Sometimes taking a risk is worth taking....and sometimes there's no other choice.
Melanie Grey was left scarred and destitute on the death of her husband, the aged Duke. Unable to face London society, she applies for the post of housekeeper in remote rural Northumberland and discovers that all is not as peaceful as it seems.
Excerpt 1 Melanie's arrival at her new home....
‘Gavington House, Miss.’
The coachman, no doubt anxious to reach his journey’s end
before dark, was briskly polite as he drew the coach to a halt on the road
between Corbridge and Morpeth. Descending unaided and with some difficulty,
given her hooped skirt, she saw he had deposited her bag beside the imposing
stone pillars of an open gateway. He tipped his hat to her and sprang back up
to his perch with a cry to his horses. She watched the coach roll along the
lane, and waved away the cloud of dust and grit that flew up behind the large
wheels.
Green hedgerows divided greener fields, and there was not a
dwelling in sight. Looking around, Melanie shivered. The snarling griffins with
claws dug into the top of the stone gateposts added to her feeling of unease.
Stepping closer, she realised the griffins protected a date incised into the
stone beneath them: 1524. Gavington House had stood here for three hundred and
forty years.
A little unnerved by such a span of time, Melanie stooped,
gripped the handles of her portmanteau and marched between the gate posts with
a determined stride. The gates had been opened and then abandoned some time
ago, for tall weeds grew on both sides of them. Odd, she thought, as she walked
along the weedy gravel drive that led through a shadowy clump of pine trees.
Though she had packed only the necessities and a fresh gown for tomorrow’s
interview, her leather bag was heavy and the gravel drive did not make for easy
walking. Full of shallow gradients and curves, it wound through the trees in a
most annoying way. Now and then, through gaps in the foliage, she caught sight
of what must be Gavington House.
Had she been in the comfort of a sprung carriage, she would
have found the approach charming and no doubt been delighted with each pretty
vista as it appeared. But after twenty minutes of energetic walking, Melanie
hesitated. The drive was about to take one of its unnecessary bends away from
the house, which was plainly visible two hundred yards away in the opposite
direction.
With a frustrated sigh, Melanie gripped her bag firmly,
brushed through the low hanging branches and strode out across the lawn. If she
were shot for it, she would not follow that drive an instant longer. Hurrying
across the open stretch of recently scythed grass, she glanced over her
shoulder, half expecting an irate gardener or gamekeeper to chase her off the
hallowed turf.
Excerpt
2 Melanie explains herself to her new employer...
‘Circumstances change, sir. A new master appeared, with
staff of his own.’ In a way, that was true. Her step-son, the new duke, had
summoned his lawyer friends and cheated her out of the dower house and
everything else to which she had been entitled.
A grim smile touched the corners of Lord Jarrow’s mouth.
‘Well, at least your mistress was prepared to give you good references. These
are excellent.’
‘Thank you, sir. I hoped they would serve.’
His eyes narrowed, and Melanie’s stomach clenched in
response. Her tone had been a little too pert. Lord, it was so difficult to
strike the right balance. Dipping her head, she surveyed her clasped hands and
waited to see what direction he would take. Be subservient, she told herself.
Think subservience, and you will practice it. If you do well, you will be his
housekeeper, and have the security of a roof over your head.
‘Gavington is perhaps not what you expected,’ he said
slowly, sitting forward with his forearms on his desk. ‘The house is virtually
closed. I keep few staff, only those necessary for the comfort of myself and my
daughter. I do not welcome visitors. Now you have seen how isolated we are, do
you still wish to be considered for the post?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Why?’
Jolted, she met his quizzical glance. ‘Why, sir?’
‘It is a simple question, Miss Grey. Why do you, a young
and attractive woman, wish to disappear into the countryside when you have had
command of a house such as Rockford?’ He looked down at her reference ‘Why,
there must have been forty staff there when I visited Middlesex three years
ago. Here, we have less than six.’
Dear God, he’d been to Rockford House! Three years ago? She
blinked, frantically searching her memory. Had he been a guest at dinner? No,
she would have remembered him. But if he’d paid a call on the duke in the
estate office at the far end of the west wing, she might never have seen him.
That must be what had happened. Thank goodness he showed no sign of remembering
her.
Excerpt 3 Melanie sees a different side to Lord Jarrow...
Melanie woke with a jerk, gasping and sweating. Flinging
the covers aside, she padded to the window and pressed her forehead against the
cold glass. Oh, God, would she never be free of these dreams? Still they
plagued her, months after the man had died. Gripping the metal handle, she
flung open the window, braced both forearms on the sill and leaned out into the
warm summer morning. Closing her eyes, she hauled in deep breaths of sweet
scented air, and listened to the birdsong.
Gradually the terrors of the dream faded. Her heartbeat
slowed, and the moisture cooled on her skin. She opened her eyes and looked
about her, delighting in the chirrup of a hungry blackbird. From her window she
looked down on the same rose garden she had observed the day she arrived.
Fields and woods lay beyond its enclosing walls, and the green-brown curve of
the moors. If she looked to the left, she could see the hens clucking happily
in the kitchen yard, and there was Edith, sprinkling grain and scraps—
She swung round and glared at the clock on the mantel.
Twenty minutes to eight o’clock. She rushed to the fireplace, seized the clock
and held it to her ear, hoping to find it had stopped yesterday evening, but
the seconds ticked on in relentless fashion. She was late, intolerably late—the
Master would be up and about and there would be no clean shirt awaiting him.
Melanie rushed through an abbreviated toilet and fled
downstairs. How would he respond if she failed to have a clean shirt ready for
him?
The kitchen clock proclaimed five minutes to eight o’clock.
Running into the laundry and drying rooms, she ran back upstairs with three
neatly folded shirts balanced across her palms. Breathing hard, she slowed her
pace as she approached his dressing room door. Turning the handle cautiously,
she tiptoed inside. Both the curtain and the door to the bedroom were still closed
but she was aware he would very likely be awake in the adjoining room.
The masculine smell of tobacco and cologne hit her nose,
and triggered memories from her dreams. The desperate urge to sneeze sent her
back out into the corridor, where she jammed her wrist beneath her nose until
the urge disappeared. Inhaling cautiously, she returned to the small room. All
was quiet. Opening the door of the armoire, she swiftly laid two of the shirts
on the empty shelf.
‘Late, I see, Miss Grey.’ Amused, lazy tolerance coloured
his voice.
Startled, she spun around and banged her elbow on the
porcelain ewer that stood on the small dresser. ‘Oh!’
Springing forward, Lord Jarrow caught the ewer before it
hit the floor. He straightened, replaced it on the stand and looked at her more
carefully.
‘Miss Grey?’
“Fascinating and beautifully created characters, plenty of secrets, and a compelling love story between a hero and a heroine that tugs at your heart strings, makes this a must read.”
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