Tangled Love

By Rosemary Morris

Tangled Love is the story of two great estates. The throne has been usurped by James II’s daughter and son-in-law, Mary and William of Orange. In 1693, loyal to
his oath of allegiance, ten-year old Richelda’s father must follow James to France.

Before her father leaves, he gives her a ruby ring she will treasure and wear on a chain round her neck. In return, Richelda swears an oath to try to regain their ancestral home, Field House.

By the age of eighteen, Richelda’s beloved parents are dead. She believes her privileged life is over. At home in dilapidated Belmont House, her only companions are her mother’s old nurse and her devoted dog, Puck. Clad in old clothes, she dreams of elegant dresses, and trusts her childhood friend Dudley, a poor parson’s son, who promised to marry her, but he is not as he seems.

Richelda’s wealthy aunt takes her to London and arranges her marriage to Viscount Chesney, the new owner of Field House. Richelda is torn between love for Dudley and her oath to regain Field House, where it is rumoured there is treasure. If she finds it, Richelda hopes to ease their lives. However, while searching for it, will her life be in danger?

Reviews:
Kate Gardener
In this tale of duty, honour and betrayal, Rosemary Morris evokes the sights, the sounds, the smells of 17th century London. The gorgeous clothes, the food and drink, and the manners of the day are perfectly researched and help bring the story to vibrant life. Richelda is a spirited and likeable heroine who, bound by an oath she made as a child, must make her way through a tangle of dramatic events to find the happiness she deserves. A worthy successor to the legendary Georgette Heyer

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jul 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773624457

Rosemary Morris

Rosemary Morris was born in Sidcup Kent. As a child, her head was ‘always in a book.’ While working in a travel agency, Rosemary met her Hindu husband. He encouraged her to continue her education at Westminster College. In 1961 Rosemary and her husband, now a barrister, moved to his birthplace, Kenya, where she lived from 1961 until 1982. After an attempted coup d’état, she and four of her five children lived in an ashram in France.Back in England, Rosemary wrote historical fiction and joined the Romantic Novelists’ Association, Historical Novel Society, Watford Writers and many online groups. To research, Rosemary reads non-fiction, visits museums and other places of historical interest. Her bookshelves are so crammed with historical non-fiction, that if she buys a new book she has to consider getting rid of one. Apart from writing, Rosemary enjoys time with her family, classical Indian literature, reading, vegetarian cooking, growing organic fruit, herbs and vegetables and creative crafts.

Book preview

Tangled Love

By Rosemary Morris

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-1-77362-445-7

Kindle 978-1-77299-216-8

WEB 978-1-77362-446-4

Print ISBN 978-1-77299-215-1

Copyright 2014 Rosemary Morris

Cover Art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Dedication

For my late husband and mother who encouraged me to write.

Prologue – 1693

Nine year-old Richelda Shaw sat on the floor in her nursery. She pulled a quilt over her head to block out the thunder pealing outside the ancient manor house, while an even fiercer storm raged deep within. Eyes closed, she remained as motionless as a marble statue.

Elsie, her mother’s personal maid, removed the quilt from her head. Stand up child, there’s nothing to be frightened of. Come, your father’s waiting for you.

Richelda trembled. Until now Father’s short visits from France meant gifts and laughter. This one made Mother cry while servants spoke in hushed tones.

Followed by Elsie, Richelda hurried down the broad oak stairs. For a moment, she paused to admire Lilies of the Valley in a Delft bowl. Only yesterday, she had picked the flowers to welcome Father home, and then arranged them with tender care. Now, the bowl stood on a chest, beneath a pair of crossed broadswords hanging on the wall.

Elsie opened the massive door of the great hall where Father waited at one side of an enormous hearth. Richelda hesitated. Her eyes searched for her mother before she walked across the floor, spread her skirts wide, and knelt before him.

Father placed his right hand on her bent head. Bless you, daughter; may God keep you safe.

He smiled. Stand up, child. Upon my word, sweetheart, your hair reminds me of a golden rose. How glad I am to see roses bloom in these troubled times.

Richelda stood but dared not speak, for she did not know him well.

Putting an arm round her waist, he drew her to him. Come, do not be nervous of your father, child. Tell me if you know King James II holds court in France while his daughter, Mary, and William, his son-in-law, rule, after seizing his throne?

Yes, Mother told me we are well rid of King James and his Papist wife, she piped up, proud of her knowledge.

With a sigh, Father lifted her onto his knee. Richelda, I must follow His Majesty, for I swore an oath of allegiance to him. Tell me, child, while King James lives, how can I with honour swear allegiance to his disloyal daughter and her husband?

Unable to think of a reply, she lowered her head, breathing in his spicy perfume.

Father held her closer. Your mother pleads with me to declare myself for William and Mary. She begs me not to return to France, but I am obliged to serve King James. Do you understand?

As she nodded, her cheek brushed against his velvet coat. Yes, I understand, my tutor told me why many gentlemen will not serve the new king and queen.

If you remain in England, you will be safe. Bellemont is part of your mother’s dowry, so I doubt it will be confiscated.

If she remained in England! Startled, she stared at him.

Smiling, he popped her onto her feet. We shall ride. I have something to show you.

* * *

Before long, they drew rein on the brow of a hill. Father pointed at a manor house in the valley.

Look at our ancestral home, Field House. The Roundheads confiscated it soon after the first King Charles’ execution. Richelda, I promised my father to do all in my power to regain the property.

Grey-faced, he pressed his hand to his chest. Alas, I have failed to keep my oath, He wheezed.

Richelda not only yearned to help him keep his promise to her grandfather, she also wanted to find the gold and jewels which legend said her buccaneer ancestor, Sir Nicholas, had hid.

She waited for her father to breathe easy before she spoke. If we found the treasure trove you could buy Field House.

Ah, you believe Sir Nicholas did not give all his plunder to Good Queen Bess, he teased.

Elsie told me legend says he hid some of his booty in Field House. The thought of it excited her. In his old age, when Sir Nicholas retired from seafaring, is it true that he put his ship’s figurehead, Lady Luck, in the great hall?

Yes, for all I know she is still above a mighty fireplace carved with pomegranates, our family’s device.

I would like to see it.

One day, perhaps you will. Now, tell me if you know our family motto.

Fortune favours the brave.

Are you brave, my little lady? Will you swear on the Bible to do all in your power to regain Field House?

To please him, and excited by the possibility of discovering treasure, she nodded.

Chapter One

Fothering Place, London, England ~ 1702

At ease in his lodgings, Alban, Viscount Chesney, eyed his friend, Jack, Duke of Hertfordshire, whose tall frame was clad in extravagant silk and velvet. Gem-set rings, illuminated by brilliant candlelight, adorned his long fingers.

Why did His Grace’s dark square face, with its cleft chin, look tense while he toyed with his periwig?

His dark amber eyes keen, Jack spoke. My bailiff tells me you bought Field House.

Chesney knew all about Jack’s insatiable hunger for land. In fact, Jack rarely missed a chance to add to his estates. Yes, I did. He kept his tone smooth.

Jack swallowed the last of his wine. I would have bought it but for my fool of a bailiff who informed me too late of the sale.

The viscount beckoned to Roberts, his servant. More wine for His Grace. He placed a hand over his glass when Roberts moved toward him

Chesney glanced round his small but comfortable book-lined room. Although Jack was the most influential man and largest landowner in Hertfordshire, it had naught to do with their friendship.

Jack stretched his legs out toward the fire. Will you sell Field House to me? After all, both house and land have fallen into a sad state of neglect.

No, I look forward to restoring my estate. Do not argue with me; my mind is made up.

Jack’s cheeks reddened. Very well, but now you are my neighbour, you must visit me whenever you wish. He yawned. The hour grows late. I will take my leave of you.

Chesney stood. He bowed with mock formality. I shall call on you with pleasure.

They smiled at each other as Jack stood.

Chesney looked at Roberts. Fetch our cloaks.

With an arm draped over Jack’s broad shoulders, Chesney stepped out of his lodgings. He glanced at the darkened street, bade goodnight to Jack, and then hired a sedan chair to take him to his mistress’ lodgings.

Once there, Chesney skirted a pile of noxious matter, spilled from a leather bucket, put out for night-soil men to collect, before beating a tattoo on the door of her tall, narrow house.

A pert maid, dressed in Madeleine’s cast-off finery, answered his summons.

Good day, Susie.

She curtsied. Welcome, my lord. Dimples deepened on either side of her mouth. Madam told me she hoped for a visit from you, my lord.

You look well, Susie. I trust your brother is still in good health.

Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord. It’s more than kind of you to ask.

Chesney took off his hat. He tucked it under his arm, careless of a dashing white plume curled round the black brim. No need to announce me.

Susie did not protest when he marched up a short flight of stairs to Madeleine’s bedchamber.

He lingered on the threshold, remembering when he first met sensuous Madeleine on the day her late husband, old Mister Purvey, came with a delegation to the French court. Chesney sighed. He knew she had hoped to marry him after Mister Purvey died in defence of her tarnished honour in a duel in Leicester Fields, but he suspected he was not her only lover, so it would be out of the question to marry her for fear she would cuckold him, and pass a bastard son off as his heir. Chesney rapped on the door, sure of his welcome. Without waiting for permission, he entered the small room, took a taper from the mantelpiece, and touched the lighted wick to the fire. He used the same flickering flame to light tall wax candles in wall sconces. Immediately thick rugs, tapestries, and brocade curtains were illuminated.

Madeleine remained abed. My lord. She brushed back her wavy brown hair before she extended her carefully tended hand to him.

Madam, by your leave. Instead of kissing her hand, he sat on a chair by the hearth. Maddy had aged since he first met her. Yet, with skin like polished ivory which invited his touch, lips and cheeks the colour of apple blossoms, and almond-shaped hazel eyes, he still appreciated her attractive features. As for her long, elegant limbs and full breasts, he found no fault with them.

She giggled while smoothing the lace-edged ruffles at the neck of her nightgown. Such formality, sir?

Madeleine. He addressed her by her full name instead of by her sobriquet, Maddy.

Her eyes widened. How serious you look. Has something untoward occurred?

Poor Maddy, not only did she demand too much of his time, she also expected him to pay for too many luxuries. Though he feared her hysterics, he refused to be swayed. Coming to the point, despite his reluctance to cause her pain—for throughout his life, it had never been his intention to hurt anyone either deliberately or accidentally—he spoke. I am sorry to grieve you, my dear, but to quote Shakespeare, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow.’

Thrusting the covers aside, Maddy sprang out of bed. With her tiny hands outstretched, she rushed toward him. What do you mean, Chesney? Why quote words from Romeo and Juliet?

He held out his hands to ward her off. We must part.

No! I love you. I cannot live without you. She sank to the floor.

I doubt you love me. He smoothed his face into an inscrutable mask.

Maddy’s eyes filled with tears. Chesney, since my husband died I have been waiting for you to propose marriage.

If she had never taken any other lover, he would have more sympathy with her, but Maddy had been unfaithful to her elderly husband since she first married. His nostrils flared. He doubted Maddy’s nature allowed her to remain faithful to any man.

She jumped up and rushed across the room to fling herself face down on her bed. I am not yet done with you for I do love you. I do! I do! She sobbed, pounding a plump pillow with clenched fists.

He hesitated. Had he misjudged her feelings for him, by believing them to be shallow? Even if he had, he could not marry such a woman.

Have I not made you happy? Maddy twisted round to face him, hostility in her eyes.

Chesney sought a way to help her accept his decision. We enjoyed our bed sport, yet you never quickened with child. As you know, duty requires me to father an heir. No more tears. You told me a score of times you cannot abide puking babes. What’s more, you always claimed thoughts of motherhood dismay you. If you are honest, you will admit you could not tolerate your body thickening so I could never be brute enough to insist on fathering your child.

Maddy stared at him, wide-eyed. You are mistaken, I would be happy to bear your children.

He bowed. Her words were as false as her modesty. My dear, I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of reluctant motherhood.

Then you are a true nobleman to part with me, your love, out of consideration as well as duty.

His lips twitched. A cough concealed his amusement. He knew Maddy thrived on playacting. In all likelihood, she would convince herself she had set him free. He did not doubt that before long she would either wed an unfortunate cuckold or console herself with other lovers. He picked up his hat

Cat-like, her eyes narrowed. Chesney, give me a kiss to remember you by.

Chesney kissed her cheek before he left the house. Should he leave town to prevent Maddy pestering him?

* * *

The following day, Chesney rapped his cane on the front door of Isobel Ware’s London mansion. Sister of his late father’s friend, he did not know her well. He wondered why she had summoned him.

Lord Chesney? Bennet, Lady Isobel’s middle-aged butler, looked at him respectfully.

Chesney inclined his head.

This way, my lord. You are expected. Bennet led him up the stairs to a beautifully appointed parlour on the first floor where he announced him to Lady Isobel.

Chesney raised his voice above the barks of six King Charles Cavalier spaniels. Your servant, Lady Isobel.

Lady Isobel waved a hand at her little dogs. Be quiet. Her ladyship inclined her head to him.

My lord, I am pleased to see you.

Full glass in his hand, Chesney sat.

My lord, I shall come straight to the point. I summoned you to propose marriage to my niece, Richelda Shaw. In all honesty, I assure you it would be to your advantage.

While she waited for his reply, the petite lady patted her silvery hair with one hand. With her other hand she fluttered her fan which she peeped over girlishly.

You flatter me, Madam, he drawled.

Lady Isobel’s dainty shrug released her cloying perfume of lavender mingled with roses and vanilla. She snapped her fan shut and then tapped his arm with it. You are mistaken. I do not flatter you. I offer you and my niece a solution. My late brother, the earl, and your father followed King James to France. You are gossiped about. People eye you as distrustfully as I think my niece will be eyed when I bring her to London.

Are you not gossiped about, Lady Isobel? After all, your brother’s conversion to the Church of Rome must place you and your family under government scrutiny. For my part, I thank God my father remained true to The Anglican Church.

Lady Isobel shuddered. Do not mention the matter, my lord. I vow I had no sympathy with my brother when he became a Papist. All I can do is thank God he was not tried as a traitor and his head is not displayed at the Tower of London.

Chesney shifted his position, smothering a yawn behind his hand before he made a cautious reply. I am neither a Jacobite nor a Papist. I apologise for mentioning the matter of your brother’s conversion.

Some more wine, Viscount?

He shook his head, leaning back to deliberately present a picture of a man completely at his ease.

Lady Isobel arched her eyebrows. She sipped her wine. All London knows I am a wealthy woman. She blinked the sheen of tears from her eyes. My lord, ‘tis cruel not only to suffer widowhood thrice but to also lose my only child.

Acknowledging her grief, he bowed his head. My condolences, Madam.

Thank you. She dabbed her eyes with a black handkerchief. My poor daughter’s death is my niece’s gain. If Richelda is obedient, she will inherit all my property.

Her ladyship rested her head against the back of her chair. She opened her fan and plied it restlessly while she scrutinised him.

What do you think of my proposal, my lord?

Chesney sat straighter. She had not minced her words. He smiled with his usual forthrightness. As yet I have neither put myself on the matrimonial market nor made my fortune and title available to any lady who wishes to marry me.

I hear you purchased Field House. She tapped her fan on the arm of her chair.

Yes, I did, he replied in a neutral tone.

Well, sir, I shall speak bluntly. My niece’s lands are adjacent to yours. Through marriage, you would double your estate by acquiring my niece’s mansion, Bellemont House and all the land around it. As for my niece, she would become mistress of Field House, my childhood home.

He inclined his head, curious now as to what the old lady’s motive was. Ah, did she want him to marry her niece because she had a sentimental attachment to his estate?

Undeterred by his silence, Lady Isobel continued. I know your circumstances. Though you have no close relative, you are saddled with a clutch of distant relations who anticipate your help to advance in the world.

Devil take it, she was correct. His family looked to him for patronage. They expected him to marry well and produce an heir. Confound it, not one of them had regained their positions, lands, or fortunes after the first King Charles’s execution. His grandfather’s fortunate marriage to a French heiress had saved him from poverty.

Her ladyship’s Roman nose twitched. Her thin lips curved in a predatory smile. You will consider the match?

Reluctant to say anything she might interpret as his agreement to marry Lady Richelda, he nodded. I will do no more than consider it.

Good, I shall not press you further. She hesitated with her fan mid-air, only to flutter it agitatedly. I would prefer you not to tell anyone my niece is my heiress. When she comes to town, I do not want a flock of fortune hunters to approach her.

On my honour, I will not mention it to anyone. By the way, when will Lady Richelda arrive?

This week.

He stood. Each of the small dogs wagged their tails, stirred, and yapped for attention round his ankles. Deep in thought, he ignored them. Although no thought of imminent marriage had entered his head when he arrived, he might change his mind after meeting her ladyship’s niece. It was time he married, and if she proved pleasant enough, maybe—

Lady Isobel clapped her hands. My poppets like you, and believe me, my lord, they are good judges of character.

Chesney restrained an incipient chuckle at his sudden notion of her ladyship’s dogs tricked out in wigs and gowns to judge him. I am complimented by their approval, my lady. He bowed and kissed her bejeweled hand. As for your niece, only providence knows if she and I are suited.

With a rustle of black silk, Lady Isobel rose. I believe you and Lady Richelda are well matched.

Chapter Two

Chesney stepped from Lady Isobel’s spacious house into King Street and walked toward Whitehall. Although the proposal to marry Lady Richelda had taken him by surprise, he gave further thought to accepting it. Yet he would not wait for Lady Richelda to come to town where she would doubtless parade in the latest fashions, powder and patch. Where did she live? He searched his memory. Ah, now he remembered. She lived at Bellemont which Lady Isobel had mentioned lay close by his newly purchased property. Why not hazard a journey there to cast an eye over both domains?

His stride quickened to