Promise me, p.1
Promise Me, page 1
Promise Me
Promise Me
By
Dee Julian
Copyright © 2012
by Dee Julian
Cover illustration by Tibbs Design
For information on the cover art, please contact Valerie Tibbs at www.tibbsdesign.com
Dedication
With great appreciation to my critique partner, Elaine Meece. Without her encouragement and expertise, I would have given up long ago.
A special thank you to my best friend, Lisa Fox, who is not a reader, but she made an exception for me.
To my husband, Paul, who I will love forever and beyond, thank you for putting up with me all these years.
And most of all, I’d like to thank God for blessing me with a small amount of creativity and for giving me a genuine appreciation for romance.
Prologue
Cambridge Town, England
June 1865
Facing her fiancé’s mistress would be an unpleasant but necessary task.
Assisted by her driver, Lady Leah Sheridan alighted from the carriage. A damp wind blew across her face, spraying mist into her eyes. She raised the hood of her cloak and stared at the modest one-story cottage before her.
The driver cleared his throat. “You sure about this, miss?”
“Yes, Mister Davies. I’m quite sure.”
He sighed. A clear indication he did not approve.
Prepared to confront the inevitable, Leah forced herself to move forward. Lightning flashed in the east, illuminating a portion of the night sky. She shivered as the very air crackled with a sense of foreboding. If her father had known what she planned, he would’ve strictly forbidden it.
At the weather-beaten door framed by two small windows in which not a glimmer of light shown through, she hesitated. Apprehension knotted her stomach. Her fragile courage, on the verge of bolting like a skittish mare, teetered on the edge of uncertainty.
Another flash, closer this time, and a distinct rumble echoed through the lower valley.
Leah raised her hand to knock, but the door swung wide, revealing a petite shadow. She stared until she could no longer bear the uncomfortable silence. “Miss San--”
“You should not have come, Miss Sheridan,” the voice warned in a refined Spanish accent.
“You know who I am?”
Instead of replying, the woman turned away.
Leah followed her inside. In the darkness, the smell of baked bread wafted beneath her nose, reminding her she’d skipped supper. A lamp soon flickered to life, revealing the interior of the cottage. She pushed back the hood of her cloak, her hands shaking, and glanced around.
Expensive furnishings adorned the living area with two rose-colored sofas facing one another and a finely carved rocker positioned near the blackened fireplace. The open kitchen area consisted of a heavy oak table with four chairs and a grand hutch. An updated cook stove stood by the rear door.
A surge of bitterness closed Leah’s throat. This was no moment of weakness. Adrian had clearly paid close attention to the comforts of his mistress. Her gaze settled on the opposite side of the room where a heavy wardrobe and chest complimented an enormous bed. He would’ve spent many a night in that bed.
Her bed.
Resentment rose inside Leah’s chest and spread like ivy, choking every other emotion in its path.
“What do you want, Miss Sheridan?”
Leah gathered the remainder of her courage before facing the woman who’d stolen her future.
Strikingly beautiful with a heart-shaped face and hair the color of coal, Maria Santiago cradled a sleeping infant in her arms. “This is Edwin,” she announced proudly, her brown eyes watching with guarded amusement. “Lord Adrian’s son.”
“Yes, I know.” Cold humiliation settled like a rock in Leah’s stomach. “And it is because of his lordship that I’ve come.”
Anger surfaced in the woman’s eyes. “Cobarde Imbecile,” she snapped. “Is the grand lord so ashamed that he sends his beloved to speak the words he cannot?”
To speak the words....he cannot.
“Creo que entiendo ahora.” Maria laughed, and the sound carried more pity than amusement. “Adrian did not send you, Miss Sheridan. Admit it. You merely wished to satisfy your curiosity, no?”
“You’re mistaken.”
“I think not. I do not know how you found this cottage, but obviously you hope to convince me to leave England and take my illegitimate son with me. If you intend to beg, Miss Sheridan, it will do you no good, as I have no intention of leaving.”
A sharp clap of thunder rattled the windows as strong winds hurled rain against the glass. Mister Davies would be concerned for the horses.
An overwhelming urge to run gripped Leah but then the child stirred, drawing her attention away from the approaching storm.
“Obviously his lordship’s betrayal pains you, Miss Sheridan, but that is the way of men. They take what they want without a care.” Her cold eyes held no sympathy. “I will never allow Lord Adrian to abandon his child, so whatever valuables you plan to offer--”
“What I valued most was lost the very moment Adrian chose to deceive me,” Leah snapped, hot tears blurring her vision. Immediately she regretted the outburst and swallowed the raw emotion closing her throat. “I did not come here to beg or plead, Miss Santiago, nor will I insult you by offering a bribe.”
“Oh? Then what do you want?”
Tell her...and you never have to see this woman again.
“There’s been an accident.” A tight knot of guilt swelled inside Leah’s chest. “Lord Adrian…” She sucked in a breath, her voice breaking along with her heart. “He’s dead.”
Chapter One
The countryside of Kent
England
September 1866
Nicolas Drake, the seventh Duke of Chase, stared at his grandmother in disbelief, overwhelming sadness displacing the happy welcome he’d received only minutes earlier. “What do you mean…Adrian is dead?”
Tears gathered in her weary, blue eyes. “I’m sorry to tell you the very instant you return home, Nicky, but it’s true. The accident happened June of last year.”
“A year? Why did no one think to post a letter to me?”
“I had no idea where you were.”
“You should’ve contacted my solicitor.”
“I did, and Mister Harcourt promised to send you a letter posthaste. At the time you were in India.” Her brow furrowed. “Or was it Asia?”
“Africa,” Nicolas corrected. Now he understood why he hadn’t received word of his younger brother’s death.
“What a horrid welcoming.” Grandmother Margaret rose from the sofa. “I’m certain it’s reminded you of the carriage accident that took your mother and father so many years ago.”
He momentarily pushed his grief aside. “I’m sorry, love. I should’ve been here for you.”
She offered a weak smile. “You’re home now.”
Nicolas crossed the room to the large window overlooking the gardens. Adrian couldn’t be dead. Did he not hear his brother’s laughter echoing about the manor or his footsteps bounding up the stairs?
“How did it happen?” he asked at length.
“Lightning struck a tree, and Adrian’s horse reared.” Gran sighed, a pitiful sound. “The fall broke his neck.”
Nicolas didn’t care to hear the rest. Nevertheless, he pressed on. “Who found him?”
“Miss Sheridan.”
He turned. “His fiancée?”
“Yes. Adrian died in her arms.” She fidgeted with the strand of pearls at her throat. “You remember Miss Sheridan, do you not?”
Nicolas shrugged. “What I recall is a slender girl of eleven or twelve.”
A smirk twisted Grandmother Margaret’s mouth. “I imagine she’s changed a bit since then.” She approached him. “I realize this may sound inappropriate, dearest, but the Harvest Ball has been planned for this evening and--”
“You’d like me to stand beside you, is that it?”
“Yes, but under the circumstances I find it difficult to make such a request.”
“I would do anything to please you, Gran, but at the moment I cannot entertain even the thought of an evening of gaiety.”
“I understand, Nicky, but the year of mourning has passed for me, and I’m giving this ball in Adrian’s honor. You should attend.”
“I’ll think about it, love.” He glanced toward the open door and the stairway beyond. If only he could sleep until this sickening ache went away. But he couldn’t, and he had no right to ask his grandmother to suffer more than she already had. “Adrian did enjoy hosting the Harvest Ball, did he not?”
She smiled. “Perhaps he still does.”
“Gran...you’re not entertaining clairvoyants again, are you?”
“Certainly not. Besides, that was merely a passing fancy.”
“I should hope so. Will Miss Sheridan be attending this evening?”
“Lord Greyson has accepted, but I doubt we’ll see his eldest daughter. She and I speak often, usually at the cemetery, but I suspect Chase Manor holds too many memories for her.”
“I imagine so. Perhaps I should visit her.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Why? I simply wish to ask a few questions.”
“What sort of questions?”
“Those concerning Adrian’s accident, of course,” Nicolas replied. He studied his grandmother’s fearful expression. “Unless there’s some reason you think I shouldn’t.”
###
Leah traced her finger along the neckline of the wedding gown on the dressmaker’s dummy. The frilly lace had curled around the edge, and the satin didn’t look as pristine as it once had. So many months had passed, an eternity really, since she’d been fitted for it.
Why keep this pathetic reminder?
Perhaps because it took her back to a time when she still believed in love. A time before Adrian’s confession. Before his death. Both had broken off pieces of her heart, the wounds slow to heal. Both had caused her to question her principles. For if she had truly loved Adrian, would she not have forgiven him the very moment he confessed? Instead, she’d run away.
A faint noise intruded upon Leah’s grim thoughts, and she turned, expecting to see her lady’s maid. Instead, her ten-year-old sister stood alone by the door of the sewing room. Dark brown ringlets framed Katrina’s lovely face, but her blue eyes betrayed concern.
Or was it pity?
“Kat, you mustn’t creep up on me.”
“I did not creep.”
“Well, whatever you did, please do not do it again. Have you finished your French lessons?”
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you downstairs pestering Father to read you a pirate story?”
“Because he sent me to fetch you.”
“Oh?”
Kat placed her hands on her hips. “Have you forgotten the Harvest Ball?”
Leah sighed. No, she hadn’t. But how could she pretend to enjoy a festive evening at Chase Manor with so many reminders of Adrian Drake in every corner of the grand ballroom?
“Should I tell Papa you’ve a headache?” Katrina offered.
“No, I’m fine, dearest. I’ll be down shortly.”
Kat turned to go but changed her mind. “I miss Lord Adrian as well. He brought me chocolates and made you laugh.”
“Yes, he did, and we’ll cherish those memories forever. Now run along before Father comes looking for us both.”
Her sister still hesitated.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“Very well. I’ll let Papa know.”
Alone again, Leah gathered the sheet from the floor and draped it over the dressmaker’s dummy before departing the room and heading downstairs.
Katrina sat at the bottom of the stairs while their father paced the foyer.
He glanced up. “Ah, there you are, Leah. I thought you’d forgotten me.”
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Father. I was in the middle of something and neglected the time.”
“In the middle of what, my dear?”
“Nothing that would interest you, my lord.” She stepped around her sister to kiss her father’s cheek. “How handsome you look in your black dinner attire. Does he not, Kat?”
“Papa is the most handsome gentleman in all of England.”
“And I thank my lovely daughters for their unbiased opinions.” He scrutinized Leah’s appearance. “Have I been tightfisted with your clothing allowance?”
“No, of course not. Why do you ask?”
“I seem to recall you wore this turquoise gown on the evening I announced your betrothal to Lord Adrian.”
Unease swirled inside her stomach. Would anyone else notice? It was far too late to change.
“Perhaps you’re mistaken, Father.”
“No, he’s not,” Kat insisted.
Leah threw her sister a warning glance.
“I cannot understand it,” his lordship declared. “You and Lady Ashburn spend an entire day at the dressmaker’s each month, and yet I haven’t received a bill in over a year.”
“Nothing caught my interest.”
“No, these days it’s expensive jewelry.”
Because jewelry is easier to exchange for coin.
“I received a rather large bill from Markham’s last week,” her father added. “For a ruby broach, but I’ve yet to inspect the thing.”
Leah turned away. “The clasp broke, and I sent it back for repair.” She despised lies. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t realize I’d spent so much.”
“This isn’t about money, child. If I thought fancy baubles and trinkets would erase the misery I see in your lovely green eyes, I’d buy you a treasure chest full of them.”
“You shouldn’t worry. I’m fine.”
“Are you, my dear?”
She forced a smile.
He sighed. “You know, if you wish to avoid unnecessary reminders of Lord Adrian’s death, you should cease those weekly visits to the cemetery. It’s unhealthy.” His attention turned to Kat. “Young lady, should you not be abed?”
“But, Papa...”
He raised a brow.
“Yes, Papa.” Katrina stood and, with a loud sigh, stomped back up the stairs, her dark curls bouncing against her shoulders with each exaggerated step.
“Good night, little sister,” Leah called but received no response.
She tucked her hand inside the crook of her father’s elbow, and they strolled toward the main door.
“It’s been over a year now,” he said low. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
For the whispers or the open stares?
“No,” she replied honestly. “But I’m determined not to spoil your evening.”
“You could never do that.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m told the duke has finally returned home.”
“Adrian’s brother?”
He nodded.
Leah didn’t know much about Nicolas Drake. She’d met him once about eight years ago. His dark gaze had rested on her briefly before dismissing her altogether. Enough time for her to form an unflattering opinion of the gentleman. Stuffy and quite boring. A man concerned with business matters only.
The butler opened the door and stepped aside.
“Try to enjoy yourself this evening,” his lordship whispered in her ear. “And you might wish to be more generous with that beautiful smile of yours.”
“I’ll do my very best, Father.”
###
Nicolas opened the doors leading onto the balcony attached to his bedroom. The haunting melody of a slow waltz invaded upon the evening’s peacefulness. The Harvest Ball had begun. He strolled onto the balcony and sucked in a breath of fresh air. It wasn’t long before voices drifted up from the garden below.
As the couple came into view, Nicolas backed into the shadows.
“Irma Crandle is insufferable,” the man declared.
“A dreadful creature,” his female companion agreed. “But her gossip column...” She giggled. “Well, it’s quite entertaining, wouldn’t you agree?”
“If you enjoy malicious scandal. My sympathies are with poor Miss Sheridan. The grief she’s endured this past year could not have been easy.”
“My lord, Miss Sheridan isn’t plagued with grief. She’s overcome with guilt.”
“What do you mean?”
“In a childish tantrum she fled Chase Manor during a wicked storm knowing full well Lord Adrian would follow.”
“A simple lovers’ quarrel.”
“Simple? No. Not when you consider it was Lord Adrian who ended their betrothal.”
“What causes you to suspect Lord Adrian ended it?” the man inquired.
“Lady Chase’s cook is cousin to my sister’s housekeeper and on that tragic afternoon, she swears she heard Miss Sheridan question her fiancé’s lack of honor. So--”
“I see where you’re going with this, my dear, but it’s pure speculation. No matter what the servants heard, the fact remains that only two people know for certain what occurred that day.”
“Yes, and one is quite dead, isn’t he?”
After the two disappeared beneath his balcony and into the library, fragments of their conversation echoed inside Nicolas’ mind.
What had Adrian and his fiancée argued about? Had he dissolved their betrothal? Had Leah Sheridan caused his brother’s death? Of the few letters Adrian had written, each had professed his undying love for the woman he’d asked to share his life. Nicolas knew better than to believe every thread of gossip, but if there was a question concerning his brother’s death, he wanted it resolved.
