The Stranger She Married Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Donna Hatch

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  The Stranger She Married

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  A word about the author...

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  As Cole looked down into Alicia Palmer's face, he knew of a surety she was worth any risk. She touched him in a place he'd thought long dead.

  A younger man wearing a saucy grin approached Miss Palmer. “Evening, Lissie. Did you save me a dance?"

  Cole's initial irritation for the man's cheekiness faded to puzzlement. He knew him from somewhere. A vague unease arose.

  When the young man's gaze moved to Cole, he paled visibly. “You!"

  Miss Palmer gasped. “Robert Palmer, where are your manners?"

  Of course. Robert Palmer. From London. Cold dread trickled across his heart as he considered the ramifications.

  Palmer took her arm. “We're leaving."

  "Now see here—” Cole began, but Palmer pinned him with a dangerous glare.

  "Stay away from my cousin."

  "Your cousin?” Cole looked from him to Miss Palmer and understanding dawned. He cursed under his breath. He hadn't been aware Armand Palmer had a sister. Not that he'd bothered to find out. The ramifications he'd considered a moment ago took a more serious turn.

  Miss Palmer sent Cole a look of apology and turned to her cousin. “Robert, explain yourself."

  In a cold sweat, Cole waited for her condemning stare.

  Palmer trembled in rage. He spoke quietly, but Cole heard every word. “He's the scoundrel who shot your twin."

  The Stranger She Married

  by

  Donna Hatch

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Stranger She Married

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Donna Hatch

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press

  The Wild Rose Press

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  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN 1-60154-334-4

  Published in the United States of America

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  Dedication

  To Cindy Hatch and Liz Roehr, and the rest of my family who have always been my best cheerleaders; Jennifer Griffith, for gentle suggestions, Rhonda Woodward for her tough love critique that forced me deeper into research, Jennifer Ashley for her patience, encouragement, and help, and all my Desert Rose RWA friends who mentored me along. Also to Joyce DiPastena, Anna Arnett and Lorna Hale, and all my sister writers at ANWA. A very special thank you to all the Beau Monders who continue to unselfishly impart all their knowledge of the magical and mysterious Regency Era. But most of all, to my husband, who is the inspiration for my heroes, and who continues to prove that there really is a happily ever after.

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  Acknowledgements

  Thanks especially to my readers. I hope you enjoy The Stranger She Married. Please stop by www.donnahatch.net to enter my monthly contests, view deleted scenes and sneak peeks, and to join the private e-mail list to receive an announcement when my next books will be released.

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  CHAPTER 1

  England, 1818

  Alicia Palmer stepped down from the coach with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner about to meet the executioner. She glanced up at the starry summer sky, seeking courage. Liveried servants lined the front steps like guards to the gallows. All she needed was a crowd with an appetite for the macabre; a role, no doubt that the other guests could fill.

  "Isn't this exciting?” Elizabeth squeezed Alicia's arm as they mounted the front steps of the Sinclair's country manor. Alicia's younger friend still retained her debutante excitement from her first Season in London, from which she'd just returned home, and she shone in anticipation.

  Alicia managed a smile for her friend's sake. “It will be good to dance again."

  "Of course it will, Alicia dear.” Elizabeth's mother, Mrs. Hancock, put a comforting arm around her. “A young lady such as you should be enjoying herself, not sequestered away at home.” Mrs. Hancock's perfume embraced her, a blend of roses and sweet spices. The familiar fragrance buoyed Alicia as much as the dear lady's touch.

  Light spilled out of the open doorway guiding them inside the manor as footmen hurried to assist them. Alicia steeled her resolve and forced her feet to keep moving forward when she wanted to flee. She smoothed her gown. Shedding her mourning attire for a ball gown had seemed irreverent, but Uncle Willard had insisted she attend.

  "I haven't set foot on a dance floor in over a year."

  Mrs. Hancock gave her a motherly smile. “You always comport yourself beautifully, dear girl. You have nothing to fear."

  Despite Mrs. Hancock's reassurances, Alicia's apprehension grew at the thought of subjecting herself to the further inspection of men who only viewed her as a piece of jewelry to be purchased.

  Very expensive jewelry, without all the glitter.

  Alicia paused in the great hall between her companions. Formal balls occurred less frequently during the summer than the London Season. Receiving the invitation from the Sinclairs had come as a surprise. Alicia was painfully aware that her Uncle Willard and Cousin Robert's behavior, and financial misfortunes, had become the subject of gossip all over the midlands. Knowing Catherine Sinclair, such gossip should have excluded Alicia from this social event. She wondered why she had been invited at all. Part of her apprehension sprang from the suspicion that Catherine Sinclair might use Alicia's misfortunes as a stone to whet her wit upon.

  While an attendant took their wraps, Alicia's gaze traveled upward. Crystal chandeliers and sconces hung from the ceiling and tastefully papered walls of Lord Sinclair's residence. Flower garland
s scented the room and adorned the wide marble hall where portraits of the current lord's proud ancestors hung between the carved columns.

  A liveried footman led them into a nearby room where they could make final adjustments before entering the ballroom. Looking into a gilded mirror, Alicia smoothed her hair, wishing it were a prettier color. At least its length and thickness created a coil large enough to cover the back of her head, but next to Elizabeth's china doll beauty, Alicia felt dowdier than ever. She was neither tiny nor voluptuous. Brown eyes, regular features, and light brown hair created the perfect wallflower. Only the kindness of gentlemen had spared her such a fate during her one Season in London.

  The mirror heartlessly assured her that her looks had not miraculously improved. The only thing to recommend her was her ball gown, which was without compare. Uncle Willard had apparently bullied the modiste into extending him the needed credit so Alicia could present herself well to any interested gentlemen in attendance. He would do anything to have her make an acceptable match. Acceptable, meaning wealthy. Her uncle seemed to have few other requirements for a worthy husband.

  "We must gain an introduction to Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick's nephew, Lord Amesbury,” Mrs. Hancock said as she changed into her dancing slippers.

  Elizabeth nodded, her blond curls bobbing. “I hear he's kept to himself since his arrival, but that he's terribly handsome."

  Mrs. Hancock agreed. “He's a viscount of no small means and the eldest son of the highly respected Earl Tarrington. Lady Sinclair told me he is coming tonight, the first invitation he's accepted since he arrived here.” She eyed them critically. “You both look lovely. Modest, neat and becoming. Come, ladies."

  After donning her dancing slippers, Alicia squared her shoulders and left the safety of the room. They passed a three-story staircase with intricately carved railings, and continued to the end of the great hall. Ahead stood the grand stairway leading up to the ballroom. Music and laughter floated through the ballroom doors as they climbed the stairs. Yet to Alicia, the joyous notes of the music sounded like a death knell.

  Forcing her hands to remain still, Alicia waited on the landing with head high until the major domo announced them. Then, with more grace and dignity than she felt, she glided down the stairs behind the Hancock ladies to the ballroom below.

  Alicia thought it ostentatious of the Sinclairs to have their guests first climb, and then descend a stairway to reach the ballroom, but a few of the grander homes had been constructed in such a manner. However, she also knew how much the gentry and nobility loved a grand entrance, and descending a stairway provided a perfect opportunity to parade one's finery or beauty.

  The evening's host and hostess stood below the staircase next to their daughter, Miss Catherine Sinclair.

  "Mrs. Hancock, always a pleasure. Elizabeth, welcome. And Alicia, how well you look this evening,” said Catherine in a practiced, contralto voice designed to weaken the knees of any male within earshot.

  Alicia smiled woodenly. Catherine, of course, looked glorious. She'd been beautiful even as a child. Her meticulously arranged black hair shimmered in lustrous waves, and Alicia had no doubt that Catherine's gown epitomized the latest fashion. Rubies and diamonds sparkled at her throat and ears, emphasizing Alicia's obvious lack of adornment. The Palmer family jewels had been sold months ago to cover Uncle Willard's most pressing debts. Alicia's only remaining piece of jewelry was the simple gold locket she seldom removed.

  Finding her voice, Alicia inclined her head. “Thank you, Catherine. What a beautiful gown.” She hoped she sounded more gracious than she felt.

  "How kind.” Catherine feigned modesty with believable skill.

  Her parents, Lord and Lady Sinclair, smiled and greeted them with perfect civility. Yet, an instant before Lord Sinclair bowed over her hand, she caught the unmistakable glint of ridicule in his eyes. Alicia glanced at Lady Sinclair and saw the same mockery. Alicia faltered. Then she set her jaw.

  She had lost everything; her parents, her twin brother, her fortune, but she would not lose her dignity. Raising her head as if completely unaware of their scorn, she dredged up a smile she hoped would not appear sickly.

  "I must apologize on behalf of my Uncle Willard and my Cousin Robert. They were unable to attend due to business.” Fortunately, her voice sounded steady.

  Alicia entertained no delusions of her uncle's business involving anything more noble than gambling or other unscrupulous transactions. Her cousin Robert, no doubt, either lay in a drunken stupor or in the bed of some nobleman's wife. Though they had once been close, Armand's death had affected Robert deeply and Alicia hardly knew him anymore.

  "Thank you for coming, Miss Palmer,” Lady Sinclair said.

  Alicia executed a curtsy that would have pleased Maman and swept into the ballroom with her head held high, leaving Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock to converse with the Sinclairs.

  Enormous murals, rivaling the works of Michelangelo, adorned the walls and the soaring ceiling. Tear drop crystals hung from the chandeliers, showering a rainbow of colors over the room.

  Alicia skirted the edge of the dance floor, looking for a place to sit where she would remain unnoticed. Behind her, the dowagers disparaged everyone's gowns and behavior. She knew they would find something to criticize about her the moment she moved out of earshot.

  More guests arrived steadily until the room grew quite crowded. To her relief, she did not see any of the men Uncle Willard demanded she consider as a husband. Most of them were far too old to attend such a function, but no doubt some would arrive later that evening.

  It would be futile to resist them all; one of them would inevitably be her husband. Few gentlemen desired a plain orphan with only a small plot of land for a dowry. Alicia's only power in this predicament was to choose whom she thought she could bear to wed among the undesirable men interested enough to pay Uncle Willard's debts for her hand.

  Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock found her a moment later. “That must be him.” Excitement laced Mrs. Hancock's voice. “The viscount. Cole Amesbury."

  Cole. What an unusual name. It invoked an image of dark elegance.

  A silver-haired gentleman and a lady wearing a turban adorned with feathers descended the stairs. Although Alicia did not know them well, over the years she had developed a fondness for the gregarious Mr. Fitzpatrick and his wife, the outspoken, but kind, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

  Behind the Fitzpatricks strode a man who captured her attention.

  The immaculate and expertly tailored clothing he wore exuded wealth, tastefully elegant without appearing overly concerned with fashion. Tanned from the sun, he made the other men in the room appear pale and ailing. His commanding, arrogant air promised he could be nothing less than a peer of the realm. Combined with the strong, square planes of his patrician face, and rich dark hair, he created a devastatingly handsome image.

  A calculating edge colored Catherine's voice. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick."

  "Thank you,” replied Mr. Fitzpatrick. “Please allow me to introduce you to my nephew, Lord Amesbury."

  In his black superfine, Lord Amesbury's tall, broad-shouldered frame mocked the physiques of every other gentleman present. He inclined his head politely, but with an air of detachment that extended beyond the fashionable, urbane boredom so many pinks of the ton attempted to emulate.

  "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Amesbury,” Catherine purred.

  Before Alicia heard the viscount's reply, another voice drew her attention. “Miss Palmer, I hoped you would be here.” That thin, nasally voice always set her teeth on edge.

  In dismay, she turned from the paragon of masculinity to his perfect opposite. “Colonel Westin."

  She was wrong; at least one of her unwanted suitors had indeed come tonight. The colonel always stood too close and she felt smothered in his presence. Alicia took a step back and opened her fan in a futile attempt to form a protective barrier between herself and the colonel.

  "I enjoyed our
visit last week, Miss Palmer. I look forward to another very soon.” Colonel Westin eyed Alicia much as a man might evaluate horseflesh at an auction.

  She had no intention of spending another moment with the colonel, a sour, disagreeable old man. She couldn't imagine him as a heroic cavalry leader. But then, forty years ago, he might have been a formidable officer. He certainly bullied his servants with the authority of a general.

  Alicia's gaze strayed back to the staircase. She started. Lord Amesbury stared directly at her with an intensity that sent a tremor through her stomach. His masculine beauty was almost painful, like looking at a handful of diamonds in the bright sunlight. Even at this distance, she could see the sharp brilliance of his blue eyes. As he moved through the crush, others gave away. His predatory grace mimicked that of a great cat, each movement deliberate, powerful, athletic, as if he held a vast reservoir of strength that lurked, coiled, ready to strike. Those piercing sapphire eyes remained fixed upon her with unnerving intensity.

  Colonel Westin's voice interrupted her thoughts. “I don't dance, but I hope you'll honor me with a walk in the gardens later this evening.” His condescending tone suggested that she should be the one honored by his request, rather than he.

  The Viscount Amesbury drew her gaze again. He now stood in a circle of guests as his aunt and uncle introduced him. His mouth twitched as if he suppressed a wry smile during the introductions. A dark eyebrow lifted slightly, suggesting that he found them mildly entertaining, but secretly laughed at them all.

  "Miss Palmer. You are not attending me.” The colonel's tone grew irritated.

  And Uncle Willard certainly would not approve of Alicia irritating any of her suitors, regardless of her feelings for them. Her entire family counted on her to marry well. And soon, or they all faced debtor's prison.

  Oh, how had she become so trapped? The room became too warm, the crowd too close. She cast about for an avenue of escape and only then realized that Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock were no longer with her.