The Glass Heart

By Suzanne G. Rogers

After Merrill's widowed mother becomes engaged to an earl, the fate of their respective estates hangs in the balance. A battle of wits ensues when the earl's arrogant son shows up to make demands. Despite their prickly start, once Merrill discovers she and the viscount have both been painfully crossed in love, she begins to feel a measure of empathy. Unfortunately for their burgeoning relationship, a tempestuous drama threatens to tear them apart forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Idunn Court Publishing
• Release date: Jan 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9781947463820

Suzanne G. Rogers

Originally from Southern California, Suzanne G. Rogers currently resides in beautiful Savannah, Georgia on an island populated by exotic birds, deer, turtles, otters, and gators. Tab is her beverage of choice but a cranberry vodka martini doesn’t go amiss.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Merry Widow

Spring 1890 • Maidstone, England

The morning post arrived as Merrill and Bethany Cawthorne were eating breakfast in the conservatory. Bethany nibbled bacon as she read a book while Merrill gazed through the windows at the serene garden nearby. Morning was her favorite time of day, with its dewy edges, birdsong, and flitting butterflies. Nothing could compete with the tranquility of Ravenell.

The butler came to deposit his silver salver on the tablecloth before disappearing again with discreet aplomb. Merrill peered at the single letter, which was addressed in a familiar hand. It’s from Mama. She gave her sister a pained glance. She’s probably writing to summon us to London.

"She doesn’t take no for an answer."

Merrill opened the letter and skimmed the contents. Mama is engaged!

Bethany glanced up, wide-eyed. Surely not.

According to this, she’s to marry Lord Seacombe. Merrill extended the stationery toward Bethany. I’ve never heard of Lord Seacombe.

Neither have I. Her sister’s blue eyes were wide as she put her book down and took the letter. "Is he in Burke’s Peerage?"

I doubt very much that Mama would have anything to do with the man if he were not.

She says he’s an earl. Bethany tossed the letter to one side. Mama never does anything by half.

This is all very vexing. Why can’t Mama be content to be a widow?

Bethany picked up another rasher of bacon. She must always be at the center of everything, that’s why. She folded the bacon into her mouth.

I can’t imagine such a thing. I’m so singular these days, I sometimes wonder if I’m related to her at all. Merrill shrugged. Perhaps I’m a changeling.

That’s impossible. You have her dramatic coloring and striking features, whereas I take after Papa.

At least he was a handsome gentleman.

Yes. Bethany reached for the last rasher of bacon. Do you mind?

No, you may have it. I’ve eaten enough. Merrill sighed as she watched a hummingbird hover in the air and then dart from view. "I hope the happy couple decides to spend most of their time in London. I don’t want a stranger living at Ravenell, even if he is a peer."

Mama dislikes the country with a passion, so I doubt if we shall see her and Lord Seafoam frequently, if ever. Bethany refilled her teacup.

"Seacombe, dear. He is an earl, after all, and there’s no need to be rude."

If you say so. Where are they to be married, I wonder?

I don’t know, but Mama will undoubtedly bring him here to meet us beforehand. Merrill frowned. I expect we shall have to throw them a dinner party or some such thing.

I can’t imagine Mama is in love, do you? She would have written about the fellow before now.

Perhaps it was love at first sight. Mama is quite mercurial about these things.

Bethany pouted. I hope they don’t come to Ravenell before the Church Fête. The Fête isn’t grand enough for an earl and I want to go.

You and I shall go, either way. We must enter the archery contest.

I shan’t bother to enter because you always win.

Merrill waved a dismissive hand through the air. If you practiced more, you might best me.

I doubt it very much. Bethany picked up her novel. I prefer reading to sports.

As Merrill peered at her sister’s book, she felt a pang of guilt. Her sister was consuming silly gothic novels as if they were biscuits these days, and she’d never been an especially avid reader before. This would have been Bethany’s second Season, but she’d decided to remain at Ravenell with Merrill. Perhaps she ought not follow her elder sister’s lead.

I think you should go to London.

No. Bethany glanced at her over the top of her book. I refuse to go without you.

Merrill shook her head. Nonsense. You’re nearly nineteen years old and you need more excitement than can be had in the country.

Her sister shook her head. I’m quite content here at Ravenell. Besides which, I’m looking forward to the Fête.

The Fête pales in comparison to parties, soirees, and balls. The more Merrill studied Bethany, the more she became convinced sending her off to London was the thing to do. I’ll write Mama and tell her to expect you on Easter Monday.

Why don’t you come with me? Bethany’s expression grew animated. I’d enjoy myself ever so much more if you were there.

Merrill swallowed hard. I-I’ve no interest in society. Not any longer, at any rate.

But my clothes…I haven’t anything new to wear. Everyone will remember the gowns I wore from last Season.

We have time to shop for you in Maidstone. Furthermore, Mama will be happy to buy you whatever you want in London.

A slow smile curved Bethany’s lips. You really wouldn’t mind staying here by yourself?

If I get lonely, I can always visit Grandmama. Besides which, you and I can write each other every day, like we did last Season. It was great fun.

That’s true. Bethany wriggled with excitement. I confess, it might be wonderful to circulate in society now that Mama is engaged to an earl. Such an elevated connection cannot be ignored.

Exactly. Merrill paused. I have several gowns from my first Season that could be tailored to fit you. They are only a few years old and were never worn.

That’s right, you cut your Season short, didn’t you? Bethany grimaced. I never understood why.

Merrill averted her eyes. I found I wasn’t enjoying myself. She stood. Come with me and we’ll find those unworn gowns. You might as well try them on.

Bethany popped up from her chair like a jack-in-the-box. I can’t wait!

Easter Monday

Merrill watched from the Maidstone railway station platform as Bethany and her lady’s maid stepped into a private compartment and took their seats. Her sister waved madly through the window and Merrill blew her a kiss in return. A few minutes later, the whistle blew, the steam engine began to move forward, and Bethany was on her way to London.

Merrill returned to her carriage with a frozen smile and instructed the driver to take her home. Once she was alone, however, the tears began to flow. She sobbed until the carriage turned into the driveway to Ravenell, when she blotted her face with a handkerchief and tugged the lace veil of her hat down across her face to hide any blotches. As soon as she entered the house, she went to her room, collapsed on the bed, and cried until she couldn’t cry any longer.

Once the emotional upheaval had passed, she washed her face, changed into a gown with narrow sleeves, and went outside to practice archery. The Fête was less than a week off and she intended to win her competition. A victory was meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but it would buoy her spirits for a short while.

When Merrill finally loosed her last arrow, it sank into the red center with a satisfying thwack. She was puzzled to discover the muscles in her arms and back were shaking, until she remembered she’d been practicing for over three hours. She stretched out her arms as she strode toward the target to retrieve her arrows. Practice makes perfect, as they say.

On her return, she noticed the portly butler approaching with an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

She cocked her head. What is it, Northam?

He presented a silver salver containing a card. Lord Wharton has arrived.

I’ve never heard of the man. Merrill peered at the engraved card made of heavy parchment, upon which was written, The Right Honorable, The Viscount Wharton. What a bother. She dropped her arrows into the quiver stand and stripped off her leather arm guard. I suppose I ought to receive him.

Perhaps I should have said he intends to stay. Northam wore a pained expression. He brought a considerable amount of luggage as well as his valet.

What? Merrill was taken aback. That’s absurd!

Northam nodded. I insisted nothing be unloaded from the carriage until I spoke to you.

You did quite right. Ravenell is not a hotel, for mercy’s sake.

Merrill lifted her chin as she strode toward the house. As she approached the drawing room, she was dismayed to hear the sound of piano music — a song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Gondoliers

Cheeky devil, she muttered.

Despite her irritation, Merrill plastered a serene smile to her lips as she sailed into the room. A young man was sitting at the baby grand piano and she was obliged to raise her voice to be heard. Excuse me?

Lord Wharton broke off playing and rose to his feet. You must be Miss Cawthorne? Good afternoon. He picked up a snifter of amber liquid from the piano lid and lifted it up as if in a toast. Thank you for making me feel welcome here at Ravenell.

Despite his words, the man’s eyes glittered with obvious and inexplicable dislike.

"If I have made you feel welcome, it was entirely inadvertent. Merrill returned his glare with one of her own. You’ve not been invited, so what is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"Forgive me but I have been invited — by your mother, With his left hand, Lord Wharton extricated a letter from his jacket pocket. This letter of introduction is addressed to you."

As Merrill crossed the room to pluck the letter from his fingers, he swirled the amber liquid with appreciation. I usually don’t drink before dinner, but this brandy is lovely.

She bristled. It’s Armagnac from Gascony, and it’s a very rare vintage.

Mmm. He took a long swallow. "C’est magnifique."

Merrill discovered the letter was in her mother’s hand and did indeed appear to be a letter of introduction. She read the entire missive through twice before glancing at her unwanted guest.

You are Lord Seacombe’s son, then. Merrill gritted her teeth. I am to show you every courtesy.

Lord Wharton bowed. I am delighted to meet you, Miss Cawthorne — or should I call you sister?

We are not related yet, so Miss Cawthorne will do. She peered at him. Why have you come?

He put the snifter down so hard she thought he might have broken the stem. In contemplation of marriage to your mother, my father may sell his estate out from under me.

That’s unfortunate, sir, but what does that have to do with me?

He fixed her with his gaze. In contemplation of marriage to my father, your mother may sell Ravenell instead.

Merrill gasped. What? No!

It will be one or the other. Neither my father nor your mother have decided yet.

That’s not possible.

It is not only possible, but from what I overheard, they have indicated the sale of one estate is a certainty. Lord Wharton’s eyes narrowed. If we do not find a way to stop this travesty of a union, one of us will be deprived of our home.

I’m not sure what you expect me to do.

Tell your mother to break her engagement.

You’re mad! I would never presume to tell my mother what to do. Merrill frowned. If you are so determined, why don’t you make your demands to your father?

My father keeps his own counsel.

So does my mother!

In that case, we are at an impasse — for now. In the meantime, I intend to acquaint myself with Ravenell. For all I know, I will be living here before long.

What a ghastly notion.

I couldn’t agree more. Lord Wharton raised an eyebrow. Now, will you instruct your butler as to my luggage and valet?

The letter in Merrill’s hand left her with little choice but to ring for Northam. When he appeared, she gestured toward the viscount.

Lord Wharton is here at the invitation of Mrs. Cawthorne. Please ready a guest room, make arrangements for his valet, and inform Mrs. Beale that we are two for dinner tonight. No, make that three. And have the carriage brought around.

Northam nodded. Yes, Miss Cawthorne. He left the room.

The viscount’s expression was faintly mocking. I look forward to spending more time with you, Miss Cawthorne. Perhaps we can formulate a strategy to solve both our problems.

Merrill bit back a sound of disgust as she turned. How could her mother put her in such an untenable position, especially knowing she would be alone at Ravenell? There was nothing else for it but to fetch a chaperone, forthwith.

Merrill stood in the parlor of their grandmother’s cottage as she waited for the housekeeper to announce her arrival. When Mrs. Dalton returned, the middle-aged woman wore a harassed expression. Lady Pickering will receive you in her studio.

Merrill peered at her. What’s wrong, Mrs. Dalton?

The housekeeper shook her head and muttered, It’s not for me to say.

Merrill was bemused as she made her way to the sunny room her grandmother used as an art studio. The older woman was reclining on a fainting couch, clad in a silk wrapper, with her abundant sable hair free of pins or any kind of restraint. Although a few silver strands streaked her mane, her grandmother was still a very handsome woman.

Good afternoon, dear! Lady Pickering tightened the sash on her wrapper as she stood. Where is your sister?

In London for the Season, with Mama.

Why are you not with her?

Merrill cast about for an excuse. You know how much I dislike that sort of thing.

No, I do not. Lady Pickering looked at her askance. More importantly, I don’t understand how you expect to get married if you are tucked away in Maidstone.

That’s not important right now. I came to ask you a favor, but it seems you are unwell.

Her grandmother blinked. I’m perfectly well, thank you. Why would you imagine otherwise?

Merrill gestured toward the wrapper. The state of your dishabille.

Lady Pickering laughed as she waved a dismissive hand. I was just drawing a self-portrait. She stepped to one side, where a large mirror had been positioned in front of the couch. An easel nearby held a large sketch pad and the nude image thereon made Merrill gasp.

Grandmama! She turned her back. Would you mind awfully covering your drawing?

Lady Pickering scoffed. How very provincial! How could my very own granddaughter be so narrow-minded about the human body? Merrill heard her snap the sketchbook closed. There, your morals are safe.

Merrill turned to face the older woman once more. "It’s not so much the portrait as it is the subject, Grandmama. No one wants to see their relatives in so much…er…detail."

Lady Pickering tossed her head. Neither of my husbands ever objected. She waved Merrill into a chair. Now then, tell me what I can do for you.

It’s Mama. Merrill sighed. She is engaged to an earl.

Is she? The woman’s eyebrows rose. "Hmph! I wonder when Lila was going to tell me."

I think the engagement is quite recent. No doubt Mama will write to you soon.

Engaged to an earl? Her grandmother brightened. What good news.

"For her, perhaps."

Merrill told Lady Pickering about the arrival of Lord Wharton and his assertion about their respective estates.

Oh, dear. The woman shook her head. Well, if Ravenell is sold, you girls are welcome to live here with me.

Merrill held back a shudder. Thank you. Until then, however, you must come stay at Ravenell. If you do not, there will be a scandal.

A slow smile curved her grandmother’s lips. Is the young gentlemen that good-looking?

Merrill gaped at her. I don’t know! What does that have to do with anything?

Don’t be naive. Lady Pickering rolled her eyes. Tongues will wag harder if Lord Wharton is handsome.

I haven’t thought about his looks, Grandmama. Merrill tried