Heart's Desire

By Ingrid Fitzgerald

An Unconventional Brides Regency Romance
At the age of 15, Miss Charity Chadwick is tricked into marriage. Her new husband, unhappy with their union, banishes her to his northernmost estate and promptly forgets about her existence. There, she remains for the next ten years, alone and neglected.
Julian Lyons, Viscount Wrotham happily goes about his life, confident in his title and the position it affords him in society. A decade passes seeing him act the bachelor. That is until one fateful entry in his accounts recalls his attention to the fact there is a Lady Wrotham. What he finds means she can no longer remain forgotten.
Not knowing of her husband's unannounced return, Charity doesn't recognize him. She thinks the stranger in her hall is yet another London fop come to try and entice the discarded bride out of her boredom. However, when Lord Wrotham confronts her with charges of infidelity, she doesn't deny them. She has plans to rid herself of an unwanted husband.
When these two meet again, will they be able to forgive one another's past? Will love blossom and strengthen their union? Or will they part, unwilling to recognize their heart's desire?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ingrid Fitzgerald
• Release date: Apr 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463255995

Ingrid Fitzgerald

I love words. Sentences become paragraphs and once nurtured; they become novels. Then, I kick them out of the nest and into the world. I'm eclectic with my likes in music and books. For books, I like historical fiction and nonfiction, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, and of course, romance. As for music, just about anything rock or pop, mixed with a smidgeon of country and classical. I enjoy reading (I have more books than I do bookshelf space) and writing. I also enjoy going on short trips with my husband and kiddos, then coming back home to be the hermit I was born to be.

Book preview

Heart’s Desire

An Unconventional Brides Novel

Book One

Ingrid Fitzgerald

Copyright © 2018 by Ingrid Fitzgerald

Cover by Ingrid Fitzgerald

Title image by Maddison Robinette

Book and Cover design by Ingrid Fitzgerald

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system - except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review - without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This is an Indie work of fiction. If you find any mistakes that I may have missed, please let me know so I can fix them. Thank you!

ISBN: 9781093977196

Visit my website at: abwrites.com

Email me at: [e-mail]

For my mother who loves a good romance with a bit of mystery.

Heart’s Desire

PROLOGUE

August 22nd, 1807

The hall clock struck the quarter hour, causing Miss Charity Chadwick to start.

Quit being such a ninny, Charity quietly admonished herself. The hushed sound of her voice seemed to help calm fraying nerves. At the very least, the walls of her childhood home stopped closing in on her.

It was all in Charity’s head, of course. Chadwick Hall did not possess anything so deliciously horrifying as walls that moved of their own accord. In reality, it was a boringly ordinary English Tudor structure in the midst of an unexceptional nobleman’s estate.

However, in the dark of night, with but a single candle to light Charity’s way, it seemed different. More ominous.

Shaking her head, Charity expelled the thought. It wasn’t the house that gave her the jitters, but her mission. Were she to be caught out of bed at this hour by her father? A shudder coursed through her when she thought of the repercussions.

Suddenly, the creak of wood sounded behind Charity. Spinning on her heel to find what made the noise caused her candle’s flame to sputter. Breath held, she watched and prayed it wouldn’t go out completely and leave her in the dark with naught but a noisy old house and her active imagination.

Charity’s free hand came up to lay upon her breast in an attempt to calm her racing heart. Cautiously, she peered into the shadows beyond her candle’s meager light. Squinting, she tried to find what had caused the noise. After a few moments of tense silence, she was assured that no fiend, father or servant lurked in the dark waiting to catch her out this night. Slowly, she let out the breath she was holding. ‘Twas likely naught but the house settling which caused the noise.

You are a Chadwick. Charity’s whispered words came out weak and unsure. She repeated them more firmly, if not loudly.

Courage somewhat restored, Charity resumed her course down the dark hall. As the warm, metal loop of the candleholder bit into her forefinger, she made her grip loosen. Willing herself to calm, she took another deep breath and slowly released it as her soundless steps brought her closer to her goal.

We are made of sterner stuff than most, Charity reminded herself. It was something she’d heard her father and older brother say often enough.

What Charity was currently doing was wrong in the eyes of society, her governess and sire. It was unacceptable for a mere Miss to be out of bed this late. Especially when the house was full of young, blue-blooded bachelors. But equal parts curiosity and boredom drove her onward.

The Honourable Charles Chadwick - Charity’s older brother – brought home friends from school for a hunting party. Since she wasn’t yet out, and her home had essentially become a bachelor’s household after the death of their mother, Baron Chadwick ordered his only daughter to remain in her room. For the entire week! Not only was it unfair, but it was an unrealistic demand on her sire’s part. The servants, recognizing this, helped Charity navigate Chadwick Hall during the daylight hours. At that time, her father was locked in his study. The rest of the gentlemen were out traipsing the grounds, no doubt looking for something at which to shoot.

Charity knew she would be severely punished were she caught. But a sense of urgency drove her to be daring since the party was only two days from ending. Just this morning she’d overheard a maid whisper that among the four visiting gentlemen, one was a viscount. Never had she had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of such an exalted peer. Earlier, pacing before her door, she assured herself that after a single glimpse her curiosity would be satisfied.

It was Charity’s fervent hope that she wouldn’t be found out before beholding the dashing (for surely if he were young and titled, he must be handsome) viscount. With a hard swallow, she tried to reassure her pounding heart and the butterflies in her stomach that all would be well. Her step faltered on the third stair, but her course was set. Shoulders firming, she continued. She’d come too far to turn back now.

As Baron Chadwick, Charity’s father was the highest-ranking member of society for miles around. He’d distanced himself from society upon her mother’s demise. She had been but nine when her world was turned upside down. Her brother Charles, four years her senior, was away at school during that sad time. He left shortly after the funeral and had rarely came home, preferring instead to spend holidays with friends.

Then tragedy struck once more. Three years ago, Charity’s dear father was thrown from his horse. He’d never been the same since. If Charles noticed the alterations in Papa, he didn’t say. The baron now walked with a limp and could no longer ride, but there were other, hidden changes.

Shortly after the accident, Charity overheard their housekeeper whisper to Cook that she thought the fall had addled the baron’s wits. As her father’s moods swung more and more wildly, Charity had to agree. No longer could she find the man she’d once adored in the crippled form of the mad baron.

Papa’s unstable nature caused Charity’s governess to flee in terror. Without a reference. That was but two months past, and none had been found to replace her. The Lord Chadwick had become something of a recluse, refusing all invitations, visitors and no longer attending church. Her secluded existence became a lonely one.

It was a wonder their sire had allowed Charles this hunting party.

With that thought in mind, Charity’s resolved firmed. Her hand only slightly trembled hand as she opened the door to her father’s study. A cautious look around the jamb showed the room to be empty. Quickly stepping inside, she spun about and closed the thick, aged oak panel behind her.

Once she was safely ensconced, Charity walked over to a sideboard. It was adjacent to another entrance to the library. Carefully, she placed the candle on its smooth, polished surface.

Taking in a calming breath, Charity peered through the door which had fortuitously been left ajar. From this vantage point she had a clear view of the library and its occupants. Besides her brother, she could see two other dark-haired men. According to Maggie - the maid - Viscount Wrotham was fair. That meant he was either the melancholy gentleman with the reddish-blond hair nearer the fireplace or the smiling one on her left, near the table and mostly hidden. As his back was more toward her, she could only see a slice of his profile.

I say, said one of the dark-haired gentlemen who wasn’t her brother, Bladen out-shot us all today.

That wasn’t helpful as Bladen reacted by smiling and silently toasting the others. He too had brown hair. ‘Tis only because Edmund seemed distracted.

Charity bit back a groan as the gentleman near the fireplace, the tawny-haired one, negligently waved his hand. She had no idea what the viscount’s given name was.

We’ve yet another day to see whose overall tally is the highest, groused Charity’s brother.

The day after tomorrow would see them all depart to the viscount’s lands further south.

I’m certain you will do better on the morrow, Chadwick, another gentleman with dark hair voiced. Charity’s attention but flicked to him as she wracked her brain. Had she been told the viscount’s full name? Could it be Edmund?

Indeed, the second dark-haired gentleman named Bladen said. Even from this distance, Charity could see a puckish light in his eyes. Were Edmund feeling up to the task, then we’d have a real competition at hand.

The tawny-haired Edmund shot his friend a look. Although it was no longer morose, it wasn’t what she’d deem a pleasant glance. Still, it did not detract from his handsome features. You know what has driven me into these depths. An accusing gaze was leveled at the other blond gentleman.

Come now, the gentleman called Bladen stepped into the fray. You aren’t still upset Miss- a sour glare from his friend Edmund stopped him from naming the girl. Er, that is to say, she chose another, and you should at least respect her choice in the matter.

"And no matter how you glower at me, Edmund, it was not I whom she chose." This came from the other blond gentleman. His hair reminded Charity of fields of ripened wheat. Biting her lip, she realized she had yet to hear him named.

All gentleman, save the one with tawny locks, laughed. They must think it a merry tale and not the tragic one their friend Edmund felt it to be. Charity found herself smiling at their merriment and comradery.

It’s getting late, the golden blond gentleman intoned as the group’s mirth sobered. He must have heard the hall clock strike one as had Charity. We’ve more hunting awaiting us this morning.

Shoulders slumping, Charity watched as the small party began to break up and make their way to their beds. She’d likely not find the opportunity to see a viscount in her home again. If ever at all. There was little hope that she’d get her season, what with Papa being an irascible recluse. As far as she knew, there wasn’t some old and moldering aunt knocking about to chaperone her entry into society.

Silently, Charity closed the door and let out a heavy sigh. As she rested the back of her head on its hard surface, she decided morosely to wait fifteen minutes. By that time, the halls should be clear of all dashing, titled bachelors. Then, she could sneak back to her room and begin anew her life of secluded loneliness.

If only she’d been able to see the viscount! Charity could have at least dreamed of a better life. An ache formed in her chest as she straightened, then picked up the candle. With sightless eyes, she watched the shadows it created on the far wall. Instead of seeing the flickering darkness, she pictured both blond gentlemen. With a dreamy sigh, her imagination fixated on the romantically devastated one near the fireplace and not the one who jested at the table. Surely it was the tawny-haired one who was the viscount. He’d cut a handsomely noble, yet tragic figure. It was apparent that something weighed heavy on his mind.

Remembering their conversation, Charity’s jaw hardened when she recalled this unnamed Miss. She wished to know the full story, to ease the nobleman’s broken heart, and to call the one who’d wounded him all kinds of a fool.

No more than five minutes passed when the door leading to the hall opened cutting off Charity’s imaginings. Swallowing through a tight throat, she felt her pulse race. Surely, she’d be spotted. Standing frozen beside the side-board, an inner voice screamed at her to run into the library. After a few tics, her mind caught up to what her eyes were seeing. It wasn’t one of the unknown gentlemen, a potential viscount, but rather her father who was illuminated by the single candle’s soft light.

What are you doing in my study? his near-bellow was full of accusation.

As Charity’s shoulders tightened, her arm came protectively around her midriff. It was apparent Papa was in a mood. From his slurred speech, he was likely deep in his cups as well. It was common for him to use spirits to dull the pain his ill-set leg caused.

I-I couldn’t sleep, Papa. It wasn’t a complete falsehood. Charity had gone to bed. But laying there, staring up at the ceiling with racing thoughts, slumber wouldn’t come. She’d desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of the viscount.

The baron gave Charity a gimlet stare. Looking for a nightcap, were you? he wrongly guessed.

N-no, Papa. Charity began to skirt around the room and away from the side-board which contained her father’s medicine.

Stop, her sire commanded and came to the table. Charity watched as his thin, yet strong fingers gripped a taper, then rose unsteadily to light a candelabra nearby. We can’t have you leaving before you got what you came for.

It may have been a trick of the candlelight, but it seemed as if there were an evil glint in her father’s eye. Charity shivered and fixed her gaze on the door to freedom. Would he give chase were she to run? It was shocking to realize her once kind and gentle Papa probably would. Then there’d be hell to pay were she caught.

Sit, the Chadwick patriarch ordered once more. From experience, Charity knew it was best to do as told when he was like this. If she didn’t, he could fly into a violent rage. Then it would take hours before he calmed himself.

Placing her candle on the smooth surface of the desk, Charity noticed her hand shaking. Hiding it as best she could, she pulled out the chair opposite her father’s. Sitting quickly, she hid her trembling fist in her wrapper’s folds. If he saw, it would serve as another reason for a verbal attack. Chadwicks are made of sterner stuff, chit. Remember that, he would sneer.

As she waited for her father’s next move, Charity’s eyes tracked a drop of melted wax slowly making its way to the base of the candleholder. Behind her, she heard a glass being filled with liquid. It came as something of a relief to find him drinking at that moment. Perhaps Papa would become so inebriated that he lost consciousness. Then, she could make good her escape. If not, it was going to be a long night.

Silently anticipating Lord Chadwick’s return, Charity cursed her curious and compulsive nature which landed her in this situation.

The sounds Charity’s father made became silent. Then, How old are you now?

Charity’s breath caught at the unexpected question. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was some trick designed to entrap her. Verbal discourse had become a sort of war with her father, and she was ever wary of possible pitfalls.

Fifteen just, came Charity’s slightly delayed answer. Clasping her hands tightly in her lap, she kept her gaze fixed forward. Sometimes only catching Papa’s eye was enough to set him off on one of his tirades.

The sudden sound of glass clinking against crystal caused Charity to start. With some dismay, she turned her head and noticed her father held a full decanter in one hand and two tumblers in the other. As he came closer, she noted the limp was evident in his stride. He winced slightly at every other step. Then, placing all three on the desk, he pulled out his chair.

You’re old enough, Papa stated cryptically as he sat with a long, relieved sigh.

Old enough for what? Charity wanted to ask. Pressing her lips together, she wisely remained silent.

The once noble Baron Chadwick unstopped the decanter and filled the second glass with a dark, amber liquid. Sliding one toward Charity with a single finger, he told her, Drink it all, and no spilling or spitting. Papa seemed to find his words amusing for he let out a loud chortle immediately after speaking them.

Lowering her gaze to her glass, Charity eyed it warily. She’d never had strong spirits before. However, she’d often witnessed their effect on Papa. Being under their influence was not something she wanted to experience herself.

Glancing up into the baron’s dulled gaze, Charity reminded herself that he’d never laid a hand on her. Their first footman, Paul, was another matter. There was a time after his beating that they’d feared he wouldn’t survive. What had he done to deserve such a harsh punishment? A few months past, Paul had spilled some soup down the side of the tureen, then looked Papa in the eye to apologize. He’d left their employ after recovering. Word of her father’s madness began to spread through the county soon after.

No good could come of Charity drinking liquor. Papa, I-

The baron’s hand slammed down forcefully. The blow was so strong it nearly upset the contents in Charity’s tumbler. Drink. Up.

Breath catching, Charity swallowed drily at her father’s violent display of temper. Best to do as he says, she told herself. Careful not to spill even a drop, she took a sip. As a trail of fire coursed its way from her tongue to her stomach, she gasped and then began to cough.

All of it, Charity’s sire ordered sternly over the noise. There was nothing in Papa’s stare but cruelty. The man she had once looked up to and adored was not present this night. He was becoming harder and harder to find in this current incarnation.

Taking a deep breath, Charity gulped down the contents. Soon after, she thought she’d die for want of air. Her mouth and throat burned more fiercely as she tried to suck in a breath.

You’ll learn not to steal from me before the night is out. The baron reached for Charity’s glass and refilled it to the top once more. Why he thought she’d willingly take his scotch, she couldn’t fathom. Papa’s paranoia was a sign as to how far gone he was.

Brow furrowing, Charity realized her mind felt foggy. It became hard to think clearly; to hold a thought and see it through. She opened her mouth to plead her case. The baron was having none of it, for he was quick to order her to, Drink. I’ll not hear your excuses.

Papa’s words were slurred and difficult to comprehend. Charity saw the decanter was mostly empty. Perhaps if she acted as if she were sipping, she could outlast him.

Now! All of it! A feral gleam entered the baron’s gaze as his words dashed all his daughter’s hopes.

Unsteadily, Charity brought the tumbler to her lips with two hands. Still, some of the amber liquid sloshed onto her trembling fingers, and she quickly drank before her father could take note. It still burned, but not as much as before. The room began to tilt, she noted, as she came back up for air. Her stomach rebelled and she feared the contents would come back up, causing more fury on her father’s part. Swallowing hard, she willed herself not to cast up the precious liquor.

Charity felt disoriented. As the nausea passed, she found that a nice sort of tingling warmth spread through her body. She splayed her fingers as they prickled, and the sensation traveled up her wrist to her elbow. Even her nose felt the alcohol’s effects. Her lips tilted in a smile as she pressed it with the tip of her finger.

I won’t have a thief living beneath my roof, the baron mumbled as he refilled Charity’s glass. He eyed it and after a moment’s hesitation, pushed it toward her. A giggle escaped when she noted there was none of the amber liquid left in the decanter for Papa.

Must not suffer a thief to live. The baron frowned at the empty carafe. No, he shook his head, that’s not quite right.

At least that’s what Charity thought she heard Papa say. There was a low thrumming sound in her ears as if she could hear her blood rushing through her body. It deafened her to all but the loudest sounds.

The room’s tilt shifted suddenly. Charity blinked, trying to bring it back into focus. She felt strangely numb, not at all like herself. The spirits’ spell was one she no longer cared to feel.

Drink up and don’t spill. The words held a warning even a spirit-fuzzed mind could comprehend.

Standing unsteadily, Charity braced her palms on either side of the glass. It was quite undignified and Miss Jenkins, her former governess, would have had a fit of the vapors had she seen. A giggle escaped with that thought. But she dared not risk spilling by lifting the tumbler. Carefully, she lowered her head nearly to its rim. With one hand, she swatted at her braid when it fell forward. It almost landed in the tumbler. The jerky motion nearly overset her. Placing her palm back on the desk, she took a big, slurping sip.

The Scotch was no longer in danger of spilling, so Charity straightened. With her left hand still on the desk for balance, she picked the glass up with her right. Quickly, she gulped down the rest of the vile liquor.

Et voilà! Charity exclaimed wobbly and raised the empty glass toward her father. She’d learned French from Miss Jenkins. Victory voiced, she fell back into her chair, landing in an undignified heap. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to care, let alone straighten her posture.

Noting she still held the empty glass, Charity leaned forward and carefully placed it back on the smooth surface of the desk. An unladylike snicker came from her. She couldn’t help the continued chuckles as she thought of her triumph.

Why was she giggling like a ninny, a small voice wondered? Charity felt strange and not at all like her fifteen-year-old self.

Not enough! It’s not enough! Papa’s wail sounded as if it came from across the other side of a noisy room. Charity frowned at the loud thrumming which continued to reverberate in her ears, dampening his voice.

It was hard for Charity to keep her eyes open, let alone focus on her father. They slipped closed and she felt as if she floated in the dark. It was peaceful there.

A dream where Charity dove into a crystal-clear lake and swam to the bottom began. Holding her breath under water, she strove to reach the diamonds on its floor. Happy, colorful fish accompanied her on her journey.

Suddenly, the dream changed. Trying to resurface, she struggled not to breathe beneath the glass-like water and drown. Above, a watery, bright sun beckoned. Then a shout penetrated her panic-filled nightmare. With it, she back to consciousness, although she could not open her eyes.

What have you done? Charles’ harsh voice demanded. His scandalized question seemed distant as Charity fought to draw breath.

Suddenly, air filled her starved lungs, and Charity slumped onto a hard surface. The floor? She couldn’t say as awareness slipped away once more.

"You will do it." The baron’s harsh command snapped Charity back into consciousness, although her lids were still too weighted to lift.

"I can’t. I won’t!" Charles protested vehemently.

The sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh came to Charity’s ears. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t make her eyes open. They remained stubbornly shut. A warm sort of oblivion took hold again and she willingly drifted toward its promise of comfort and peace.

The next thing Charity became aware of was that she was floating. Suddenly the cloud-like feeling of a mattress encompassed her. She was somewhat aware that she’d been carried up to bed.

Shhh, Cherry. Sleep, Charles’s voice whispered.

Charity smiled at his use of her pet name. At least she felt as if she did. Charles was older and wiser, so she took his advice.

Mmm… was her reply to her brother’s sage counsel. Charity snuggled deeper into the bedding. A dreamless sleep claimed her until she was rudely jostled awake sometime later.

"I said, get up!" a vaguely familiar and decidedly male voice demanded. The words were punctuated by a not-so-gentle push to her shoulder.

Who are you? that voice asked as Charity tried to peel her eyelids open. A pause and then, Never mind, just leave.

You leave. Charity’s mouth felt stuffed with cotton, making her voice rough and uneven. A massive headache was beginning to pound in time with her heartbeat. This is my room.

All at once the fact that there was a vaguely familiar, yet quite masculine voice in Charity’s bedchamber came to the fore. Finally, her eyes popped open, and even in the dim light of early morning, she could see that this was not her room.

Shoving an elbow into the mattress, Charity levered herself into a half-lounge. The sudden move did not help her current condition of alcohol-induced misery. As dual enemies of nausea and pain hit, she began sucking in quick, shallow breaths.

Hey, calm down. Out of the corner of her eye, Charity saw the man hold his palms out to her in a placating manner. He stood robed beside the bed. This was likely someone’s idea of a prank.

Turning her head, Charity finally saw who was speaking. It was the blond gentleman from last night. Not the one she thought of as the viscount, but the other one. His golden locks were tousled, and she saw now that he too was handsome. Breathtakingly so. Why hadn’t she noticed last night?

The sight of him, stunning as he was, did nothing to quell Charity’s rising panic.

We’ll just get you out of here before you’re discovered. No one need know, he pleaded.

Eyes lowering, Charity felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. The questions racing through her mind wouldn’t form on her lips. How had she ended up in his room? Did she come here after Charles put her to bed? Short and shallow gasps were all she could seem to manage. She was beginning to feel light-headed.

Charity’s gaze found a few droplets of red in the middle of the bottom bedsheet. Horrified, she then became aware that beneath the one she was clutching to her chest, she wore naught but her nightgown. Her wrapper was gone. The laces in front were untied. The gown was opened wide in the front and below, the material was twisted about her waist.

Charity’s mind registered all these clues, and she was finally able to suck in a deep breath. It came out in a long and loud scream.

What had happened to her last night?

Salvation came in the form of her maid, Maggie. She took one look at Charity, then what she was pointing and shrieking at in the bed. The maid promptly left, ignoring the blond gentleman’s protestations of innocence.

Stop that bloody racket! he very nearly shouted.

Charity noted he stood as far from the bed - and her - as was possible. A hand went through those tousled locks. He muttered under his breath, refusing to look at her.

In response, Charity pointed at the damning droplet and screeched wordlessly at him. If he were indeed a gentleman, he should in the very least acknowledge her, what he’d done to her.

Even as Charity’s throat grew raw, her mind yelled at her to discontinue the self-abuse. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop her screams.

The baron limped into the room just then. Close behind him, Charles followed. Maggie, several steps back and wringing her hands, took up the rear.

Papa’s uneven gait brought him to the bed. Looking down at Charity with that evil gleam in his eye, he slapped her none-too-gently across the cheek. It managed to silence her but that was the best that could be said about the blow. Her teeth cut the inside of her cheek, and she tasted copper.

Get her ready, Lord Chadwick, unconcerned with his daughter now that she was silent told the maid. Those cold, green eyes had a good look at the blood-stained sheet then shifted to Charity. It’s her wedding day, he announced with glee.

Now see here, the blond gentleman faced her brother and father, his fists clenched at his side. This was likely a prank. Edmund will answer to this. I did not touch her!

The men ignored Charity as she slipped into her wrapper with Maggie’s help. Her eyes were downcast as she and her maid left the room. She didn’t know how she would be able to face anyone ever again. From what had been said in the gentleman’s bedchamber, it was clear she’d been ruined.

The blond man’s protestations of innocence followed Charity through the halls. They were only silenced when she was tucked safely behind the door to her room.

Maggie muttered under her breath as to how she better not be blamed for this mess. The maid was likely afraid she’d share the same fate as Paul the footman. Papa’s temper was unpredictable at best.

Calling for a bath, Maggie then helped Charity to undress. A cool cloth was presented for her cheek. Numbly pressing it there, she allowed the maid to help her into a robe.

What’s caused this, I wonder? Maggie tsked. Leading Charity to the mirror, she stared into it blankly. Where once there was unblemished skin, she now found a rash ringing her neck.

Shaking her head, Charity looked away. It might be from Papa’s liquor. Likely, imbibing had caused an allergic reaction.

A knock sounded on the door, and Maggie opened it for the footmen. A hipbath and water were hauled into Charity’s room. After helping her mistress to wash, Maggie quietly went to the wardrobe. It was in a sorry state. Most of the clothes were too small and out-of-fashion.

During a far too short soak, Charity took stock of her injuries. Her cheek throbbed, her head hurt like the dickens, and her stomach felt uneasy. The last two were likely from the drink her father forced on her. Her throat was raw and sore, but she’d caused that herself.

Before she could relax, the fight over who would take responsibility for Charity rang fresh in her ears. Eyes popping open, she sat up in the hip bath. Heat stained her cheeks. Never had she been so mortified. No one, not her father or the man who’d compromised her, wanted her. Tears welled with the thought, and she fought not to let them fall.

Sniffling, Charity tracked Maggie’s movements. She wondered how Charles could have mistaken that gentleman’s room for her own. True, he’d been gone for years. But he should have been able to recognize the family’s wing from

Reviews for Heart's Desire

[maria2000sk · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

This book is waste of time. It started well, and looked promising, but after the first third, it was deteriorating. Not worth of time reading it. o