Fated meetings on WIP Wednesday
I have a preorder link for A Lyon’s Dilemma! So I thought I’d share an excerpt, since it will stop counting as a Work-In-Progress in a little over three weeks, on July 30th.
***
The half-sisters had never been friends, though only a few months separated them in age, and they had been raised in the same nursery. Adaline supposed she could not blame her father’s wife for being resentful, but it was not Adaline’s fault her father kept a mistress, nor that he brought his love child into his own house after her mother died giving birth to Adaline.
Emmeline’s resentment was copied from her own mother, and had been given further force because Adaline and Emmeline resembled one another so much. Emmeline, even though she was the younger by four months, had held a childish belief that Adaline had copied Emmeline’s looks to spite her. According to Emmeline, that justified wearing Adaline’s clothes to play naughty tricks on the governess and other servants.
Adaline had suffered many punishments for things she hadn’t done, and for lying about her guilt. And then Emmeline was caught in the act, and Adaline was sent away to school. “For your own sake,” her father had said. Adaline had enjoyed school well enough. But it was an exile, nonetheless.
Her own childhood experiences made her all the more determined to ensure that Melody never had cause to doubt that she was loved. Sad to say, that goal had been aided by Richard Beverley’s death. He had been a poor choice as a husband, as it turned out, though better in the circumstances than none at all. He had been shaping up to be a miserable father, and none at all was definitely preferable.
“Are any of the gentlemen going to be my new father?” Melody asked. The schoolroom party was taking advantage of today’s fine weather to walk to the pond to feed the ducks, and Adaline had elected to join them. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard the question, but Melody and Adaline had dropped behind the rest.
“I do not think so, darling,” Adaline said. “But remember I told you I have seen a matchmaker who will be looking for a husband for me.” Not Kempbury. Damn Kempbury, for invading her mind and setting her pulse beating just for him, as it had once before, long ago.
Melody frowned, thoughtfully. “I do not think I would want someone else to choose me a husband,” she said.
Adaline had certainly not done very well on her own, but she kept that thought to herself.
Ah! Here was the pond. Oh dear. And here was Kempbury. He had obviously come here for some privacy and solitude. He had a propensity for going off on his own—Adaline remembered that about him. She almost giggled at the thought of his dismay when his refuge was invaded by ten children of assorted ages, four nursemaids, two governesses and Adaline.
He nodded to her with distant courtesy, and then turned his gaze on Melody. All thought of laughter fled. But no. He would not guess. Melody was only a child. And even if he wondered, he could not be certain.
Besides, what could he do? Melody was legally a Beverley, and Adaline was her mother.
He narrowed his green eyes, while Melody stared back at him, her head to one side, her own very similar green eyes alight with curiosity.
“Might you be Miss Beverley?” he asked.
“Melody, make your curtsey to the Duke of Kempbury,” Adaline prompted. Melody, her most winning smile to the fore, curtseyed. “I am Melody Beverley, sir,” she said, “and this is my Mama.”
His expression, which had warmed while observing her daughter, chilled again as he looked at Adaline. “Mrs. Beverley and I were acquainted a long time ago,” he said.
“A very long time ago,” Adaline agreed. “Before you were born, Melody. Look, Miss Winchard has bread for the ducks. Get in line for your share, my dearest.”
Melody bobbed another curtsey, briefer than the first and said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” then rushed off before he could reply.
