It’s a scandal that twenty-seven-year-old Sarah Stanborough is still unwed. Despite her matchmaking mother’s fervent wishes, Sarah refuses to encourage the eminently eligible John Phillip North, Marquis of Revesne. The arrogant bounder has actually fought duels to keep her potential suitors at bay.
Only one man attracts the independent spinster: handsome Edward Middleton, her young cousin’s guardian, who detests the frivolous gossip and shallow flirtations of London society as much as she does. But when Lord North threatens Edward’s life, Sarah knows there’s only one way to save the man who has stolen her heart. Yet even she can’t predict the consequences of the risky charade she is about to set in motion.
It’s a scandal that twenty-seven-year-old Sarah Stanborough is still unwed. Despite her matchmaking mother’s fervent wishes, Sarah refuses to encourage the eminently eligible John Phillip North, Marquis of Revesne. The arrogant bounder has actually fought duels to keep her potential suitors at bay.
Only one man attracts the independent spinster: handsome Edward Middleton, her young cousin’s guardian, who detests the frivolous gossip and shallow flirtations of London society as much as she does. But when Lord North threatens Edward’s life, Sarah knows there’s only one way to save the man who has stolen her heart. Yet even she can’t predict the consequences of the risky charade she is about to set in motion.
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Overview
It’s a scandal that twenty-seven-year-old Sarah Stanborough is still unwed. Despite her matchmaking mother’s fervent wishes, Sarah refuses to encourage the eminently eligible John Phillip North, Marquis of Revesne. The arrogant bounder has actually fought duels to keep her potential suitors at bay.
Only one man attracts the independent spinster: handsome Edward Middleton, her young cousin’s guardian, who detests the frivolous gossip and shallow flirtations of London society as much as she does. But when Lord North threatens Edward’s life, Sarah knows there’s only one way to save the man who has stolen her heart. Yet even she can’t predict the consequences of the risky charade she is about to set in motion.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781497697676 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 01/13/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 219 |
| Sales rank: | 597,538 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Duel of Hearts
By Elizabeth Mansfield
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1980 Paula SchwartzAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9767-6
CHAPTER 1
A heavy and steady rain streamed down on the Lincolnshire hills, but the inclement weather had evidently not daunted the young girl who was running down the muddy road leading out of Daynwood Park. She wore nothing to protect herself from the elements except a rather thin pelisse, and although she held up the front of her gown with one hand (a crushed and rain-soaked letter was clenched in the other), the back of her dress was becoming sadly begrimed as it trailed wetly behind her.
She soon left the road, crossed a wide field, climbed with tomboyish agility over a stile, circled a small wood, and in a very few minutes was dashing up the drive of a neat, square-shaped country house whose weathered stone edifice seemed remarkably indifferent to the onslaught of the rain. The girl scampered up the wide stone steps, tossed a dripping strand of hair back from her forehead and hammered at the front door. As she waited for a response, she shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. After a few moments, the door was opened by an elderly man in a butler's coat who gaped at her, uttered a shocked exclamation and stepped hastily aside to let her in. "Miss Cory!" he scolded. "Ye never ran all this way dressed so ... in such a downpour!"
"Never mind that, Chapham," the girl answered, brushing by him and hurrying across the wide hall. "Is the Squire in the library?"
"No, Miss, he ain't. He's gone to the stables."
"Oh, blast!" She stopped in her tracks, momentarily nonplussed. The thought of going out into the rain again was not pleasant.
"I'll send Robbie to fetch 'im, if ye like," the butler offered.
"No, no. I'll run over there myself," the girl said.
"No, ye'll not." The butler had known Corianne Lindsay since her childhood and didn't stand on ceremony with her. "Ye'll seat yerself by the fire and dry off."
Corianne found his lack of deference extremely provoking. "Really, Chapham," she said with irritable hauteur, "can't you learn to mind your saucy tongue? I'm not a child, you know. I'm in the devil of a hurry, so I'll use the back door, if you don't mind." Without waiting for what was bound to be a disapproving reply, she ran to the back stairs, dashed down to the lower floor, swept through the large kitchens (blundering into but ignoring the shocked scullery maid who happened to cross her path), flew out the rear door and across the kitchen gardens to the stables.
She pushed the wide doors open just enough to squeeze through. As soon as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she saw, directly opposite her, two men kneeling before a huge black stallion. One man wore a striped dust-jacket, and the other was in his shirt-sleeves. Both were completely absorbed in applying a poultice to the horse's left foreleg. "Well, there you are, Edward," the girl said breathlessly.
The man in shirtsleeves looked up in surprise. "Corianne! Good lord, girl, you're soaked through!" He jumped up and crossed to her in three quick strides. "Is something amiss?"
"No, nothing. But I had to see you. Can we go somewhere to talk?"
"Yes, of course. But I think we'd better dry you off first. Hand me one of those towels, will you, Martin?"
"Aye, I will," the groom replied, tossing it to him. "And ye'll be needin' a blanket, too, I'd say."
"If you think I'd let you wrap me in one of those filthy horse-blankets," the girl objected haughtily, "you're fair and far off."
"Filthy!" Martin exclaimed in outrage. "They're as clean as the ones on yer bed!"
"Just so," Edward agreed with a grin. "Therefore, my girl, you can dispense with your missish ways. Take this towel to your hair, and when you've rubbed it dry enough, you can wrap this blanket round your shoulders like a sensible little chit. You don't want to come down with a lung infection, do you?"
Corianne knew better than to argue with Squire Edward Middleton when it came to matters of her health. Ever since she could remember, he'd treated her with the concern of an elder brother or an uncle. Although her friend Belinda often claimed that Corianne could twist poor Edward round her little finger, Corianne knew that the claim wasn't strictly true. He was a dear, and he found it hard to refuse her anything, but refuse he did if he thought it was for her good. There was something immovable about Edward when he thought he was right. Therefore she must handle him especially carefully today. She couldn't afford to annoy him now, not if she wanted him to agree to the enormous favor she was about to ask of him. So she meekly took the shabby towel he handed her and rubbed her hair.
Edward removed the wet pelisse from her shoulders and put the blanket over her. "Well, Martin," he said to the groom, "I'll leave you to finish with the fomentation. Just keep the leg bound, and we'll take another look at it in the morning."
"Is there something seriously wrong with Bolingbroke?" Corianne asked in sympathetic concern. The black horse was Edward's favorite.
"Nothing nearly as wrong as there'll be with you, if we don't get you near a warm fire," Edward answered lightly, steering her out of the stable. In short order, he established her comfortably before the hearth of the large stone fireplace in his library, gave her pelisse to Chapham to dry and press, and ordered the butler to bring her a glass of hot milk laced with honey. "Now, my foolish child, you can tell me what brought you out in this weather so inadequately protected," he said to her, taking a seat in the wing chair opposite her and lighting a pipe.
"It was this," she said, leaning forward to hand him the letter she had clung to all this while.
He unfolded the soggy missive, now almost unreadable, and strained to make out the words. "What is this? An invitation from your Aunt Laurelia?"
"Yes, isn't it wonderful? She asks me to come for a nice, long stay."
Edward cocked an eyebrow at her suspiciously. "Strange, isn't it, that she should have written after all this time?"
"Strange?" Corianne lifted her chin belligerently. "Why is it strange to receive an invitation from one's very own aunt?"
"You haven't had a word from her since your presentation, have you?"
"Well, no, but—"
"That was two years ago, wasn't it?"
The girl tried to stare him down. "Yes, but what has that to say to anything?"
"Come now, Cory, don't take me for a flat."
"I don't know what you mean," she persisted, but her eyes wavered.
"Yes, you do." He tossed the letter onto her lap, leaned back in his chair and put his booted feet up on the hearth. "Your aunt probably hasn't given you a passing thought in all this time. You wrote and asked her for this invitation, didn't you?"
Corianne was about to phrase a heated denial, but she thought better of it. "Well, what if I did?" she demanded defensively. "I see nothing so very terrible in that."
Edward stared into the flames, frowning. "Don't you? I should have thought—Well, never mind. It's not my place to lecture you."
"Don't look like that, Edward," Corianne pleaded, leaning forward and looking at him with worried eyes. "You know how much I want to go back to London. It's the only thing I've ever really wanted."
He sighed. "Yes, I know."
"Then say you're glad for me."
He tossed her a quick glance. "I don't see why I should. In fact, I don't see why this news should have brought you rushing over here in the first place. What's behind all this?"
"Nothing. Really! I was just so excited that I had to come and tell you—"
"Nonsense. You know perfectly well that I'm expected at Daynwood this evening to play chess with your father. You could have told me then."
"I couldn't wait!"
He shook his head. "I've never known you to be so eager to bring me news that you'd run out into the rain and spoil your coiffure. It's not like you, my girl."
She put her hand to her hair which was hanging in limp tendrils about her face. "I did spoil my coiffure, didn't I! I must look a sight."
He didn't bother to reassure her. If Corianne was aware of anything, she was aware of her beauty. She had heard it praised since she was a dewy-eyed, dimpled infant. She was one of the few fortunate females who had never gone through an awkward phase. Even in her adolescence she'd been breathtaking. Her hair was of a gold color which was deeper and richer than ordinary blond. Her eyes were of a blue just bordering on violet. Her complexion was the envy of all her friends, so unblemished and creamy that it put other skin to shame. She had a tantalizingly full mouth and fascinating dimples that appeared just before she smiled. And now that she was fully grown, her shapely form had reached the perfection that her face had always had.
There was scarcely a man or boy in the county who had not been captivated by her appearance. Edward was no exception, but he would never tell her so. He disliked to see her so self-satisfied and spoiled, and he had no intention of adding to her rapidly developing sense of power over men. Because her beauty had brought easy gratification of all her desires, she was showing signs of setting too great store by appearances and of neglecting the more important facets of character and intellect. It troubled him that her personality was being adversely affected by her outward appearance, but, in truth, her maturation and development were not his affair. She might think of him as an elder brother, but he was no relation to her at all.
This London madness troubled him, too. Ever since her come-out, the girl had been wild to return to the scene of her triumph. That first London season had been a spectacular success. She had certainly made a mark. Why, there were several of her London admirers who still made their way to Lincolnshire to gape at her. They would appear without warning on the doorstep of Daynwood on the pretext of "being in the neighborhood." Corianne very much enjoyed these surprise visits, although Edward could notice no young man of whom she seemed especially fond. He couldn't help wondering if perhaps she'd met one particular young man in London—one who had not come to Lincolnshire—whom she wished to see again.
He hoped it wasn't merely jealousy that made him dislike the idea of her returning to London. Although he had long ago realized how deeply he cared for the girl, he knew that he could never have her. He was thirty-five years old—fifteen years her senior—and she'd never looked at him with other than sisterly affection. The dearth of society in this secluded area, and his close friendship with her father, had brought them much in each other's company and had given them the habit of easy companionship, but he'd trained himself to control his feelings and to treat her always with no more than brotherly interest. He was sure that no one but her father guessed the extent of his emotional involvement.
But his objection to this eagerly anticipated London trip had deeper foundations than jealousy. He had met her Aunt Laurelia only briefly (when he'd gone down to London for Corianne's presentation ball), but he'd received the definite impression that Laurelia Stanborough would not be a stabilizing influence on the girl. She had seemed to him to be a woman of shallow intellect and flighty interests—the very sort who would encourage Corianne's already dangerous propensities for self-indulgent vanity. And the only other member of the Stanborough household was Laurelia's daughter. He had no recollection of Miss Sarah Stanborough, but he'd heard she was standoffish and reclusive. No, Stanborough House was not a place which he would like Corianne to visit for a protracted stay.
"I do look a sight, don't I?" Corianne asked again, interrupting his brooding thoughts.
"Like a drowned kitten," he said heartlessly. "But let us not stray from the point, Cory. I want to know what you've come to say. You'll have to broach the matter sooner or later, won't you? So out with it, girl."
Corianne made a face at him. "You're the most irritating know-it-all, Edward! Yes, I do have something to discuss with you, but if you're going to frown at me in that disapproving way, I shan't say another word."
"I am doing no such thing. Why should I be disapproving?"
Corianne shrugged. "I know you don't want me to go to London. I'm not such a fool that I can't tell that."
"Whether or not I want you to go has nothing to do with this. You didn't come all this way in the rain just to ask my approval, did you?"
"Well, yes ... in a way."
He looked at her keenly. "But whatever for? It's your father you should be talking to."
"I've already done so. He's refused me," she admitted in sepulchral tones.
Edward sat back in his chair and puffed at his pipe in considerable relief. "Did he? Good for him. Now I understand the whole. You want me to intercede for you. Well, you've spoilt your hair for nothing, my little one, for I have not the least intention of trying to persuade him to let you do what I myself would disapprove of, if I were he."
Corianne chortled in satisfaction. "There, you see? You think you know everything! Well, you're quite out in your reckoning, my friend. I did not come to ask you to intercede for me."
"Oh? Then what did you come to ask?"
She gave him a measuring look and got up from the chair. "What makes you assume I've come to ask you anything?"
"We are not going to start that game again, are we?" he asked drily.
She walked to the fireplace and peered down into the flames. "All right, you win. I did come to ask you something."
There was a long pause. Edward merely puffed at his pipe and waited. At last, Corianne turned away from the fire and came up beside his chair. "I came to ask you to ... to ... come to London with me," she blurted out. Immediately, she sensed that she had not done well.
He looked up at her in amazement. "Come with you? Have you taken leave of your senses?"
She had to be careful. He would need very special handling if she were to succeed. She knelt before his chair. "Please, Edward ...?" she murmured.
Her hair was drying, and the firelight behind her lit the little tendrils that had begun to curl around her face. She looked so young and endearing that he felt a distinct pang in his chest. How easily the girl put him at a disadvantage! But he was no callow youth—he was a man of maturity and sense. He had taught himself to say no to her. "You are being a goose, you know," he said gently. "In the first place, I hate London. In the second place, I have a great deal to do right here. In the third place, I can't possibly go with you to London when you yourself are not going. Your father refused you, remember?"
She sat back on her heels and smiled at him. Her face was shadowed, but he thought he saw her eyes gleam, catlike, as she studied him. "He's refused to let me go alone," she said, "but —"
He had the feeling she was about to pounce like a cat. "But ...?"
"But he would not refuse if ..." She leaned closer to his chair and looked up at him coquettishly. "... if I told him you had agreed to come along as ... well, as a sort of ... chaperone."
So that was it! The little minx had worked out quite a foolproof plan. Edward was the one person Lord Lindsay would accept as a substitute for himself. But Edward had no intention of agreeing. "Chaperones are women," he said coldly.
She made a sound of disgust at such a trifling irrelevancy. "All right, a ... a guardian, then."
"I don't want to be your guardian. You're too much of a nuisance."
"I would be a pattern-card of virtue, I promise! I would do exactly as you told me, every minute!"
He snorted. "A likely tale. Don't be silly, Cory. The whole idea is out of the question."
"But why?"
"I've told you why. I hate London. I haven't the time to fritter away. And in any case, your father would never agree to such a wild plan."
"Let's ask him."
"We'll do nothing of the sort!" Edward declared quickly, knowing quite well that Lord Lindsay might easily accept the proposal.
The girl was quite skilled at getting her own way. She wasn't in the least discouraged by his objections. She reached out, took his hand and rubbed it against her cheek. "Please, Edward, don't refuse me this. It's the one thing in the world I want."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Duel of Hearts by Elizabeth Mansfield. Copyright © 1980 Paula Schwartz. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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