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Authors: Susan Carroll
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disagreeable words
that always applied to something vastly unpleasant. It did not at all fit
Chloe's romantic conception of what a bride's attitude toward her intended
should be.
Yet Chloe saw the uselessness of further argument. Gentle
Emma might be, but she could wax stubborn as well, especially when she was
thoroughly convinced she was doing the right thing.
She would marry this captain in stoic fashion, be a good and
faithful wife. Over the years, she would forbid herself to even think of Mr.
Henry. But those moments would come, Chloe knew, when Emma would be unable to
help it, and then her heart would break in silence.
Long after Emma had left her, Chloe sat alone in the parlor,
feeling very bleak. The burden of that final responsibility Papa had laid upon
her suddenly seemed very heavy, weighting down her heart.
"Keep faith when there seems little reason to do so,
believe that even the impossible can often be very possible. Be the Keeper of
Dreams, Chloe.".
"How am I supposed to do that, Papa?" Chloe
lamented. "When my sisters persist in dreaming of the wrong things."
There was Agnes, who seemed doomed to become a hermit, going
blind over her books and Lucy, becoming so hard, almost mercenary. Yet Chloe
could not spare a thought for them right now. Emma was the one in most
immediate danger. But how was one to rescue a sister when she refused to
cooperate?
"You can't fling away your happiness in this fashion,
Emma. I won't permit it." Yet even as Chloe formed this resolve, her heart
misgave her. She would be putting herself into opposition against this
unknown captain, who was fast assuming the dimensions of a Blackbeard in her
mind.
Well, she didn't care. Let him rattle his saber and bellow
at her all he liked. If she had to move both heaven and earth to do so, she
would find some way to prevent Emma's marriage to Captain William Trent.
Chapter Three
The winding drive came to an abrupt halt, and Windhaven
Manor loomed out of the early-morning mist. With the fog so thick, it was as
though one minute the house wasn't there and the next it was, in all its ramshackle
splendor.
Leaning forward, Trent peered out the window of the carriage
for the first glimpse of his inheritance. He stifled a soft groan. It was worse
than anything he could have imagined. He knew that most great houses were the
work of many generations, but he had never seen one that was such a positive
horror of Georgian and Gothic revival. Far from the additions blending
harmoniously, Windhaven simply looked as if one mad architect couldn't make up
his mind.
The bailiff he had hired had warned Trent. In all his
reports, Mr. Martin had found the house quite impossible. Of course, Trent
meant to subject the place to a thorough inspection of his own, but he doubted
he would waste much time or money on Windhaven. Very likely he would close up
the house and seek to provide his new bride with some more suitable dwelling,
perhaps closer to the port of London. Emma's sisters could continue to reside
with her there until each of the girls had been married off in turn.
As the coach lurched to a halt before the front steps
leading past the colonnade, Trent did not wait for the postilion to come to his
aid. Tucking his cockaded hat beneath his arm, he shoved open the door and
leapt down to the gravel path.
As he did so, the hilt of his dress sword tangled in his
cloak. Trent straightened it, feeling more than a little foolish. He had given
in to Doughty's cajolery and worn his uniform after all, although the Lord
alone knew why. Perhaps because, although he was loath to admit it, he was
experiencing just a hint of nervousness about meeting his bride. He was not
attempting the role of a peacock, but surely it could do no harm to present
himself in his best light, as an officer and a gentleman.
While Trent stretched his legs, a little cramped from all
those hours stuffed into the coach, Doughty climbed down from the box where he
had been riding
that always applied to something vastly unpleasant. It did not at all fit
Chloe's romantic conception of what a bride's attitude toward her intended
should be.
Yet Chloe saw the uselessness of further argument. Gentle
Emma might be, but she could wax stubborn as well, especially when she was
thoroughly convinced she was doing the right thing.
She would marry this captain in stoic fashion, be a good and
faithful wife. Over the years, she would forbid herself to even think of Mr.
Henry. But those moments would come, Chloe knew, when Emma would be unable to
help it, and then her heart would break in silence.
Long after Emma had left her, Chloe sat alone in the parlor,
feeling very bleak. The burden of that final responsibility Papa had laid upon
her suddenly seemed very heavy, weighting down her heart.
"Keep faith when there seems little reason to do so,
believe that even the impossible can often be very possible. Be the Keeper of
Dreams, Chloe.".
"How am I supposed to do that, Papa?" Chloe
lamented. "When my sisters persist in dreaming of the wrong things."
There was Agnes, who seemed doomed to become a hermit, going
blind over her books and Lucy, becoming so hard, almost mercenary. Yet Chloe
could not spare a thought for them right now. Emma was the one in most
immediate danger. But how was one to rescue a sister when she refused to
cooperate?
"You can't fling away your happiness in this fashion,
Emma. I won't permit it." Yet even as Chloe formed this resolve, her heart
misgave her. She would be putting herself into opposition against this
unknown captain, who was fast assuming the dimensions of a Blackbeard in her
mind.
Well, she didn't care. Let him rattle his saber and bellow
at her all he liked. If she had to move both heaven and earth to do so, she
would find some way to prevent Emma's marriage to Captain William Trent.
Chapter Three
The winding drive came to an abrupt halt, and Windhaven
Manor loomed out of the early-morning mist. With the fog so thick, it was as
though one minute the house wasn't there and the next it was, in all its ramshackle
splendor.
Leaning forward, Trent peered out the window of the carriage
for the first glimpse of his inheritance. He stifled a soft groan. It was worse
than anything he could have imagined. He knew that most great houses were the
work of many generations, but he had never seen one that was such a positive
horror of Georgian and Gothic revival. Far from the additions blending
harmoniously, Windhaven simply looked as if one mad architect couldn't make up
his mind.
The bailiff he had hired had warned Trent. In all his
reports, Mr. Martin had found the house quite impossible. Of course, Trent
meant to subject the place to a thorough inspection of his own, but he doubted
he would waste much time or money on Windhaven. Very likely he would close up
the house and seek to provide his new bride with some more suitable dwelling,
perhaps closer to the port of London. Emma's sisters could continue to reside
with her there until each of the girls had been married off in turn.
As the coach lurched to a halt before the front steps
leading past the colonnade, Trent did not wait for the postilion to come to his
aid. Tucking his cockaded hat beneath his arm, he shoved open the door and
leapt down to the gravel path.
As he did so, the hilt of his dress sword tangled in his
cloak. Trent straightened it, feeling more than a little foolish. He had given
in to Doughty's cajolery and worn his uniform after all, although the Lord
alone knew why. Perhaps because, although he was loath to admit it, he was
experiencing just a hint of nervousness about meeting his bride. He was not
attempting the role of a peacock, but surely it could do no harm to present
himself in his best light, as an officer and a gentleman.
While Trent stretched his legs, a little cramped from all
those hours stuffed into the coach, Doughty climbed down from the box where he
had been riding
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