The Bride's Secret
Praise for
The Bride’s Secret:
“This emotional story of a woman's journey from despair to triumph has what we all want from a love story.” –
In Print
“A story of healing, forgiveness and change that will make readers cheer.” –
Romantic Times
“I would recommend it to anyone.” –
Escape to Romance
***
Since his commanding officer in the Peninsula took a bullet meant for him, James Moore, now the Earl of Rutledge, feels responsible for the dead man's young son and the boy's exquisite mother, Carlotta Ennis – so responsible that he offers to marry the lavender-eyed beauty. Though their marriage was not to be a love match, Carlotta's torturing presence has James yearning to make her his true wife.
Though she did not love his lordship, her desperate situation forced her to accept his proposal. Little did she know she would come to crave being with him, would hunger for his every touch. If only she could be worthy of the fine man she's married, if only she can keep him from learning her dark secret . . .
eBooks available from award-winning author Cheryl Bolen
Regency Historical Romance:
The Brides of Bath Series
The Bride Wore Blue*
With His Ring*
The Bride’s Secret (
previously titled
A Fallen Woman*
To Take This Lord (
previously titled
An Improper Proposal)*
The Regent Mysteries Series
With His Lady's Assistance
A Most Discreet Inquiry
A Lady by Chance*
The Earl's Bargain
My Lord Wicked
His Lordship's Vow
Lady Sophia's Rescue
Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas)
Marriage of Inconvenience*
A Duke Deceived*
One Golden Ring*
Romantic Suspense:
Texas Heroines in Peril Series
Protecting Britannia
Murder at Veranda House
A Cry In The Night
Capitol Offense
Falling For Frederick
World War II Romance:
It Had to Be You
(Previously titled
Nisei
)
American Historical Romance:
A Summer To Remember (3 American Romances)
* Previously published in paperback
The Bride’s Secret
(The Brides of Bath Series, Book 3)
By
Cheryl Bolen
Copyright © 2011
by Cheryl Bolen
The Bride’s Secret
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is dedicated to my firstborn, Johnny,
who has brought his father and me
nothing but joy and pride.
I love you, son.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
She knew they were gossiping about her. As soon as Carlotta Ennis had glided into the sedately gay Pump Room, the snickering women's voices had risen to a crescendo.
Never mind them
, Carlotta told herself as she regally strolled to procure her cup of the medicinal water.
While she waited for the attendant to fill her cup, Carlotta heard a distant female voice. “Will you look at how low her neckline plunges!”
No doubt, Carlotta was the subject of such outrage. The lady under discussion stood up straighter and tugged at the bodice of her purple velvet gown, a sly smile playing at her lips as her neckline fell even lower. Flaunting convention had always been as much a part of Carlotta's persona as the velvety timbre of her seductive voice.
She took her water and began to drink. Surely the water would do her good. She had not been here—nor anywhere in this watering city—since the unpleasantness with Gregory.
“Nasty tasting, is it not, Mrs. Ennis?” a gentleman's voice asked.
She swallowed the water, silently agreeing with the man's accurate description, returned her cup to the liveried attendant, then turned her gaze upon the gentleman who had spoken to her. It was Sir Wendell Anthrop. She guessed him to be roughly three decades her senior—in his mid fifties. What he lacked in hair he more than made up for in girth.
“Yes, it is quite revolting,” she answered, “but as I have been in poor health of late, I thought it would do me good to drink the abominable restorative.”
She felt his eyes sweep over her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, with a perceptible lingering over her full bosom. “I am sorry to hear you've been unwell, Mrs. Ennis,” he said, his steely eyes pensive. “I knew the Assembly Rooms have seemed wretchedly empty without you.” He moved closer, possessively placing a hand on her elbow. “May I have the pleasure of walking with you this morning?”
It was a welcome sign. A man of decent birth was not ashamed to be seen with her. It would do her good to allow Sir Wendell to see her home to Queensbury Street.
Before they left the Pump Room they strolled the lofty chamber from one end to the other, Sir Wendell pausing frequently to speak with acquaintances who icily ignored Carlotta's existence.
It had not always been this way. Not so very long ago she had been as vital a part of Bath society as the Master of Ceremonies himself. Women vied to befriend her; men made fools of themselves to attract her attention. And Carlotta had thrived on their adulation.
Despite the drone of voices and the soft orchestra music, Carlotta and Sir Wendell were easily able to converse on banal topics, such as the fair weather and the actors performing at the theatre.
After leaving the Pump Room they joined the flow of people funneling onto Milsom Street. The streets were far more full than the last time she had ventured out—when Gregory had been with her. But, then, this was the season for Bath. That is why Sir Wendell was here. He could afford residences in several cities. Unlike Carlotta who was forced by pecuniary circumstances to live in Bath year round. She craved the shops and the assemblies and theatre—all of which were far cheaper in Bath than in London.
As they strolled along Milsom Street she avoided looking at the milliners and mantua maker shops where her accounts were sadly in arrears, fearing the shopkeepers would recognize her and run from their establishments, demanding that she settle her bills. She read the sign for Bingham Butchers and colored, remembering the extent of her unpaid bill there. At least Peggy, her cook/housekeeper/maid, was the one who had to patronize the butcher. Bless poor, devoted Peggy.
Carlotta and Sir Wendell turned on to George Street and spoke again of the weather and mutual friends and the musicians who were performing in the city.
“It would give me the greatest pleasure if you would accompany me tomorrow evening to the musicale,” he said, giving her hand a firm squeeze.
A pity Sir Wendell was old and fat. Though not in the least attractive to her, he was a man of consequence in Bath. Allowing him to escort her in society would reintroduce her in an agreeable manner. “The pleasure would be mine,” Carlotta said, gazing at him through heavily lashed eyes.
Perhaps the man could even be her savior from economic woes. Despite that she was not attracted to him, she could entertain the idea of being married to Sir Wendell. As the wife of such a wealthy man, she would be able to pay off all the tradesmen she owed, she could help Gran—and best of all, she could bring her little boy to live with her at long last. Yes, she could marry the man for incentives such as those. She knew better than to hold out for love. Her love had been lavishly spent on a man who wanted no part of it.
Sir Wendell appeared to puff up with self importance and proceeded to regale her with trivial observations of Bath. She caught herself not attending his words, for each street brought memories of Gregory. Thank God he had gone home to Sutton Manor. She did not think she could bear to see him with that young wife of his.
She fought back tears when she saw the tea room where Gregory had taken her for refuge during blustery winter days. How she had loved to sit there, warming her hands around a cup of steaming brew, and gazing into his honeyed eyes. She grew weak just remembering the effect his crooked grin had on her. Surely it was a sin to love a man as totally as she had loved Gregory. Even Stephen Ennis—the husband whose son she bore, the man who had given her his name and earned and deserved her ceaseless love—had received but a trickling of the affection she later laid at Gregory Blankenship's shrine.
“I believe this is your residence,” Sir Wendell said.
She had not realized they had reached Queensbury Street, and to assure herself, she looked up to see the familiar little row house. “Thank you, Sir Wendell, for seeing me home.”
The man grabbed her hand much as a thief would steal a chop of mutton. And he held it firm, his eyes devouring her bosom. She was uncomfortable and wished she had a shawl to drape over her breasts. Before Gregory she never would have been visited by such shame. She allowed a stab of anger at herself and of resentment toward Gregory.
“I must say I was happy to learn that Blankenship has left Bath and taken up residence at Sutton Manor for I've always had a tendre for you, Mrs. Ennis.”
Carlotta's heart began to drum madly as he squeezed her hand even harder and leered at her with a lecherous grin. “That is too kind of you, Sir Wendell.” Why did she say that when the man repulsed her? Avoiding contact with his puffy green eyes, she set one slippered foot on the first step to her house.
His grip on her hand tightened. “You know I am a very wealthy man.” He moved closer and spoke in a husky, low voice. “I'm noted for my generosity, especially to the women I . . .ah, protect.”
Her stomach flipped. The despicable man wanted her for his mistress! She had to get away from him. Her other foot now moved to the first step.
His gaze was once more on her bosom. “I am prepared to settle you with five hundred a year, my dear Mrs. Ennis.”
She twisted her hand free and whirled around, fairly flying up the steps, not deigning to reply to the obnoxious man.
“How dare you turn your back to me!” he shouted. “All of Bath knows you were Gregory Blankenship's fancy piece!”
She came to an abrupt stop and turned to face him, anger flashing in her eyes, scorn in her voice. “You, sir, are not Gregory Blankenship.” Then she turned back and hurried up the steps.
“What's the matter,” he bleated viciously. “Is five hundred pounds not enough? How much did Blankenship pay for your services?”
Despite the tears which blurred her vision, Carlotta's hand found the knob, and she shoved the door open, slamming it behind her and hurrying up the stairs to throw herself on her bed for another good sob. Thank God Gran wasn't here to see her shame.
She had only cried twice in her life: when Stephen Ennis died and when Gregory Blankenship left her. But during the year since Gregory left she had turned into a watering pot. She not only had lost the man she loved recklessly and hopelessly, she had also lost her last semblance of respectability.