Melanie, Dowager
Duchess of Yaxley, escapes from an abusive
son-in-law to become a housekeeper in a remote Northumbrian village. The Master
of the house, Jarrow, is a widower with a delightful daughter, but few funds. Jarrow has his scars, but he also has a secret life that
unnerves Melanie when she discovers what it is that occupies his nights.
This historical romance with its great sense of time and setting, leads the
reader through the clash of the scarred personalities, troubles with excise men
to a resolution which surprises them both.
Available only from Kindle: here
“Fascinating and beautifully created
characters, plenty of secrets, and a compelling love story between a hero and a
heroine that tugs at your heart strings, makes this a must read.”
Excerpt 1
‘Circumstances change, sir. A new master appeared, with
staff of his own.’ In a way, that was true. Her step-son, the new duke, had
summoned his lawyer friends and cheated her out of the dower house and
everything else to which she had been entitled.
A grim smile touched the corners of Lord Jarrow’s mouth.
‘Well, at least your mistress was prepared to give you good references. These
are excellent.’
‘Thank you, sir. I hoped they would serve.’
His eyes narrowed, and Melanie’s stomach clenched in
response. Her tone had been a little too pert. Lord, it was so difficult to
strike the right balance. Dipping her head, she surveyed her clasped hands and
waited to see what direction he would take. Be subservient, she told herself.
Think subservience, and you will practice it. If you do well, you will be his
housekeeper, and have the security of a roof over your head.
‘Gavington is perhaps not what you expected,’ he said
slowly, sitting forward with his forearms on his desk. ‘The house is virtually
closed. I keep few staff, only those necessary for the comfort of myself and my
daughter. I do not welcome visitors. Now you have seen how isolated we are, do
you still wish to be considered for the post?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Why?’
Jolted, she met his quizzical glance. ‘Why, sir?’
‘It is a simple question, Miss Grey. Why do you, a young
and attractive woman, wish to disappear into the countryside when you have had
command of a house such as Rockford?’ He looked down at her reference ‘Why, there
must have been forty staff there when I visited Middlesex three years ago.
Here, we have less than six.’
Dear God, he’d been to Rockford House! Three years ago? She
blinked, frantically searching her memory. Had he been a guest at dinner? No,
she would have remembered him. But if he’d paid a call on the duke in the
estate office at the far end of the west wing, she might never have seen him.
That must be what had happened. Thank goodness he showed no sign of remembering
her.
Excerpt 2
Melanie woke with a jerk, gasping and sweating. Flinging
the covers aside, she padded to the window and pressed her forehead against the
cold glass. Oh, God, would she never be free of these dreams? Still they
plagued her, months after the man had died. Gripping the metal handle, she
flung open the window, braced both forearms on the sill and leaned out into the
warm summer morning. Closing her eyes, she hauled in deep breaths of sweet
scented air, and listened to the birdsong.
Gradually the terrors of the dream faded. Her heartbeat
slowed, and the moisture cooled on her skin. She opened her eyes and looked
about her, delighting in the chirrup of a hungry blackbird. From her window she
looked down on the same rose garden she had observed the day she arrived.
Fields and woods lay beyond its enclosing walls, and the green-brown curve of
the moors. If she looked to the left, she could see the hens clucking happily
in the kitchen yard, and there was Edith, sprinkling grain and scraps—
She swung round and glared at the clock on the mantel.
Twenty minutes to eight o’clock. She rushed to the fireplace, seized the clock
and held it to her ear, hoping to find it had stopped yesterday evening, but
the seconds ticked on in relentless fashion. She was late, intolerably late—the
Master would be up and about and there would be no clean shirt awaiting him.
Melanie rushed through an abbreviated toilet and fled
downstairs. How would he respond if she failed to have a clean shirt ready for
him?
The kitchen clock proclaimed five minutes to eight o’clock.
Running into the laundry and drying rooms, she ran back upstairs with three
neatly folded shirts balanced across her palms. Breathing hard, she slowed her
pace as she approached his dressing room door. Turning the handle cautiously,
she tiptoed inside. Both the curtain and the door to the bedroom were still closed
but she was aware he would very likely be awake in the adjoining room.
The masculine smell of tobacco and cologne hit her nose,
and triggered memories from her dreams. The desperate urge to sneeze sent her
back out into the corridor, where she jammed her wrist beneath her nose until
the urge disappeared. Inhaling cautiously, she returned to the small room. All
was quiet. Opening the door of the armoire, she swiftly laid two of the shirts on
the empty shelf.
‘Late, I see, Miss Grey.’ Amused, lazy tolerance coloured
his voice.
Startled, she spun around and banged her elbow on the
porcelain ewer that stood on the small dresser. ‘Oh!’
Springing forward, Lord Jarrow caught the ewer before it
hit the floor. He straightened, replaced it on the stand and looked at her more
carefully.
‘Miss Grey?’
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