She came home to find her locket, the symbol
of their love and
found herself on a journey of self-discovery and
reconciliation.
Lady Rachel Emerson comes from a
prominent Sommer-by-the-Sea family and leads a charmed life. Her fiancé, Pryce,
Earl Somerset is more than just tall, dark, and handsome. He’s everything a
woman could want. But before they send out the wedding invitations, the betrothal
is canceled.
After fifteen years, Rachel returns
to her beloved Emerson Manor on All Hallows Eve, the day before the manor is
turned over to the local historical society. For years, she mourned the loss of
her locket, her only connection to Pryce. Rachel has one day and one last
chance to find it. Her search leads her to a cache of old newspapers that
rekindle memories and lead her on a journey of self-discovery and
reconciliation. But will she find her heart’s desire?
The Lady and Her Secret is Book 4 of The Return of the Ladies of Sommer-by-the-Sea
Chapter
One
October
1829
Sommer-by-the-Sea,
England
Lady Rachel Emerson drew her treasured brown
shawl close and fisted the wool at her neck to block out the damp mist from
stealing what little warmth she had. Foolish, that’s what she was. Who in their
right mind goes out at 8:00 a.m. on a Northern England beach road in late October?
Really? No one would describe her as compulsive, but what else could explain her
uncontrollable urge to come here? Now. Before the house was gone and nothing was
left.
Rachel reached into her pocket and pulled
out a folded, tattered note once again. If she read it once, she read it a
hundred times. Meet me tonight. R.
She put the unsent note away and continued on her way.
A breeze teased the tendrils of Rachel's
long, raven-black hair, releasing them from the chignon at the nape of her
neck. The striking contrast of her dark tresses against her fair,
porcelain-like complexion created an undeniable aura of ethereal beauty.
Slender and graceful, Rachel was much more
than a beautiful woman. It took only one glance at her mesmerizing azure eyes
to see her keen intelligence and authenticity and why people were drawn to her.
She made her way down Coach Road, where
the road split in three directions. There, she was greeted by the village sign,
Sommer-by-the-Sea. Against the setting of an overcast sky, fingers of
fog roiled at the sign’s base and made it appear as if it hung in midair.
She glanced down the middle road, Queen’s
Promenade, and then the road to the right, King’s Way. Both were grand names from
a different time when royalty once inhabited the Sommer-by-the-Sea Castle. It
had been over a century since the last royal occupant. Queen’s Promenade skirted
the edge of Baycliff Forest with evergreens that thinned and gave way to the trimmed
and shaped grounds of the grand manors near the beach.
Rachel let out a breath as she glanced to
the right, King’s Way. This road led directly into the village and was almost
wide enough for two wagons. Rather than move on, she remained fixed in place,
listening to the cadence of crashing waves in the distance, creating a familiar,
soothing rhythm. The breeze picked up and sent sand and dust up the road from
the beach. She shivered and pulled her shawl closer. For a moment, she
regretted starting her journey so early in the morning.
“My own fault,” Rachel muttered, “for
putting this visit off.” At midnight, the Historical Society would take ownership
of the estate property and its contents. She had to be gone by then. Nothing
like leaving things to the last minute.
“Come on, Rachel, one foot in front of the
other,” she said to no one.
Today was her last chance to walk through Emerson
Manor and find what she lost a long time ago. It was precious to her then and
even more so now. Deep down, the comfort of home called to her. Finding that feeling
again warmed her soul. Finding anything else would be a miracle.
She squinted down Queen’s Promenade.
Visibility was poor. There wasn’t any way anyone could make out the cemetery a
quarter mile away—or the entrance to Emerson Manor on the hill a mile past that—not
with this mist.
As a seasoned village resident, she knew
the watery morning sun struggling through the clouds would make it difficult for
the haze to clear.
Another look at the gathering mist sent a
chill up her back. Rachel rubbed her arms, unable to be soothed. Easy. Stay calm. She cast a quick glance
from the short shrubs at the edge of the road to the thickening mist around
her. Anyone could hide in this fog, and she wouldn’t know until they stood nose
to nose.
“Breathe. Nothing’s there. It’s your
overactive imagination.”
The tall grass twitched. Rachel’s chest
pounded. She dared not make a sudden move. She sniffed the air and caught the
tangy order of brine, seaweed, and mucky sand. Another sniff. Some people were
concerned about the foxes that roamed the area. Not Rachel. It was skunks that terrified
her ever since she was five.
“Dear
Lord, Rachel, what were you thinking?” Her father’s voice had a nasal twang,
probably caused by the handkerchief he held to his nose.
“I
wanted to pet Brenna’s kitty. It was a gift from her uncle. He brought them
back from his voyage to America.”
“I
thought as much.” Her mother sounded annoyed. “Who gave you the kitty to pet?
Brenna?”
“Yes.
A boy kitty and a girl kitty.” Rachel turned to her father. “I asked first, and
Brenna said yes. Why are we going to the boathouse now? Doesn’t the party start
soon?”
“I’m
telling you, Edythe. That Hutchington girl will come to no good.”
“She
is just a child, playing children’s games.” Her mother gave her a big smile and
then turned back to her father. “They will be the best of friends. You’ll see.”
“At
Rachel’s expense.” Father wagged his head. He didn’t believe Mother for a
moment. Still walking toward the dock, he glanced at her.
“You’ll
have to be brave, my little princess.” His words were somber, but his eyes
twinkled as they reached the water. In minutes, he had a fire blazing in the
pit, and Mother had supplies on the outdoor table.
“Brave?”
Rachel asked.
“Yes.”
Her mother pulled off her costume and gave it to Father.
“My
costume,” she cried, reaching for it. Shiny beads covered her beautiful costume
and made it twinkle in the firelight. “You don’t let anyone into the party without
a costume.”
“Hmm…
not in this costume. Unless you want to go as a very smelly fairy,” her father
said, holding the pungent mess at arm’s length. Five-year-old Rachel watched in
horror as he tossed it into the fire.
“Farewell,
little princess and brave handkerchief.” He ceremoniously tossed the
handkerchief into the fire pit as well. “Life is not always comfortable. There
are also some unpleasant movements. Sometimes it’s even stinky.”
“Oh,
Father. Don’t be silly,” she said with a laugh. He always made her laugh.
“Thank
goodness,” her mother said, sniffing her like a puppy, making her laugh even
more. “I can’t smell anything.”
“Can
I be a witch like you, Mother?” Rachel glanced from her father to her mother.
“I’m
not sure.” Her father turned away from tending the fire and gave Rachel a
thoughtful gaze. “You have to be pretty special to be a witch like your
mother.” He returned and raked the fire to ensure nothing remained of the
costume or his handkerchief.
“Don’t
give her any ideas.” A particular look passed between her parents. “You know Rachel
must be at least six before I can teach her spells. I think the first one will
be eliminating odors.”
Her
mother washed her down for good measure and wrapped her in a soft towel while
her father put out the fire.
“We’ve
completed our task,” he announced. He sniffed around Rachel. “You smell sweet
as a rose. I’m sure Janet will have something special for you to wear to the
party.”
“In
the future, Rachel—”
“Edythe,
she’s learned her lesson” Her father turned toward her. “Haven’t you… Hmm. I
can’t call you my fairy princess. How about… my little ballerina?” Her father
picked her up. “I want you to have only happy ever afters. No matter their size
or who says you can touch them, Rachel, wild animals are not safe. Promise me
you won’t go near them again.”
“I
promise, Father.” He carried her back to the manor and brought her to her room,
where Janet waited.
He
put her down, and Rachel ran inside.
“Oh,
Janet. You made me another costume.” On her bed was a lilac gown with a fitted
bodice with beads in a pretty pattern. It had short, puffed sleeves trimmed
with lace and a flowing gauze skirt with silver embroidery that made the skirt sparkle.
There were black ballet slippers, but her eyes went to the small glittery
crown.
“I
thought you would be a princess ballerina.” Janet handed her the crown. “It
completes your costume.”
After that encounter, she had a healthy respect
for Brenna’s skunks. Especially when her friend got tired of the black and
white creatures and let them out into the wild. The pair of skunks made their
new home in an abandoned badger burrow at the base of the town sign.
Her father was
just as happy. There were few people like him. Sheldon Emerson, the Duke of
Harrington, was an imposing and dignified man. Handsome beyond doubt, his dark
blue eyes were captivating, complementing the roguish charm of his wavy dark
hair now streaked with silver, and a brilliant smile that charmed everyone. Unlike
the fathers of her friends, the duke was a remarkable man. Embracing
free-thinking and possessing an insatiable thirst for knowledge, he was always
engrossed in a book, which he eagerly discussed at the dinner table, drawing
even a young Rachel into the conversations.
His playful
sense of humor and quick wit endeared him to all who met. While he fulfilled
his duties as a responsible Duke and managed his affairs adeptly, his heart
belonged to his beloved wife, Edythe, and to their precious daughter, Rachel.
Now, a grown Rachel took one step backward
and another before turning and quickly marching toward town. Better to wait for
the fog to lift so she could see what was in front of her before going to the manor.
“Coward,” Rachel mumbled. “You didn’t come
this far to run away. Hush,” she said, as if a self-reprimand would quiet her
mind.
Rachel followed the double row of ruts cut
deeply into the ground by the heavy carriages and wagons and trudged down
King’s Way into the village. She danced around the puddles and deep mud patches
caused by the early-morning rain.
It would take her another thirty minutes to
reach the village. By the time the buildings on the West Heath on the outskirts
of town were in sight, the sun had made its way through the clouds and took the
edge off the chill.
Rachel continued down King’s Way, past the
merchant quarter. It hadn’t changed at all. It still was a community of
hardworking people. Stone and brick houses with steep roofs and gabled fronts
lined the streets. Carts stood in front of the houses. Clothes hung on the rope
lines to dry. People hurried about doing their chores.
Rachel entered Westmore Commons and stopped
at the village’s public notice board. She smiled when she read the notice about
Emerson Manor and the Historical Society. The announcement was one among many
others: a farm to be let, a position open at one of the clothiers in the
village, the availability of gentlemen's and ladies’ undergarments, an
advertisement for fine writing papers, and another advertisement specifically
to ladies—autumn novelties, an excellent way to identify whalebone stays. That
made Rachel chuckle.
Rachel crossed the commons. Nannies were
pushing carriages or sitting on benches chatting with each other. Other people hurried
along, determined to reach their destination. She looked around at old
landmarks, the castle and the church on the hill, Mrs. Bainbridge’s Female
Seminary, and the town hall opposite the village square. She headed toward the center
of the commons.
Seasonal decorations made of leaves,
gourds, and seasonal flowers dressed the town square and the business district.
The large white pavilion, built on a mound
in the center of the town commons, provided a broad look of Sommer-by-the-Sea. Rachel
climbed the steps, something she’d done hundreds of times for a view of the
harbor. Masts swayed in the wind as the boats waited in the water.
Rachel let out a deep breath. Things
looked the same but different. Places and people move on. Did she think they
would stay the same for her? How foolish not to realize Sommer-by-the-Sea would
change. She turned away from the harbor as if ignoring progress would make it
stop and tried to swallow around the knot in her throat. What else had time
changed?
From where she stood, she noticed new
businesses were sprinkled among the old storefronts. The Tearoom occupied the
far corner where the milliner used to be. Large flowerpots brimmed with bright yellow
and red flowers and brown leaves in front of the shops created a festive look. Rich
colors and trappings of autumn were all around. Yes, fall was her season. Sommer-by-the-Sea
was her home.
“Emerson
Manor,” a voice whispered in her head. Half in anticipation and half in
dread, she walked down the gazebo steps headed toward North Wickham Road and
passed Mrs. Bainbridge’s Female Seminary.
The aroma of freshly baked bread caught
her attention. She imagined the taste of warm bread slathered with fresh butter—or
better, raspberry jam—and she licked her lips. Her mother’s baker, Anthony,
made the best morning rolls and pastries. Anthony’s father, Gaspar, was the
village baker. She and her Brenna stopped at his bakery almost every day after
their classes at the seminary. Theirs was a slight diversion that went
unnoticed as long as they brought Mrs. Bainbridge back a treat. Her mouth
watered as she strolled down the street toward the Gordon and Langley Bookshop.
Gaspar’s Bakery was across the way, determined to satisfy her sweet tooth.
She stopped across from the bookshop, now
called Dunston’s Books. Disoriented, Rachel looked up and down the street. Rachel
stood in the correct place. She searched for the large white building that housed
Gaspar’s bakery. It should be on the corner. She tilted her head as she stared
at a pale-blue building with window boxes filled with bright yellow flowers.
Yes. That was Gaspar’s, but now the space was occupied by a modiste’s shop.
She jumped at a soft, playful bark from a small
dog that sniffed her feet. Before she could bend to pet the pup, the dog, an
Aberdeen Terrier, rolled on its back, begging for a belly rub.
“McDuff, what are you doing rolling around
like that?” A woman approached the dog. “Come, we’re off to the milliner. Then
get tickets for the masquerade ball.”
“McDuff. That’s a wonderful name.” Unable
to resist the brindle coat, Rachel bent to pet the dog. McDuff rolled on the
ground, his tail beating the ground this puppy would melt anyone’s heart.
Masquerade ball? Had she heard the woman correctly? Her mother used to host one
every year at the Manor.
The woman bent down and picked leaves off McDuff’s
coat. “There, that’s much better. Sorry, we have no time to play.”
“That’s all right,” Rachel said,
straightening. McDuff went obediently and stood at the woman’s feet but kept
his eyes on her.
The woman went into the shop. McDuff looked
back and gave Rachel a soft woof.
“I’m sorry, too, but I have to go, as well.”
She turned and crossed the street to get a
better look at the bookshop window and stared at a poster.
The
Duchess’s Annual Masquerade Ball
October
30 at Emerson Manor
Nine
to midnight (if you dare to stay to the witching hour)
Costume
required.
Hosted
by The Duke and Duchess of Harrington
The
Women of Emerson Manor, available at Victoria’s Cottage
An arrow pointed to the right.
It would be wonderful to go to the ball. Rachel
looked at the sign. The Women of Emerson Manor.
She glanced through the window at Victoria’s
Cottage and saw pots of creams, baskets of crystals, small packets of herbs, incense,
and candles—a metaphysical shop. Edythe Emerson was a guest lecturer at The
Seminary: Magic, Witchcraft, and Religion
and Witches, Myth, and Reality. Her
mother would enjoy this shop.
Rachel stepped inside. With her first
breath, the familiar woodsy fragrance of bay, earthy mint, and the aromas of
sage and rosemary greeted her. Other scents drew her farther into the shop.
Lavender, honeysuckle, and rose mixed and created a floral bouquet of
fragrances. She didn’t stop; instead, she passed the lotions and jars and followed
an overhead sign directing her to the rear of the shop. There she found a large
empty table against the wall with a sign: We regret that the book, The Women
of Emerson Manor, is sold out. But it was the picture next to the sign that
caught her attention. She stared at a formal family portrait of her as a young
girl with her mother and her grandmother.
A wave of loss rolled over her. She hadn’t
realized how much she wanted to hear her mother’s voice, feel the touch of her hand,
and snuggle into the warmth and safety of being home.
Her emotions gradually subsided until a
sense of calm washed over her. Rachel turned to leave and stared into the eyes
of a woman wearing a purple scarf.
“You’d better hurry if you’re going to Emerson
Manor,” the woman said softly and turned to leave.
How did the woman know that was where she
was going? What else did she know? With her emotions in turmoil, Rachel
followed the woman out the door and looked everywhere. She found the street
deserted in every direction but one. Rachel rushed toward the crowd of people
by the town square.
Small groups, mostly women, congregated in
a knot and chatted. Rachel walked through the crowd and searched for the purple
scarf.
“May I have everyone’s attention, please?”
A woman holding papers commanded everyone’s attention.
“Hush. Ina’s speaking,” someone called
out. Rachel kept moving through the crowd as the group quieted. She fisted her
hand and smashed it into her thigh. Had the woman with the purple scarf vanished
into thin air?
“Thank you for your patience. The carriage
to Emerson Manor will be here shortly.”
Rachel spun around. Emerson Manor? Were these
people all going there?
“We will be let off at the front door.
When you arrive, go directly to the assignment table in the Great Hall. Today,
it is just the finishing touches. You’ve all done a wonderful job of making
this masquerade ball a success. Edythe Emerson would be proud.”
“Ina, what about getting back into town?”
someone in the crowd asked.
“That’s a very good question.” Ina rummaged
through her papers. “The carriage will return promptly at three and bring us
back here to the town square. That should give everyone plenty of time to get
ready for the evening. Please remember to stay on the first floor when we get
to the manor. We’ve closed the upper floors for this event. If there are no
other questions, please get in line.”
Rachel gave one last look at the crowd. She
stood in the back of the line deciding the carriage ride was better to ride
than walk to the manor.
The clattering noise of a large carriage grew
louder as it approached. Finally, the old French Omnibus that the carriage
maker, Mr. Wheeler, had in his shop pulled up. Once or twice a year, he dusted the
large carriage off, harnessed the two-horse team, and took people for a ride.
Now, the women filed in. She stood by, watching and searching for the woman
with the purple scarf.
“Hurry, ladies,” the groom called. Ina and
a few latecomers took their seats. Rachel gave one last look for the woman and
had to admit she wasn’t anywhere to be found. Finally, Rachel entered the
carriage and found a seat in the back.
Mr. Wheeler closed the door and pulled away.
The woman must have thought she was
someone else. Rachel was sure no one cared that she had returned. Going to Emerson
Manor was purely voluntary, or was it?
Rachel gave the waterfront a last glance,
then looked down the aisle.
She saw the profile of Brenna Hutchington.
* * * * *
Available at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Lady-Secret-Return-Ladies-Sommer-ebook/dp/B0CDR6DHVD
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