Devonshire Read online

  Devonshire

  Richard and Rose, Volume 2

  Lynne Connolly

  Published by LMC Publications, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  DEVONSHIRE

  First edition. August 7, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Lynne Connolly.

  ISBN: 978-1386749592

  Written by Lynne Connolly.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Devonshire (Richard and Rose, #2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  About the Author

  Look for these titles

  Further Reading: Yorkshire

  He has everything to gain by letting her in. And everything to lose.

  Richard and Rose, Book 2

  Now that she's engaged to Richard, one of the most admired-and passionate-men in society, shy, awkward Rose Golightly can finally hold her head high. She never anticipated that her elevated position would make her the target of a dangerous gang of smugglers. Behind Richard's aloof, sophisticated facade lies a man of shrewd intelligence, fierce loyalty, and deep devotion to those he loves. He's willing to fight fair when necessary, dirty when cornered. Rose is one of only two people he trusts. All she's ever asked of him is that there be no secrets between them, but there are a few lingering dark corners he's reluctant to reveal. Now, Rose's childhood friend has made a stand against the smugglers that rule the coast, unwittingly putting Rose in danger. With her life at stake, there's only one way Richard can save her-even if it means his bride has to trade her wedding gown for widow's weeds.

  This series is addictive. Passion and murder are a potent mix.

  Dedication

  To everyone who followed Richard and Rose through thick and thin, through trouble and happier times, this is for you. Thank you.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Joanne Renaud, who painted the gorgeous portrait of Richard and Rose that will appear on every cover.

  Chapter One

  THE DOOR TO THE PARLOUR opened and my sister-in-law bustled inside. A gust of wind followed her stocky shape and some of the pasteboard invitations on the mantelpiece fluttered to the floor. I put down my book and stood, then bent to retrieve the cards. We couldn’t accept most of them. We were still in mourning, our shield from our importunate neighbours, but not for much longer.

  Martha held a wicker basket covered with a fine linen cloth. “Rose, dear, I have some treats for old Mrs. Hoarty in the village. Will you take them to her?”

  Restless and bored, I was glad of any distraction. “I’d love to.”

  I tucked the invitations back behind the clock to join the others. “Never mind,” Martha said, following my wistful look. “We should be able to attend social events again soon.”

  “The end of this month. I never thought I’d miss attending those dreary functions, but I’d welcome anything that killed some time.”

  Martha smiled. “Never mind,” she repeated, and then went, as was her way, to the heart of my dissatisfaction, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  She meant my betrothed and beloved, Richard Kerre, Lord Strang. After a month apart, I missed him terribly. And I could not distract myself by attending the local social functions, although invitations arrived every day, not unconnected, I suspected, with the news of my betrothal. But we were in mourning, for cousins we had only met once, and felt little for. But since my brother James had inherited the title they’d held, we had to enter the required period of three months’ full mourning and three months’ half.

  “Is Lizzie coming?” I paused before the mirror to tidy my hair. I’d never found a maid who could cope with my thick, curly chestnut mane, and it was forever tumbling out of its pins. I sighed and tucked the loose strands away. I smiled at my reflection, then sighed again. No, I still couldn’t see it.

  “What is it, dear?” Sharp-eyed Martha had seen my doubt.

  I turned away from the mirror. “I still can’t see why he should want me. Why not choose Lizzie?” I smoothed the folds of my gown, and shook it out at the back. It was of plain grey wool, one I’d had made after my father died. That reminder of deeply felt, sincere mourning, was one reason I felt like a hypocrite now. On the first day of April, we reverted to wearing colours again and a full social life. I could hardly wait.

  “Lord Strang has fallen head-over-heels for you.” Martha smiled. She had a pleasant smile that made everything she said reasonable. She always denigrated her homely looks, but I don’t think she had ever been properly aware of that smile. “And you with him. You brightened, just at the mention of his name then. Don’t ask why, dear, just accept it.”

  I still felt I would wake one day and still be Miss Golightly of Devonshire, the overlooked elder sister of the beautiful Lizzie. I had resigned myself to the role of dependant old maid long before I met Richard, thinking my future would consist of caring for nieces and nephews, not children of my own. Years of constant denigration by the local belles had given me a feeling of inferiority I found hard to shake off.

  I turned away to give myself time to regain my composure and then looked back at my sister-in-law. It had happened to her, too. My brother James was tall and handsome, but he’d fallen in love with homely Martha, and after ten years of marriage, was still in love with her.

  When I left the parlour with Martha, the sounds of the manor house became more noticeable. We walked through to the small hall, and I heard the shouts and clanging coming up from the kitchen below, a state of constant activity, mingling with childish cries from the nursery above. “Have you given the children a holiday from their studies?”

  “Mr. Somerfield is ill.” Martha referred to the tutor who came in every day. “I couldn’t see to it myself, so I decided they could make do with the nursery maids today.” Martha and James had three children. With my sisters Lizzie and Ruth and my brother Ian, it made for an overcrowded dwelling place, but I was used to it and hardly noticed any more.

  I found my sturdy leather shoes and sat on one of the hard hall chairs to put them on. I fumbled with the heavy brass buckles. The sound coming from the children upstairs rose around me. “I’ll send them outside soon,” mused Martha, as though she had read my thoughts.

  “Not to go to Mrs. Hoarty’s,” I said, not without some alarm. “She’s much too fragile to cope with small children.”

  Martha sighed. “I’m afraid she is. But she’s a patient soul, never complains.”

  A door at the back of the hall opened and in swept Lizzie, already wearing her outdoor shoes and cloak. Her attention went to the basket at my feet. “Has Martha asked you to go to Mrs. Hoarty’s? May I come with you, Rose? If I have to stay in much longer listening to that noise, I swear I’ll run mad.”

  Lizzie lit up the hall with her beauty and vitality. Even before our recent change of fortune, she’d been the queen of Devonshire society, and now she was even more alluring to the local beaux. A shame the mourning kept her from them. She felt it badly, and
knew her chief rival, Eustacia Terry, would steal a march on her in her absence. Lizzie had a different mother than I, accounting for her golden beauty and my own dark colouring, but I wasn’t jealous. Her sweet, generous nature precluded that, but sometimes, in the recesses of my secret self, I longed for some of that dazzling loveliness for myself. Especially since I’d met Richard. I would love to be beautiful for him.

  Pushing my thoughts to the back of my mind, I answered her with a smile. “Mrs. Hoarty would be happy to see you. How can you make mourning look so good?”

  “Well black suits me better than it does you. Your skin has a creamy tone that looks best with a touch of colour.” She grinned. “We’ll be out of black soon, and then we’ll show them.”

  I laughed, and was still laughing when I ran up the stairs to my room to fetch my cloak.

  I’d never thought of my bedroom as small before, but crammed with items for my trousseau it seemed to have shrunk in size. The jewel bright colours of the rich satins and silks mocked my dull grey wool gown.

  Stopping at the bed, I picked up a blue satin petticoat and smoothed my fingers over its sensuous softness, caressing it before I put it back. I’d never spent so much money on clothes before, and the total cost of the treasure laid out here made me dizzy. The petticoats and gowns had all been sewn and embroidered by the best craftsmen Exeter offered. Some fabrics, lace and ribbons had been brought up from London, just for me.

  If I had married a local man, I would have embroidered many of my linens myself, but the suddenness of my engagement left no time for that, so these too were brought in. Richard wouldn’t wait for me to sew my trousseau. He’d only been deterred from marrying me immediately because of our state of mourning and the pleas of his family and mine.

  Ranks of delicate satin shoes faced me from their station by the window. All for me. In one startling month my brother had become an earl and I’d met and fallen in love with the most astonishing man I’d ever met. That he loved me back continued to astonish me.

  The maid would put most of these things away later, and return my bedroom to its quiet, comfortable self. I grinned. The cabin of a pirate ship might look like this after a raid. I would probably be expected to dress in this finery every day after I married. The thought intimidated me, made me feel foolish, a fraud. I liked to dress in something simple, preferably something I could get into with a minimum of help, not spend hours on my toilette.

  On impulse, I crossed to the dressing table and picked up the scent bottle. At least I could smell good. I anointed my wrists and throat in some of the perfume before I left with my plain cloak to join my sister downstairs.

  Lizzie and I left the house and went down the drive. “You don’t mind walking all the way to the end of the village?”

  Lizzie laughed. “I can manage.”

  “You couldn’t when we were little and had to walk to Church.” Our father had insisted that we walk on Sundays, one tradition my brother James thankfully hadn’t followed. “You were always the one who complained the loudest, and ended up being carried.”

  Lizzie gave me an unrepentant grin. “It worked every time.”

  I tipped my head back and breathed in the sweet air of my native county. March brought winds and the promise of spring, growing warmer towards the end of the month, but a nip remained in the air. The sun gained in confidence as spring approached, not a trace of rain hung in the sky.

  The wrought iron gates at the end of the drive had rusted into their places, so seldom were they closed. A road ran past the gates, leading to the other large house in the district, Peacock’s. When we glanced along the path, we saw our neighbours and friends, Tom Skerrit and his younger sister Georgiana, walking towards us.

  Tom led his favourite hack. I assumed Tom was heading for the smithy. That meant they would be going our way, so we stopped to wait for them.

  “Good morning, Tom.”

  “Good morning, Rose, Lizzie.” We stood on no ceremony with the Skerrits. I smiled in greeting to Tom and his pretty sister. Tom was as familiar to me as my own reflection in the mirror, so I rarely noticed his appearance, but this morning, with a sense of what I might soon lose, I studied him closer. It would be strange not to have him as a neighbour any more.

  Tom was tall and dark, and preferred to wear his own hair rather than a formal wig. While not precisely handsome, he possessed a friendly countenance out of which gleamed a pair of amused grey eyes. He would be a good catch for someone. At one time, local society assumed it would be me, but he’d never asked and I’d never pushed the possibility. We had run together almost as brother and sister, and as far as I knew, he’d never thought of me in any other way.

  Georgiana looked fetching today, wearing an Indian muslin gown printed with little flowers and a red cloak. I was envious that she didn’t have to wear boring black or grey. The blue of her gown matched her eyes to perfection.

  “Trusty dropped a shoe?” I asked when they caught up.

  Tom cast an anxious look at the horse. “Yes, so I thought I’d take him at once.”

  A hill stood between Golightly Manor and the village. We chatted while we climbed it. The slope wasn’t particularly gentle, but we were all used to it, so didn’t get out of breath. The new grass felt crisp and springy beneath our feet, and I savoured the sensation, knowing I wouldn’t have it for much longer. Nothing would ever be the same again. I was leaving something I loved behind.

  Lizzie and Georgiana walked ahead, chatting about the latest fashions and my upcoming wedding. I followed behind with Tom. We had to walk a little slower to let Trusty find his feet when he stumbled, and to ensure we didn’t go over anything that might get into the horse’s hoof. I was in no hurry.

  Tom turned to me, a question in his eyes. “You never told me what Hareton Abbey was like. I know it was dirty, and abandoned, but why won’t your brother use it?” James had inherited Hareton Abbey with the title, and we’d travelled up there the previous year.

  “If it was cleaned and put in order,” I told him, “it would still be impersonal. It’s far too large and badly built.”

  “Badly built?” Tom sounded surprised. Hareton was reputed to be one of the great houses of the country in its day, but my friend hadn’t seen the devastation that abandonment had wrought on it.

  I stared up at the blue sky as we crested the hill. It was the same sky in Yorkshire, though it hadn’t seemed so at the time. “Yes. James was pleased when he heard that. It gave him the excuse he needed to come home. We didn’t know anyone there, and Martha would never have been happy. It’s a much better idea to rebuild the Manor.”

  A bird soared overhead, singing. A Devonshire bird.

  “What will happen to the Abbey?” asked my old friend.

  I returned my attention to him. “Nothing. It can’t be sold because it’s part of the entail. James will leave it to rot, or perhaps rent it out. He’ll move all the treasures he wants here and sell the rest. The dowager countess, Lady Patience, is living in the Dower House, and I don’t think she’ll willingly set foot in the Abbey again. The place is doomed, Tom.” I wasn’t sorry. The Abbey had become a place of misery and suffering. Its stones had seemed to weep in the damp autumn weather last year.

  Tom smiled at my dramatic words, as I had meant him to. I didn’t want him to ask any more. The events of that time were privy to our family alone, and safer if they remained so. And what had happened to me was only for me and one other to know.

  Tom’s horse stumbled, enabling me to drop the subject. We stopped to allow Trusty to recover, and I gave my friend a statement of fact, hoping he wouldn’t realise I was drawing him away from the personal aspects of our visit. “The third earl had the old building torn down and rebuilt, but he didn’t keep his eye on the builders. Hareton might be grandiose, but it needs completely rebuilding to make it habitable again. We don’t like it, so why bother?”

  Tom grinned again and gave me a deliberate up and down scan. My old grey gown wasn’t the height of fash
ion and had definitely seen better days, but I recognised his regard as friendly teasing. I didn’t mind that from Tom. “I thought you’d come back the grand lady.”

  “You know me better than that.” I looked down with a rueful smile. My clothes could best be described as serviceable; the gown, the sturdy leather shoes I loved and had repaired regularly, and my unornamented black cloak. There was nothing about me to indicate any change in my situation.

  “You’ll be a countess one day.”

  I wished he hadn’t mentioned it. It wasn’t something I wanted, but Richard went along with the title, and I definitely wanted him. “Maybe.” I smoothed my skirt, a habitual gesture when I felt nervous or unsure, feeling the rough woollen cloth under my hand. It gave me a small measure of assurance.

  “It’s suitable now you’re an earl’s sister. It’s what’s expected of you by most people.” I shook my head in denial but he continued, “You know you don’t have to? That James can settle a jointure on you so you can live as you always wanted to—independently?”

  He reminded me of something I’d always dreamed about, something I’d often shared with him.

  “If it had been anyone else I wouldn’t have considered it,” I told him. Tom frowned, puzzlement apparent on his face.

  Lizzie heard the last part of the conversation. She stopped and turned around to address him. “You’ll understand, Tom.”

  Tom stared at me, but he didn’t pursue the subject. “And how did you find Hareton Abbey compared to Eyton?” Eyton was the main house belonging to my future parents-in-law, Lord and Lady Southwood. I’d visited them after Christmas, but came away when a large house party arrived. I was still in deep mourning and it wasn’t proper for me to attend a large gathering yet.

  Richard had written that the visitors were disappointed not to meet me. He also said the visitors were tedious, and he would try to get away as soon as he could. We wrote to each other every day, but I still missed him; his presence, his touch, and his reassurance. As well as the thrill he gave me by touching me, kissing me and caressing me. We hadn’t repeated our one afternoon of lovemaking. Although I’d wanted to, Richard told me he wanted me with no slur on my name. An early pregnancy would not help me. My heart lifted when I thought that soon, so close to our wedding day, he might consent to make love to me again. If we found another opportunity. I just wanted him. I hadn’t realised it was possible to miss someone so much.