Here's Chapter 1 for your consideration...you will find your answer:
What is the name of Jonathan's estate?
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Happy Hunting,
Harris.
Chapter 1
1816
"Julianna,
how does it feel to be the spinster sister of England
"I
rather think I’m the lucky one," Julianna replied, hoping she kept the
bitterness from her tone. But it was
hard, for Jonathan had a way of bringing a pot of water to a boil with a single
word.
"How so?" he
queried, his brow lifted in question.
My, he was a handsome devil. She longed to slap the smirk from his perfectly
glorious lips. How she hated and loved
him. The bane of her existence and the
joy of her life.
She
looked at her younger sister, her pale cheeks aglow with happiness as she and
her new husband spoke in hushed tones in the corner of the parlor. Abby and Michael would soon be leaving to
visit Italy
"Well? I'm waiting," Jonathan said, giving the
back of her arm a pinch.
"Stop
that," she scolded, smacking at his hands to cease his painful pressure. "If you must know, I wouldn't wish to
marry into your family, Jonathan."
She lied. "Being bound to you by friendship is enough, thank you."
"You
wound me, dear Julianna. Do you hold my brother in such low esteem that you
would wish he didn't love your sister?"
She
rolled her eyes. "Please, I wish
Abby and Michael nothing but happiness."
"Still
my sweet, your words crush my tender heart.
I thought you loved me." He pouted,
his words in jest. A joke that left her
aching.
If
he only knew the truth, for love and hate battled for dominance in the darkest
part of her heart, at least where Jonathan Denbigh was concerned. How could he
not realize just how much he meant to her? Just how much he had meant to her
since she met him at the age of thirteen.
That she dreamt of him at night and now, sitting next to him, the musky
scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body…well, damn it all, it was too
much.
Standing,
she smoothed the skirt of her azure gown and lifted her chin. "You don't need me to love you. I think you love yourself well enough."
"Touché,"
he said leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "But you have to admit, I'm a little
lovable."
She
smiled down at him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, I love you like a chicken loves a
fox."
He
bared his teeth and growled. "Be
careful little chicken, or I'm apt to gobble you up."
"Oh
really Lord Denbigh, I’m not one of your silly little half wits. Does that charm truly work on anyone?" But she had to admit, the idea of his
nibbling on her had chills racing across her flesh.
"Too
well sometimes," he admitted leaning back once again with an elegant ease. Lifting a long finger he motioned toward
Constance Whitcomb.
Dressed
in a fluid gown of saffron, Lady Constance demanded more attention than the
bride herself. Long, flowing locks of
gold cascaded over her creamy white shoulders.
She was beautiful and she now garnered Jonathan’s full attention. Oh, to
have him look at her that way. As if she was the only woman in the room.
"In fact, Miss Whitcomb has grown quite
fond of the idea of matrimony," Jonathan explained, his gaze pinned to the
golden beauty.
Julianna stared at the woman,
just the sound of her name rankled her and sent currents of jealousy racing
through her veins. She was ever so graceful and the way men gathered around the
woman had her feeling like a scrubbed sow in a silken feed sack.
"Oh Lord Nesbitt, you’re
so very delightful," Constance cooed, her gloved fingers coming to rest
intimately on the young man’s wrist.
Bennett Nesbitt smiled, his
handsome face alight with joy. Did her
mere touch turn men of normal temperament into grinning fools? She pulled her attention away from the pair
and glanced back at Jonathan and her stomach roiled. Had she witnessed a flash of anger in the
depths of Jonathan’s eyes? Dear Lord,
was he serious about the silly girl?
"And you, sir?" she
asked, her voice trembling. "Are
you leaning toward a wedding of your own?
I’m certain your father would approve of the match."
"Yes,
he would," Jonathan conceded, his jaw twitching with irritation. "But I would like a wife who can read
Shakespeare and understand what old Will was talking about."
"And
since when does a woman's mind concern you?"
Jonathan
stood and gazed down at her, his dark eyes flashing. "If I choose to share my life with a
woman, I want to be able to carry on a conversation that goes beyond the latest
fashion and gossip."
Julianna
lifted her eyes to meet his stern gaze. "I'm
sorry if I offended you," she replied.
"But this is a side of Jonathan Denbigh that I haven't seen before."
His
expression eased and he gave her chin a playful pinch. "Perhaps you weren't looking."
Her
lips curled into a relieved smile. "Let
me know the next time the reformed gentleman makes an appearance. The rake has been gallivanting all over the
countryside for far too long." She
said the words with humor, but her heart knew the painful truth of them.
Leaning
in, his warm breath fanned across her cheek, her abdomen tightening at the
close contact. All playfulness and jest slipped from his countenance. Her heart beat at a maddening pace. "You'll be the first to know. For the truth is, Lady Julianna, I believe…"
Dear God, he truly did look
like a ravenous beast, ready to devour her. Had she become the only woman in
the room? Or was she little more than a
ploy to force Constance to look their way?
Still, all joviality had
disappeared, the taunting, the teasing that exemplified their relationship,
gone. What she recognized in his eyes rivaled what she always felt when she saw
him upon entering a room. Was he going to kiss her? Right there in front of everyone? Surely not!
He was a rake but he wasn’t a fool. And what had changed that he would
even consider such a thing?
At
the dull, rhythmic tapping of wood against wood, Julianna pulled her attention
from Jonathan. No easy task, for he'd
never looked at her in such a serious manner before. Yet she recognized the sound and it always
demanded her full consideration.
Grandmother
Chesterfield entered the parlor, her graying hair pulled in a severe knot, her
silver blue eyes as alert as any bird of prey.
She focused on Julianna, her brow lifted in question as her gaze slid
back and forth between her granddaughter and Jonathan. She puckered her lips before tapping the cane
hard against the floor. As always, at
the harsh sound, all talk ceased and everyone stopped what they were doing to
look upon the Chesterfield
"Abby,
Michael, your carriage is at the ready.
It is time for you to grace Italy Italy
Abby
let out an enthusiastic giggle. "Oh,
the warm sun, the blue skies. I can hardly wait!" She lifted the skirt of her pale gown and
rushed to Julianna, blonde curls bouncing, sapphire eyes alive with happiness.
"Take
care sister," she said, pulling Julianna into a tight embrace. "I will write every day to tell you
about Italy
Julianna
held tight to Abby, her heart aching at the idea of her baby sister being so
far away. But more than that, it ached
for the change that would occur when she returned to England
"You
take care," Julianna whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "And I will look forward to your
letters."
Jonathan
stood at Julianna's side, shaking his brother's hand. "Congratulations, again dear
Michael. Will you write letters, too?"
Michael's
cherubic face lit up, his dark eyes flashing with mischief. "I don't plan on having time to write." He grabbed his wife's hand and kissed her knuckles. "But I'm sure Julianna will be happy to
share her news with you. Isn't that
right, my sweet sister?"
"Will
you?" Jonathan asked, turning to face her, his eyes too flashed with
mischief. "Will you share their
happy news with me?"
"Certainly. You know you're always welcome here. You have been since childhood. Why would that change now?"
"Things
have changed. Your sister and my brother have wed. Whether or not you like it, you are bound to
me by friendship and family ties."
She
narrowed her eyes and stared up at him, the dull twinge of longing flared back
to life. "Jonathan, why are you
making lists of our connections?"
"Abigail!" Grandmother pounded the cane on the floor,
her countenance demanding all chit chat cease and desist. "Your carriage will wait but your ship
will not. Now please, give your
grandmother a kiss."
In
flurry of satin skirts and the scent of roses, Abby rushed to her grandmother's
side. It was an odd display of
affection. Abby sobbing on Grandmother's
shoulder. Grandmother's expression
offering no sign of sorrow except the single tear that ran down her wrinkled
face.
"Go,
child. God speed and much happiness."
Michael
offered Julianna and Jonathan a final tight lipped smile as he waded into the
fray of lace and linen. "Come
along, Abby," he said, sliding his hand around her small waist. "Make the goodbye swift and sure. For we will see them all when summer has
reached the gardens."
She
nodded, her blue eyes red with tears. "Yes. I love you Julianna. Grandmother."
And
hand in hand they left. Julianna watched
her precious sister embark on a new life, leaving her behind. Behind and alone.
Her
stomach roiled with the realization. She
was indeed the spinster sister of England
She
pressed her fingers to her temples. "Will
you excuse me? I feel a headache coming
on," she said, fighting through her sob.
"Good evening to you, Jonathan."
"Are
you all right?" he asked, tilting his head in concern. He reached for her, but she backed away. Was
that pity in his eyes? God, she could
take anything but pity from Jonathan Denbigh.
"I-I'm
sure I will be." She moved past him
and facing her grandmother, she dipped her knee. "Good night, Grandmother."
The
matriarch reached out and touched Julianna's cheek, her gnarled fingers warm
and soft. "Good night, child. I'll see supper is sent to your room."
Unable
to fight the tears any longer, Julianna rushed into the hall and up the spiral
staircase to her room.
This
morning the house had been filled with joy and anticipation. But that was behind her now. Her stomach throbbed with emptiness for she
needed to speak to her sister and her sister was gone.
Throwing
herself on the bed, she filled her pillow with her anguish.
#
"What
just happened?" Jonathan asked, looking to Lady Chesterfield and wondering
why she didn't follow Julianna. If he
could, he would have followed her. He
would have offered her a hankie or pinched her arm until she squealed and
forgot about her sorrow.
His stomach clenched at the memory of those
tears sliding down the young woman's cheeks.
Damn it, he didn't like seeing Julianna cry. Not one little bit. Seeing her irritated with him, he liked. Sad, not at all.
"She
realized her sister has gone and she's alone," Lady Chesterfield replied
moving deeper into the room, her cane tap-tapping against the oaken
floorboards.
"But
she's not alone," Jonathan replied, curling his hands at his sides. One
sister marries and suddenly the other is lonely? Confusion mixed with
frustration. He'd never understand the fairer sex. Never. "She has a doting grandmother and
friends who care for her a great deal."
"Indeed,"
she replied, looking imperiously down her nose at him. "Now, follow me into my study. We have much to discuss and it needs to be
done alone."
He glanced over his shoulder
at Bennett Nesbitt. The man had
practically drooled all over Julianna’s slippers at the wedding and now he
turned his wet nose toward Constance . Not
that Constance didn’t relish a wet nose.
Still, he followed Lady
Chesterfield to her study as directed.
One simply didn’t not do what Lady Chesterfield asked. It was bad form or stupidity. Either way, you
ended up doing as you were told with a pat on the head or switch to the legs. Having known her since his youth, he chose
the pat on the head.
Once alone in the powder blue
room, Lady Chesterfield shut the door. "Do
you consider yourself one of Julianna’s friends?"
The
question caught him off guard. "Yes, of course."
Lady
Chesterfield insinuated herself atop the well worn chair behind her desk. Resting her head on the back cushion, she
peered at him, her stare unnerving to say the least. "Sit, Jonathan. Keep me company."
He
released an exasperated sigh. "Aren't you going to see to her? Make sure she's all right? If I were in your position, I most certainly
would."
"Sit,
Lord Denbigh." There was an edge to
her voice that had him plopping down on the nearest wingback like a five year
old in trouble for pulling a little girl's braids.
She
closed her eyes, her lips pursed.
"I'm
sitting," he grumbled, setting his elbows on his knees. "Was there something you wanted of
me? For if not, I think I'd like to
return to Denbigh Hall. I'm tired and in
need of a strong drink."
"My
how you do go on," Lady Chesterfield mumbled.
He
stood feeling utterly annoyed with the woman.
Where was the hostility coming from?
By God he wasn't going to stand there and take it. As fond as he was of Lady Chesterfield, as
much as he respected her, he really was no ones whipping boy. "Yes. And I'm going to return home. Please give Julianna my warmest regards and
tell her I'll call on her in the morning."
Her
lids popped open and her silver eyed gaze came to rest on him. "Stop!" she shouted. "Sit down. I haven't given you leave yet."
He
crossed his arms over his chest and smirked.
"I didn't realize I needed your permission."
"This
is my home. Julianna is my granddaughter. You sir, are too close to her for her own
good."
"What?"
he asked, the smirk slipping from his face.
"Too close?"
"Yes,
that's what I said." She too stood,
the formidable woman was locked in a tiny body.
Yet she may as well have been six feet tall and three hundred
pounds. For she had him trapped with her
words. "She hasn't had a suitable
caller in months."
"And
that's my fault how?" he asked, hating the direction this conversation was
taking. Hating the notion that he caused Julianna any hardship. Hating the idea of her with a suitor of any
kind. She was his friend first and
foremost, not some sop’s lover.
"It's
your fault because by all appearances, you two are connected. You walk with her to town. You come to play whist. You dance with her at balls and sing with her
at parties."
He
sank back down in the chair and brushed a dark blonde curl from his
forehead. "She has been my closest
friend since childhood," he mumbled impotently. "I didn't think…"
"And
neither did I. Not until your brother
married Abby and I saw the sorrow in Julianna's eyes. She is the eldest. She should have wed first."
"I
see."
"No,"
Lady Chesterfield replied. "I don't
believe you do. You must sever ties with
her."
His
gut tightened and he sprang once again to his feet. "I'll do no such thing! How can you ask that of me?"
"Because
I love her and if you care for her at all, you'll let her go. She needs to move forward and find someone to
make a life and a family with. Bennett Nesbitt
showed a great deal of interest in her until he saw the pair of you huddled
together after the wedding."
He
paced back and forth before the fireplace, his hands shoved deeply in the
pockets of his jacket. "You're
asking me to leave and never come back?
Don't you think Julianna will find that rather odd? I don't want to hurt her." Hurt her,
hell. The thought of never seeing her
again, never hearing the sweet tinkle of her laughter, never ever spending
another relaxing moment in her company…
Well, that hurt him. Hurt him
more than he ever expected. And the very idea that Lady Chesterfield would see
her with that fop? Blast it, it was
unconscionable.
Lady
Chesterfield pounded her cane against the floor so hard that it echoed against
the thick plastered walls. He stopped pacing and faced her. "Then you
marry her."
His
mouth dropped open. Was she
serious? Surely, he had misheard. Marry Julianna? "That would be like marrying my own
sister."
"She's
not your sister. She's a beautiful
woman. Open your eyes man."
The
thought of her silky brown hair and wide blue eyes had him momentarily
forgetting what Lady Chesterfield had requested. Yes, she was indeed beautiful,
and smart and sweet and he most certainly did have feelings for her. Why just this night, he wondered, and not for
the first time, how it would be to kiss her full lips.
"So,
you either marry her or sever your ties with her. Those Lord Denbigh are your choices, for at
this moment I am considering terms for her engagement."
She
stared at him through those eerie eyes, her graying brow lifted as she waited
for him to answer.
"Does
Julianna know of your plans? I hardly
think--"
"Marry
her or sever ties," she interrupted. "Those are your options, for she
will be engaged by summer’s end and every single person of the ton will know it is coming well before
then."
"I'm
not prepared to wed," he said, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth
threatened to shatter. He would not be forced into a marriage, not by anyone,
not even Lady Chesterfield.
"Then
you've made your decision." She
pointed a crooked finger at him. "You’re
dismissed."
"Good
luck to you and God bless Julianna," he shouted bitterly.
Lady
Chesterfield shook her head, a wicked smile lifting the corners of her
lips. "Look at Julianna through
fresh eyes Lord Denbigh. Who is truly
the loser here? You have taken her for granted too long and if you wait much
longer, it will be too late. She will be
the wife of another and lost to you forever." Jonathan
stared at the woman. "You dismiss
me as if there are no feelings between Julianna and me."
"You
dismiss her as if her feelings don’t matter.
She is deeply enamored with you, Jonathan. Does that not mean anything?"
Jonathan
bit back the disbelieving chuckle that nearly popped from his lips. "Julianna in love with me? Don’t be silly. She couldn’t possibly—"
"I
know," Lady Chesterfield agreed, nodding her head with vigor. "She is entirely too good for a man who
would disregard her as you have. And yet
she has the tenderest of feelings for you." She leaned back in her chair and steepled her
fingers, eyeing him as if he were the most fly ridden platter at a picnic
luncheon.
"I
can’t disagree. I have lived my life as
a single man doing what I please with whom I please. Surely, if she loved me as you say, she
wouldn’t have allowed me to continue pursuing my passions without as much as a
word. Without as much as a hint of
jealousy."
"I
have born witness to your philandering ways, Jonathan and if you recall
properly, not once did Julianna condone your rakish behavior. Why when she learned Constance Whitcomb was
coming to the wedding she very nearly lost her breakfast."
"Lady
Constance is a weed," Jonathan retorted and glanced toward the door. Maybe he should rush up the stairs to
Julianna’s room and confront her. Surely,
they would have a good laugh. Love
him? Poppycock!
"A
weed?" Lady Chesterfield
interjected. "What does that mean?"
He
sighed. May as well show his true colors
once and for all. "It means she is
pretty enough but not something I want in my garden."
"Disgusting
Lord Denbigh. I would have liked to
think more of you."
He
deserved that and he knew it. "I
beg your pardon."
"The
time for pleasantries is obviously over," Lady Chesterfield said,
standing. "Is Julianna someone
you’d like to plant in your garden, for if she is not the best flower you have
ever seen, then it is time to end her torment. Allow someone worthy to pluck her and make her
his."
