lips were parted in surprise.
The look propelled him forward. Will strode around the sofa, went
down on one knee before her. "Tell me who made you cry, and I promise he
will regret it even more than I do."
She smiled through her tears, such a brave upturn of those lovely
lips. "You are too kind, sir, but I fear there's nothing that can be
done."
He knew the feeling. There was nothing that could be done when his
wife had died moments after bringing their son into the world. There was
nothing that could be done when his older brother had been murdered,
and Will had had to return home to comfort his father and take up his
new role as heir. There was nothing that could be done when a bout of
influenza had carried off his father two years ago.
I'm so sick of hearing that nothing can be done, Lord!
He took her gloved hands and held them in his own. Her fingers were
long and slender, but he felt a supple strength in them. "Perhaps," he
murmured, "if you were to tell me the problem, we could find an amicable
solution."
She searched his gaze as if looking for hope. Those dark brown eyes
reminded him of Saharan wells, giving restful relief from heat and
travel. She had every right to pull back from his grip, order him to
mind his own affairs. He only hoped she could tell that his intentions
were honorable.
And yet his lips seemed to have other ideas. Before he even knew it,
he was leaning closer. Like filings to a magnet, she drew closer as
well, until he caught the scent of roses and their faces were mere
inches apart.
The library door opened with a crack as loud as thunder, and Will
jerked back. The lady stared at him, two roses blooming in her cheeks,
and for an odd moment, Will had the insane notion that they were the
source of the captivating scent.
Jamie strode into the room, gaze lighting on the sofa. "Oh, good. You're here."
Will stood, even as the lady rushed to her feet.
"Of course I'm here," she said, turning to face his son as she
smoothed the wrinkles from the blue of her gown. "Isn't this where you
said you'd meet me?"
Will felt as if he'd stepped under one of the icy waterfalls that
plunged from the fells. So that was why she was at the party. She'd been
searching the hall, for Jamie. She was waiting in the library, for
Jamie.
Was she crying over his son as well?
"I suggest," he said to Jamie, pulse pounding in his temple, "that you explain yourself. Immediately."
Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, for his
son hurried around the sofa to take up his place at the lady's side.
With Jamie standing so close, it was apparent the woman was older than
he was, somewhere between twenty and thirty, Will would have guessed.
What would a woman who had to have seen much more of Society want with
his untried son? His unease ratcheted up another notch.
"It's all right, Father," Jamie said, raising his chin as if to
defend himself and the lady next to him. "I asked her to join us."
"Father?" The word came out in a squeak, and all color fled from the
woman's face. She turned on Jamie. "You never said anything about your
father."
What was all this? Was this woman less than a lady? Why was she here? What hold did she have on his son?
And what hold had she already gained on Will that he wished so desperately for her to be innocent?
***
Samantha, Lady Everard, wanted to dash across the colorful Oriental
carpet at her feet and escape. Never in the eight years since she'd
first made her come out in Society had she ever been so embarrassed.
Given the antics of her three guardians and cousins, that was saying a
very great deal. She glared at her longtime friend Jamie, who
immediately quailed.
"Samantha, Lady Everard," he mumbled, "may I present my father, William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick?"
Samantha dipped a curtsey, lowering her gaze to the shine of the earl's evening pumps. "An honor, my lord."
When she straightened and looked up, she found he had taken a step
back, and his face had stiffened. She wasn't sure what had upset him,
her presence in his home or her friendship with Jamie. But she could
feel his disapproval, radiating out of him with as much heat as she'd
felt when he'd leaned toward her.
For a moment there she'd thought he might actually kiss her, this
stranger who had stumbled upon her. That wasn't altogether surprising.
She never had the least trouble turning a gentleman up sweet. She simply
hadn't found one she was willing to marry.
And knowing who he was assured her that he'd never offer her
marriage. If the stories were true, he'd already won and lost his true
love. The local ladies must be in mourning at the thought of a handsome
earl on the shelf. She'd certainly noticed him when she'd first entered
the hall and had begun searching for Jamie. A head taller than most of
the men in the room, he was difficult to miss.
But there was something else about him--that sable hair waving around
his head as if it refused to be tamed, that lift of one corner of his
mouth, the light in his green eyes that said he was game for adventure.
Not, unfortunately, at the moment. Unless she missed her guess, he was now thoroughly annoyed.
"I believe we agreed Lady Everard would not attend," he said to Jamie.
What was this? Would he ban her from his home? Did he hold her in
even greater contempt than she'd expected? Samantha glanced at her
friend in time to see him frown.
"I thought she couldn't attend," Jamie protested. "I didn't know she
had returned to Evendale until I stopped by the manor to give Mrs.
Dallsten Walcott my opinion on the silver we intended to borrow."
Ah, that was it. She probably made them uneven at table. "So I
arrived unexpectedly and late as well," Samantha summarized, returning
her gaze to her host and offering him her most charming smile. "Forgive
me, my lord. If it's any conciliation, I didn't intend to stay long,
just until I spoke to Jamie, I mean Lord Wentworth."
Her honest speech should have earned her a pardon at least, but Lord Kendrick's green gaze only darkened.
Beside her, Jamie grimaced. "James. You promised."
She had promised, but she found it hard to call him that. Though his
height had surpassed hers by a good six inches, he was still eight years
her junior, and just as likely to remind her of the boy she'd left
behind when she'd moved to London.
"James," she said with a smile to appease him, but she felt his
father stiffen. Whoever would have thought the famous world traveler
William Wentworth would be so censorious, or so devastatingly handsome?
Jamie--James--must take after his mother.
"James," Lord Kendrick said, very likely through clenched teeth, "I believe you wished a moment of my time."
Samantha touched her fingers to her lips. "Oh, dear, I must have
misunderstood. I thought you said you wished to talk to me about a
matter of great urgency, James."
"I did," Jamie promised her with a nod to his father as well. "I
wished to speak to you both, in private. You see, I know why you've
returned, Samantha, and I thought Father and I could help."
He knew? The breath stopped in her chest. How could he know? Had she
told him once, years ago, about her father's will? Did anyone except her
solicitor, her guardians and their wives know what this month meant to
her, that she stood to lose everything she held dear?
Her gloved hand seemed to be moving toward her throat; she
consciously lowered her arm. She would not let them see her pain. She'd
slipped already, giving in to the dismals on the sofa, but she would not
repeat her mistake, not with Lord Kendrick glowering at her as if she'd
somehow stolen something from his precious home.
Lord, please help me to be strong!
"I'm here for the annual summer party at Dallsten Manor," she told
Jamie. "All my cousins and their families are coming. I have sufficient
help, I assure you."
He shook his head, then turned to his father. "That's not why she's
here. She turns five and twenty the day after the party. That's the
problem."
No! She would not discuss her life with them. Her family hounded her
on a daily basis it seemed, concerned for her future, for her state of
mind. It was no one's business but hers how she chose to lead her life.
When she turned five and twenty, her cousins' guardianships would
finally end, but her choices now were still her own.
Samantha pushed past him, and the rustle of her skirts fueled her
agitation. "You should know better than to reveal a lady's age, sir.
This discussion is at an end. And I repeat--I need no help."
"Then why," Lord Kendrick said, the tone guaranteed to stop her at the door, "were you crying?"
Samantha felt the tears threatening again, pricking at the back of
her eyes. She straightened her spine and put her hand to the doorlatch.
"You were crying?" Jamie strode to her side to stare at her face so
intently Samantha felt compelled to turn her head. But that only meant
her gaze collided with Lord Kendrick's and held. His look had softened,
as if he knew the pain inside her. But he couldn't help her. She knew
what she must do.
"I'm fine, Jamie," she said. "Leave off, and let me go."
"How can I?" Jamie demanded. "I knew this business troubled you. You
don't have to lose the manor, you know. We can find someone to?"
"Stop!" Samantha ordered, heat washing over her. "Now."
"But," Jamie began.
Samantha held up her hand. "I have nothing further to say in the
matter, to either of you." She picked up her skirts and swept out the
door. The life she'd known might be ending in a fortnight, but she was
not going to beg for assistance, particularly from Lord Kendrick, who
could never love her, no matter what she did.
Copyright © 1998-2013, Regina Scott
***Thank you to author Regina Scott for sending me a copy of her novel,
The Heiress's Homecoming, I requested to read and review! No other compensation was received.***
Alexandra Kuykendall lives in Denver, Colorado with her husband
Derek and their four daughters. She is on staff at MOPS International
(Mothers of Preschoolers) where she is a regular contributor and
consulting editor to various publications and a frequent speaker for the
organization. While she spends most days buckling and unbuckling car
seats and trying to find a better solution to the laundry dilemma, she
manages to snatch minutes here and there to write about the quest for
purpose in it all.
About The Face of the Earth:
Meet Deb:
Deeanne Gist—known to her family, friends, and fans as Dee—has rocketed
up the bestseller lists and captivated readers everywhere with her
original historical and contemporary romances. A favorite among readers
and reviewers alike, her popular titles include A Bride Most Begrudging,
A Bride in the Bargain, and Maid to Match. Her latest book, It Happened
at the Fair (release date April 30, 2013), is her ninth published novel.
