Read Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) Online
Authors: Elise de Sallier
Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1)
Passion and Propriety
Hearts of Honour: Book 1
By
Elise de Sallier
First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2014
Copyright © Elise de Sallier, 2014
The right of Elise de Sallier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the
Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All characters and events in this Book – even those sharing the same name as (or based on) real people – are entirely fictional. No person, brand, or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual.
This Book is a work of fiction and should be read as such.
The Writer’s Coffee Shop
(Australia)
PO Box 447 Cherrybrook NSW 2126
(USA)
PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168
Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-260-0
E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-261-7
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.
Cover Images - Model Photo/s by PeriodImages / Other Images: © Elpis Ioannidis / Shutterstock.com, © jennyt /
Shutterstock.com
Cover Artist - L.J. Anderson
www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/edesallier
Dedication
To my wonderful daughter, whose creative talent casts mine in the shade. Your encouragement, suggestions, eye rolls, and laughter made this story both a learning experience and a joy to write. Sorry for the shocks!
Chapter 1
Lure
The long-absent Viscount Blackthorn had sworn to never again set foot inside the Hartley village church. There were only so many hellfire and damnation sermons one could endure in a lifetime, and William Blackthorn had reached his quota by the age of ten. The other location he’d vowed to shun at all costs was his destination on this journey—Blackthorn Manor. A stone monstrosity of gargoyle-infested parapets and looming towers, it presided over the village like a sentinel of doom. In no great hurry to darken its dreary doors, he turned his back on his childhood home and faced the other structure that featured prominently in his nightmares.
Drawn near to the red brick chapel by the sound of a woman’s pure contralto rising above the strains of a pipe organ, William furrowed his brow. He distinctly recalled paying a small fortune for the church’s refurbishment some years prior, not to mention a hefty annual maintenance bill, but the building looked in dire need of repair.
Perplexed, but with more pressing concerns weighing on his mind, William contemplated breaking his pledge. After keeping his distance for almost a decade, he no longer feared the oppressive sermons that had haunted his childhood. It helped that the reverend who’d tormented him was long dead, as did the knowledge the current vicar was one of the few members of the local gentry who’d treated him with kindness when he was a boy.
Fond but almost forgotten memories surfaced of the vicar—a mere curate at the time—granting William the privilege of playing with the eldest of his three daughters. Curious about the solemn boy from the manor that dominated all their lives, the golden-haired girl had welcomed him as a bemused participant in her games. His senior by several years, she was a bossy sort, but he’d been more than willing to forgive the unflattering trait as, unlike every other girl of his station, she’d not spurned him in a cruelly deliberate manner.
The position and wealth he’d been set to inherit had counted for little against rumours that an intimate association with him would result in a deadly price. The vicar’s generosity was no doubt aided by the awareness that his daughter’s much lower position in society protected her from William’s potential interest, but William had appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
A rare smile came to his lips as he recalled the family’s gift of friendship, cementing his decision to enter the sanctuary. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. After he’d visited his unlamented father’s grave in the cemetery beside the church—the reason for the interruption in his journey—all that would be left for him to do was drag his wretched self up the hill to his family home and then . . .
die
.
The wound to his left arm would undoubtedly prove fatal. The army surgeon had been adamant amputation was his only hope of survival, but William had refused. Death on the battlefield would have been a welcome conclusion to his military career, but the piecemeal destruction of his person was more than he could bear. He already wore a savage scar down the right side of his face from an encounter with a Frenchman’s sword. The musket shot wound he’d received to his leg some six months earlier had never fully healed, not that it had been given much opportunity. It was a minor miracle he’d made it this far, but upon realising his demise was imminent, William had felt compelled to return to Blackthorn Manor. His death would put an end to the curse that had plagued his family for generations, and it seemed fitting for that to occur at the place where it all began.
Moving with surprising stealth for such a large man, in particular one both feverish and encumbered with a limp, he made his way to the deserted rearmost pew of the chapel. Wary of drawing attention, he stifled his groans as he lowered himself onto the wooden bench. Once he’d caught his breath, William was pleased to discover he had an uninterrupted view of the woman with the lovely voice seated at the old pipe organ. Her appearance was as captivating as her singing. The curls visible from beneath her bonnet appeared light brown or golden blond—it was difficult to tell in the dim light of the church, as few sconces had been lit. Her profile showed a regal nose complemented by a stubborn-looking chin, and a spark of recognition had him wondering if she might be the childhood playmate he’d just been thinking of.
Anna? Helen?
If he was correct in his assumption, she was remarkably trim for a woman of seven or eight and twenty years, since she would likely have borne a passel of children by now. Although she was dressed soberly—fitting for a vicar’s daughter, he imagined—William thought her most appealing. Not that he would have pursued her even if she was unwed and he wasn’t in the process of departing this mortal coil. Long used to suppressing any sensation of attraction he might feel for a member of the fairer sex, he focused instead on what had caught his attention in the first place—her skilled playing and lovely voice.
Ignoring the words of the hymns, their messages of redemption and eternal reward irrelevant to one of his dubious spiritual standing, he allowed his mind to drift with the music. Not in small part because his fever was spiking again. Despite his physical discomfort, the soothing notes granted William the first measure of peace he’d known since the battle for Arapiles on the Portuguese Peninsula.
Army life had suited him, his years of service both purposeful and rewarding despite the fact he’d spent them at the forefront of a brutal war. Rising to the rank of captain on merit rather than patronage, his plan had been to remain part of an institution where his character and accomplishments counted more than the misfortune of his heritage, irregular as that was for one of his station. A military career was normally the purview of a second or third
son. Those who inherited titles and vast estates did
not
put themselves at such risk, engaged as they were in the running of said estates and the begetting of heirs to carry on their bloodlines.
As far as William was concerned, the blood that flowed through his veins would have been better shed upon the battlefield.
The final hymn came to an end on a discordant note, and he opened his eyes to see the organist staring at him, a frown marring her otherwise lovely brow. William glowered in return—an instinctual response—and she turned back to face the organ, a hint of colour appearing on her cheeks. He wouldn’t describe her as beautiful, her features too strong and that chin far too determined, but there was something about her he found pleasing to the eye. Since she would likely be the last
lady he ever looked upon, he decided to allow himself the indulgence of staring, even if she chose to shun his less than appealing visage.
William raised his hand to trace the scar that adorned his cheek, encountering his beard and strands of unkempt hair. The corner of his mouth twitched. No wonder the poor woman had looked askance at him, as he must appear more beast than man.
The vicar, now middle-aged and with a receding hairline, took his place behind the pulpit, and William refocused his attention. Allowing the reverend’s oratory to flow over him, words that spoke of a God of love and the promise of a joy-filled future, William’s eyes fluttered closed. While he doubted his looming encounter with the Almighty would be such a pleasant affair, he couldn’t help holding on to the faint hope death might bring some relief from his suffering.
The sermon drew to a close, and William gripped the end of the pew, using it to pull himself to his feet. Breathing heavily, he took one last look at the vicar’s eldest daughter—yes, he was sure it was her—sitting stiff-backed beside the organ. He hoped life had treated her well, that she was happy, and her husband was a decent fellow. There wasn’t a blessed thing he could do about it either way, but he liked the idea that she’d been rewarded for showing a lonely boy unexpected kindness and giving a dying man the pleasure of listening to her lovely voice.
Chapter 2
Discovery
The dutiful eldest daughter of the vicar of Hartley couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Hannah Foster was not one to seek the attention of the local society, content to let others take the limelight. Consequently, the sensation of a pair of eyes boring into the space between her shoulder blades was quite distinctive.