Passionate Promise: A Tale of Love and Revenge

By Jeanette Cooper

Emotionally ravaged by the bloody murder of her adoring parents, a young daughter vows on their graves to avenge their deaths and bring their killers to justice.

That vow becomes an obsession after Rianne’s godparents sprint her away from the only home she has known. Taking up residence with them, she grows and blossoms into a beautiful young woman, soon finding herself attracted to and seduced by a dashing pursuer who claims her heart. She struggles between love and her obsession to avenge the tragic and violent murders of her beloved mother and father.

Before she is free to pursue her goal, Passionate Promise takes you on a vivid and exciting journey from the enchanting countryside of 18th century South Wales, to a vast cotton and tobacco plantation in the budding American Colonies, and back home again on a besieged sailing vessel weathering turbulent high seas.

Ultimately, Rianne must choose between the pull of irresistible passions for her dashing lover or setting a course of vengeance for her parent’s killers. . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Cooper
• Release date: May 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476350059

Jeanette Cooper

Jeanette Cooper, a native Georgian, a former elementary school teacher, graduate of University of Central Florida with a Bachelor’s Degree in Elementary Education and a Master’s in Reading instruction, is mother of a son, grandmother of a grandson, and lives in North Florida near the Suwannee River.Jeanette enjoys walking, reading, cooking, and gardening, but her greatest pleasure comes from writing and watching characters come alive as they interact with one another in adventurous life-like dramas that motivate reading pleasure.Her latest romantic suspense novels are Passionate Promise, Vulnerable to Deceptive Love, Stripped of Dignity and The Wrong Victim..

Book preview

Chapter One

South Wales, 1743

The night sky was dark and foreboding. Thunder roared loud and boisterous with crashing intensity, jarring the cornerstones of the towers and the thick foundation of the huge manor that sat like a great monolith up ahead where the soggy road circled into a wide driveway. Crisp flashes of lightning ripped the dark sky on the distant echoes of thunder, casting sharp slashes of white light that brightened the rain-swept earth and quickly faded into darkness again. The pelting rain beat down in spreading sheets, lashing against everything in its path. Rain puddles spotted the road resembling mirrors that reflected the lightning-lit sky.

A black coach with the gold and red ducal crest of Radford Hall, barely visible except during lightning flashes, moved slowly towards the great stone structure of the manor house. Its wheels churned against the wet road, carving deep narrow ruts in the mushy wet soil, kicking up slimy mud to its underbelly and boot.

The silent driver slumped sideways as though he might tumble from the coach seat any moment even though he held tight to the leather reins. His dark tricorn tilted precariously on the side of his nodding head, which bounced with every movement of the coach. His cloaked figure was drenched from the torrent of rain that showed no intention of slackening. Its icy chill kept him barely conscious enough to prevent him from tottering from the box of the coach.

The hooves of the six matched grays made clip-clop sounds in a marching rhythm while held back by the tightly grasped reins. They seemed always on the verge of breaking into a loose canter as they pranced and jerked their heads, their great bodies rippling with muscle and power. When their hooves touched the wooden bridge spanning the gap over a wide stream, the manor began to take on a darkened shape to the barely conscious driver. A soft sigh escaped his lips, relief flooding through his damaged body for having reached his destination.

The gray horses, appearing black from their rain-drenched coats, whipped up a bit of anxious speed now that the manor was in sight. The coach bumped along roughly until it came to a standstill in front of the large dwelling.

Ostlers hurried forward to see to the coach and animals. A groom snatched open the door and rolled down the folding step so its passengers could alight. Waiting, his eyes glanced down toward the step where he expected to see a female ankle or the dark shoes of the Duke. However, no person or persons moved inside the coach. Everything in the darkened interior was still and lifeless.

The groom tried to peer inside, but could see nothing within the darkened interior. The Duke and Duchess, known for their frequent intimacy while traveling in the coach, made the groom fear he might be judged as too inquisitive if he made greater effort to see inside. Instead, he merely stood waiting, the rain slashing against his livery.

The cloaked driver slumped more heavily against the seat, the reins slipping from his numb fingers. Consciousness slipped away and he was unmindful of everything now that he had brought the coach safely home with its occupants.

The head butler opened the front door of the manor, his neck and spine gracefully straight, his chin slightly raised, his eyes focused upward and out. Footmen came forward. Other servants waited behind him, ready to greet His and Her Graces and see to their needs as soon as they disembarked from the rain-washed coach.

The groom standing by the coach door in the driving rain showed ebbing patience as he stood waiting with his hand upon the coach door.

Other grooms eased with slow reluctance toward the door of the coach, their lively imaginations dredging up a vision of something macabre and frightening alighting from the coach such as a flock of birds. They gazed inside just at the moment a flash of lightning slashed across the sky. A scream echoed from someone’s throat. They stepped away from the conveyance, looking for the world as if someone had struck them in the face. Their telltale expressions, frozen with shock and misgivings, told a story no one wanted to hear.

Sensing that something was dreadfully wrong, the servants pushed beyond the huge double doors of the manor house, moving with slow deliberation and fear toward the black coach that stood like a dark apparition in the pelting rain. The first noticeable sign of panic came from someone’s weeping while the coach presented itself as a foreboding animal crouching in readiness to spring at those outside it.

What’s wrong? Someone cried out to a curious groom who crawled stealthily up to the driver’s box, eager to determine the disposition of the driver. He gazed at the unconscious man closely, his eyes focusing easier now that they were accustomed to the dark. The driver was clothed in full livery beneath the huge black woolen cloak that failed to protect him from the rain. It was soaked. His tricorn had fallen to the ground and running feet soon trampled it.

He’s been wounded, the groom called out in a frightened voice. He glanced back toward the road as if fearful highwaymen might have followed the coach. He could detect no one in sight, but that did not soothe him. Anyone could easily be out there in the darkness without detection. We have to get him inside, the groom called down. Joined by two other grooms, they climbed up into the box.

Someone brought a tallow lantern from inside the manor, and the butler, who suddenly lost his formality, held it at the door of the coach while he peered inside. He gasped sharply and stepped backward quickly, the grizzly sight within the coach shocking his usual dignified manner.

The Duke lay slumped over the Duchess, their clothing still damp and saturated with blood where shots pierced their bodies. The butler breathed deeply, turning his face upward so the cold rain could hide his tears.

The butler, the first in charge of the male house servants, suddenly shook off his sadness and fear and took control. You, there, he said pointing to a groom. Ride quickly for the doctor. Then ride to the Leyford manor and ask Lord Fulbright to come posthaste. Go through the village and tell the sheriff what has happened.

The grooms managed to get the driver down from the box, and together they carried him inside. Matilda, the butler’s wife, led the way across the large entrance hall to the stairs and on up to a guest chamber. They laid the coach driver upon the bed and helped Matilda undress him. Matilda called for one of the young serving girls to fetch hot water and clean rags, and then she dismissed the nervous grooms who were needed downstairs.

You there, and you, you, and you, the butler said, pointing to the grooms and the footmen, come and help me. We must get them inside.

All shivered with dread at the command. Lifting and touching bodies of the dead was a frightening task. There was no eagerness in the grooms’ strides as they came forward.

*

Upstairs, not far from the stairway landing was the bedroom where a young ten-year-old girl lay sleeping. Her long golden hair twined about her neck and shoulders. A serving girl had recently stoked up the fire on the hearth and the charred wood flamed brightly. The girl rolled over, something stealing into her deep slumber, rousing her.

She turned her lovely head on the pillow, her eyes fluttering open sleepily. Suddenly she sat up in bed. Her fist flew to her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. She glanced about the room, seeing the dancing shadows upon the wall from the orange, yellow, and red flames on the hearth. Something had disturbed her sleep. She rubbed her eyes again and sat listening, her ears straining toward her bedroom door. Voices filtered softly through the closed door and into her room. Footsteps came up the stairs, some quickly, others slow and labored. Much activity was underway inside the manor.

Sliding from her bed, she tiptoed to the open door of the adjoining room where Juliette, her governess, slept peacefully. Seeing that she was sound asleep, Rianne decided not to wake her. She tiptoed to her bedroom door and peered out onto the hallway and the landing beyond. She could see no one, but the noise and activity continued downstairs. Voices sounded high-pitched and frightened. The butler was issuing orders that Rianne could not make out. Someone was crying. There were numerous mingled mutterings and shocked exclamations. A note of confusion clung to the air.

Rianne eased out into the hallway and tried to peer from the second story gallery down to the opened front doors. She could barely make out a wheel of the coach that her parents had left in earlier. She supposed her parents had just returned from their engagement and the servants were busy seeing to their needs.

A cold draft of brittle air rushed at her, and she shivered in her long white nightshirt. With bare feet against the cold icy floors, she edged toward the banister where the gallery overlooked the entrance hall and the front doors. She sat down and peeked through the banister posts, trying to gain a glimpse of whatever was causing the ruckus.

Rianne brushed at her eyes to get rid of the sleep. Then she opened them wider as she saw two groups of people coming inside, each group carrying a lifeless body in their arms. Rianne could not make out who it was as she watched the bearers move with slow hesitant steps toward the stairs.

Then even more slowly, the groups labored up the stairs with their burdens, and Rianne caught a glimpse of a sea green gown beneath the heavy woolen damask cloak. She recalled the beautiful green gown her mother wore when she had kissed Rianne goodbye just before climbing into the coach with her husband earlier that evening.

Rianne watched in fascination as the groups climbed up to the landing with their heavy burdens. Her position went undetected as she hunched against the banister, her eyes huge with fear. As she saw them carry her mother and father to their room, she noticed how her mother’s head fell back limply, her long hair having come loose from the combs and pins and nearly dragging upon the floor. Rianne got a glimpse of her eyes. They were open and staring unseeingly. A thick ball rose up in her throat, choking her. Silent tears slid down her cheeks. She hovered more closely to the banister, grabbing her arms about the posts as if seeking comfort against what she knew to be a fact. The feeling of cold dread spread through her body.

Her mama and papa were dead.

*

Death was no stranger to Rianne.

She witnessed its cold silence many times. Her pet kitten died. Animals in the barn died occasionally, such as a new colt stuck inside its mother. One or two of the older servants had passed away. When one of the land tenants died just a few months back, her parents took her to the funeral. Seeing a dead body lowered into the earth in a roughly hammered wooden coffin brought death in full focus to her young mind.

She knew that death was an end, something dreadfully final. It meant a relative buried deep in the ground and covered with dirt. It meant never seeing your loved ones again. Her governess had told her once that people went to heaven when they died. She had spent hour after hour searching the clouds and the sky trying to find one familiar face, any face at all. She had never seen anyone in the heavens and she dismissed the remark as no more than a lie that adults told to children to rest their troubled thoughts.

Anyway, if dead people went to heaven then why bury them in the ground? Rianne wondered.

Being only ten years old, Rianne had no idea how her parents’ deaths would affect her. She had spent her life untouched by grief or sadness. Cloaked and cherished in her mother’s and father’s love left her in possession of boundless confidence. Now that was all behind her.

Never again would she hear her mother’s wonderful laughter that sounded like tiny bells resembling music. Her musical voice had soothed Rianne’s ears, even when she had no need of soothing. Her mother had been tender and loving, finding or making time everyday to spend with her, even putting aside whatever she was doing when Rianne would claim her attention for insignificant matters that were important to her. Her mother confided to her that everything she said or did was important, every thought that passed through her mind was important because she was important. Anna Radford would gather Rianne in her arms and rock her back and forth tenderly, kissing her upon her cheek, and sometimes she would sing a little song that Rianne found herself humming frequently.

Just as she would miss her mother, she would also miss Benedict Radford, her father. He had taken Rianne for horseback rides in the country and across the meadows, the two of them galloping across his estate as he pointed out various points of interest. Sometimes they would rest beneath the shade of a towering old tree and her father would give her water from his flask while the horses drank from a running brook or stream. He often talked about the huge estate, which he owned, and how one day it would be hers and how she would run it and see to its prosperity. He loved sharing information with her about the job of managing the widespread lands he owned and had even begun showing her how to keep the manor books for Radford Hall.

Thoughts churned through her head now as she sat next to the banister. Would she have to run the estate now that her father was dead? The thought was too profound for her young mind and tears ran silently down her cheeks. She wished her father would come out of his bedroom where they had taken him and wrap her in his arms the way he often did when he was being playful with her or when he just wanted to tell her how much he loved her.

Now she would never feel his arms again. Loneliness tugged at her heart. She missed them both terribly already.

She watched the servants as they came out of her parents’ room and closed the door behind them. They padded softly down the stairs on tiptoes as if they feared waking someone. When they had gone from view, Rianne rose to her cold feet and moved lightly toward her parents’ bedchamber door. She pressed her cold ear to the wood. She listened for several seconds, hoping to hear her parents’ voices, hoping beyond hope they would still be alive.

There was no sound. Silence lay heavy upon the air.

Grasping the door handle, she pushed the door open a little at a time, peering inside. A strange stillness echoed across the room. Both her parents lay on their backs, side-by-side upon the bed. Their hands were crossed and rested upon their chests. The servants had removed their wet cloaks, but they still had on their eveningwear, and Rianne gasped at the grizzly bloodstains that had soaked into the fabric of their clothes. Her father had on a black jacket with tails and satin lapels, a waistcoat, a cravat, and trousers to match the jacket. One side of his jacket, from the shoulder down to the elbow, was drenched in blood that soaked into the white shirt beneath. His black clothing concealed most of the bloodstains, except for a shiny looking wetness. His hair was tousled and unruly, wet from the heavy rain outside. Rianne’s mother looked so peaceful lying there with her eyes closed that Rianne could almost believe she was sleeping.

A shiver passed over Rianne, and she glanced toward the hearth where servants extinguished the fire on purpose. A few red coals still sizzled and crackled in the last stages before burning out completely. The room was becoming icy cold. A single lighted candle burned on a bedside table.

Rianne walked slowly to the bed where her mother lay. Mama? Her eyes gazed unblinkingly upon her mother’s face, searching for any movement of life. The single candle gave off flickering shadows to create a gloomy atmosphere. Mama? she said again, and laid her hand upon her mother’s pale hands placed upon her chest.

Rianne jerked her hand back. Her mother’s hands were cold and felt a little like the beeswax the servants used to polish the furniture. Desperate for a response from her mother, she touched her cheek only to find the same stark coldness as in her hands. Tears flowed steadily down Rianne’s cheeks, silent tears of anguish and pain.

Oh m’God! Matilda, the housekeeper, gasped in a surprised voice from where she stood in the doorway.

Rianne jumped. Her whole body jerked convulsively, startled at the sound of another human being in the deathly cold room. When she turned to look at the housekeeper, her cheeks were wet from her tears, her large eyes turned red from crying.

You should not be in here, the housekeeper said gently. Come with me, Rianne. We will find some hot chocolate for you and it will make you feel better.

Rianne obeyed the housekeeper, taking her hand as they went from the room, the door carefully closed behind them.

You’re freezing, Matilda said, squeezing her hand. She led Rianne back to her own room where she covered her with a warm robe and slid warm slippers on her feet.

Is my mama and papa dead? Rianne asked, her voice edged with moist tears.

The housekeeper slid her hand beneath the long blonde hair that fell down the little girl’s back. She touched Rianne’s back gently and patted it. Yes, my child. Your mama and papa are dead, she said quietly, her voice sad and gentle as she led the young girl downstairs.

Did someone kill them?

"Yes, they were ambushed on their way home. The driver is still alive so we should know soon enough who the killers are.

Was it those people who kept grazing their sheep on papa’s land until he put up fences?

There’s talk it might be them, but no one knows f’ sure. A groom is on his way f’ the sheriff. A messenger is also enroute to your godparents’ home. If he makes good time, they should be here in time for the funeral. We have summoned the Earl of Leyford, who should be here shortly. He will handle things until your godparents can arrive. Now, come child and let me give ye’ hot chocolate to warm ye’ cold limbs.

While the housekeeper seated Rianne at the table in the warm kitchen and put on hot water, adding cocoa powder and sugar, Juliette, the governess, came into the kitchen. Her eyes were droopy with sleep but wildly frantic after awakened by the horrible news of her employers. She was a young woman of twenty-three who left the convent to become a governess. Rianne adored her because she was young enough to be playful and full of joy and life.

She hurried into the kitchen and wrapped her arms about Rianne, who sat on the bench at the table where the servants took their meals. Oh, Rianne, I am so sorry about your parents.

Who will love me now? Rianne asked, staring with big eyes at her governess. Who will take care of me?

I will love you and so will the housekeeper, the cook, and all the servants who have always loved you. You will not be at a loss for love, my poor baby, said Juliette.

Matilda, the housekeeper, poured three cups of steaming chocolate and slumped heavily on a bench across from Rianne and Juliette. They sipped from their cups, staring into space but seeing only the horror of the two lifeless bodies that had been alive and vibrant just a few hours earlier. There was hardly a dry eye among the servants. The deaths came as a shock to them all, and each wondered how this might affect their employment that provided for their families.

How is the driver? Juliette asked, after learning he was still alive.

Cook’s attending ‘im until the doctor arrives. She says ‘e’ll live.

Has he said anything about what has happened?

E’s been unconscious since ‘e arrived here. T’will be hours before ‘e’ll be able t’ speak. We gather that the two footmen ‘er dead, as well as the two guardsmen that escorted His and Her Grace. The guardsmen’s horses came ‘ome jest a while ago without their riders, and there wuz traces of blood on both saddles.

It had to be the cursed highwaymen again, Juliette scoffed with an expression of contempt. Why can’t the sheriff do something? Why can’t he catch them and stop this robbing and killing?

You don’t think it’s the sheepherders who keep trying to steal Papa’s property? Rianne asked.

Who knows? The highwaymen have been robbing and killing fer’ years and no one is the wiser who they be, Matilda scoffed. Some of the sheep herders might of joined up with ‘em. The sheriff is too lazy t’ get out and try t’ find out who they be.

Rianne was listening to every word they uttered. She looked up at her governess with unusually large blue eyes. A cruel light lit her moist orbs. When I grow up, I shall find the highwaymen and kill them like they did my mama and papa, she declared vehemently while diamond tears slid down her cheeks.

Chapter Two

Rianne had a restless night, tossing and turning, dreaming terrible dreams that left her sweating and crying out in her sleep. Her mind flashed with images of her dead parents lying prone two doors down from her. When she finally slept, the awful dreams brought her awake again. Juliette tiptoed numerous times to Rianne’s bed to pull the covers over her or to touch her forehead and smooth the hair back. Twice she had pulled Rianne into her arms and held her there until she seemed comforted and quiet, finally stoking up the coals and putting on another log before going back to her own room.

A constable came early the next morning in place of the sheriff. He had not hurried over during the night because the messenger informed him that the coach driver would not be able to speak for several hours. However, he and a group of volunteers went looking along the road until they found the guards and footmen lying dead. They carried them home to their respective families.

Later, the butler showed the sheriff up to the room where they put the driver. A young serving maid had sat with the man all through the night, doing what she could to keep him comfortable after the doctor had been there and gone.

The sound of voices woke Rianne. She donned her robe and slippers and peeked out her bedroom door to the landing at the top of the stairs. She saw the sheriff who followed the butler to the bedroom down the south hallway where she knew the servants put the coach driver. When the sheriff disappeared into the room and the butler turned and went back downstairs, Rianne tiptoed down the hallway, stopping by the opened door of the room. She listened intently while the sheriff questioned the man.

Can ye’ tell me what happened?

The reply was weak, forced, sounding hoarse and wheezy. They came upon us all at once.

Who came upon ye’? asked the sheriff. Tell me what happened, man.

It wuz the highwaymen. They wuz all dressed in black with black hoods o’er their heads. We didn’t even know they wuz there until they wuz right on us. There wuz no time fer’ any of us t’ counter their attack. His throat filled with phlegm, so he cleared it noisily and swallowed. They shot the guardsmen and the footmen in cold blood. Then they shot me. I wuz barely conscious when His Grace climbed from the coach and tried t’ defend his self and Her Grace with a tiny dagger he always carried. It served no defense against the men who wuz heavily armed. They shot him down, and then shot Her Grace. One of the highwaymen ripped their jewels from their bodies, and snatched coins from His Grace’s pockets and purse. They grabbed everything of value and then wuz gone as quickly as they appeared.

Can you identify them? Did you recognize any of them?

"They wuz covered from head t’ toe, and there were at least four or five of ‘em. I did hear one of them call another Davy. Outside that, I can tell you nothing. I barely remember anything after that. I somehow managed to get His Grace in the coach, and I brought it to the manor. That is all I remember."

Rianne heard it all then turned and went back to her room. The name Davy stuck in her memory, and she would never forget it.

*

It was appropriate for the head of the manor to greet guests, and since Rianne was now the only Radford survivor, it was up to her to stand in her parents’ stead. The young Earl of Leyford, Timothy Fulbright, stood with Rianne in the drawing room as grooms rushed to help guests from a coach carrying the ducal crest of Liestershire. The weather had turned very cold outside, and the visitors donned warm clothing and fur lap blankets, which they pushed aside before alighting from the coach.

William, the butler, greeted the new arrivals at the front door with a host of servants moving forward to retrieve their trunks. He took them to the drawing room where Rianne and Lord Timothy Fulbright waited, presenting the renowned visitors to their godchild.

The Duke and Duchess of Liestershire and their son, Lord Brent, William said to the young ten-year-old Rianne who finally had gotten her tears under control.

Rianne, like a proper young woman, dipped into a respectful curtsy. Good afternoon, Your Graces, Then to Brent with a slight little nod, milord. With her gaze moving from one to the other, she said, I am Rianne, and I welcome you to my home despite the sad circumstance that has brought you on this visit.

Brent’s mesmerized gaze glued to the young girl. He had never seen hair like hers, with Nordic features gained from her mother. It was blonde, the color of corn silk, glistening with a shimmering glow as it hung in waves over her shoulders and down her back. He had a strong urge to run his fingers through it and feel its silkiness. Instead, he grasped his hands behind his back and studied her small oval face with a slightly upturned nose like a baby’s and beautiful full pink lips. Her eyes were the largest blue eyes he had ever seen, sparkling like a bubbling clear brook. She was small of frame with pale white skin, but she was the most gorgeous little girl Brent had ever laid eyes on. In the course of a minute, his heart went out to her, and he felt a strong urge to do something, anything, to make her laugh. He wanted to wipe the pain from her sparkling blue eyes.

The Duke and Duchess took turns hugging young Rianne and voicing their regrets over her parents.

Rianne accepted their condolences graciously. I am told that you are my godparents, she said in her gentle young voice.

Yes, we are Rianne, and you must call me Margaret, the duchess said, just as fascinated as her young son was with the gorgeous girl child. The young girl had exquisite manners. Her ability to hide her grief while greeting the newcomers showed strength of character that brought a note of respect from Margaret. The child’s parents had taught her well, the Duchess decided.

The tall, muscular Duke took both of Rianne’s hands. His hands were strong, but gentle. Rianne, my dear, I am Richard, and you are not to worry about anything, my child. Margaret and I shall care for you as though you are our own.

Rianne curtsied. Thank you, Your Grace, for such kind words of comfort.

The Earl of Leyford, having remained in the background while Rianne welcomed her guests, now stepped forward and bowed. Your Graces, let me introduce myself. I am Timothy Fulbright, the Earl of Leyford. I have offered my services to help out here at Radford Hall in my parents’ stead while they are enjoying a holiday in London.

We are Margaret and Richard Davenport, the Duke and Duchess of Liestershire, Richard said. It is most kind of you to offer yourself at a time such as this. It soothes us to know our godchild and the manor are in capable hands.

Your Grace, the servants have gathered just outside this room and, at your convenience, I will introduce you before showing you to your rooms to freshen up, Timothy said. I know it has been a long cold journey this time of the year.

It has, indeed, Richard agreed, accepting the kind offer graciously.

Rianne and Brent hung back as the adults left the room.

I’m afraid I missed your name, Rianne stated, eyeing the gangly fifteen-year-old boy with rapt attention. She rarely had had other children to play with, so her interest in this young lad was very keen.

My name is Brent, he said smiling. Tell me, Rianne, do you like to ride horses? He gazed at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

My father and I rode often. He let me accompany him on his tours of the estate. Do you also ride? The subject was of interest to her, but for now, it could not brighten the depression reflecting in her piercing blue eyes.

Yes, I do. Perhaps we might go for a ride tomorrow, if my parents will allow it. His face warmed with a friendly expression.

A half-smile captured Rianne’s full lips. She found the twinkle in Brent’s sultry green eyes mesmerizing. He had black hair and a dark olive complexion, probably inherited from his mother who had similar features. She reached and took his hand as she might a playmate. Come, I will show you my room, she said, giving a tiny squeeze to his long slender fingers.

Brent liked the feel of her hand. It was warm like her personality. With their fingers clasped together, his expression lit with a sparkle as he followed her past his parents and the servants on up the stairs. She opened the door to her room that was bright with a feminine decor of white lace and pink frills. Other things of interest, such as a bookcase filled with many books, caught his attention.

Do you read? Brent asked, eyeing her with rising interest.

Yes, my mother taught me when I was five. It happens to be one of my favorite pastimes. Would you like to hear me read?

He nodded his head eagerly and watched her as she chose a book of fairy tales from the shelf. She turned the pages until she found the story she was looking for.

A soft, fuzzy bear rug was on the floor in front of the warm hearth. Kneeling, she sat down. Patting the place beside her, she watched Brent lower himself on the rug. He leaned close to Rianne so he could see the pages of the book. She was aware of the slight pressure of his shoulder against her arm. Pleasing warmth seeped from him to her. He appeared to notice the comfort zone their touching bodies created and leaned closer so that his head looked over her shoulder, his chest grazing against her back.

Rianne began reading, slowly at first, then a bit faster as the often-read words poured from her lips.

Brent listened with rapt attention, loving the sound of her feather-soft voice. He had an odd sense of closeness to her never felt with any other girl. In fact, he had never liked girls very much until the past year or so. They were usually a nuisance. Rianne was different. She seemed not to be selfish and irritable like most girls he knew. She was more beautiful than any he had known. Her skin looked soft, smooth, and silky like her hair, which reminded him of the velvet rose petals in his mother’s rose garden. He felt sorry that Rianne had lost both parents. He understood her deep mood of sadness.

While Rianne finished reading the story, Brent’s eyes wandered about her room. She had a collection of dolls carefully placed on stacked shelves in one corner. On a wall directly facing the foot of the bed, she had two sabers hung upon the wall, crossing each other.

Are those yours? Brent asked Rianne after she finished reading the story.

Yes, she said, a flash of remorse reflecting her deep loss. My father was teaching me to fence. He said I was becoming very good, and gave the sabers to me as a gift of acknowledgement.

Brent’s eyes grew large with surprise. You! You know how to fence?

Yes. Does that seem odd to you? she asked, not understanding his surprise.

I should say it does. It isn’t something a girl usually finds of interest. He observed her closely: her milky white complexion, her little turned up nose, her high cheekbones, and her slender girlish body that had already begun blossoming with tiny pointed breasts. A pang of warmth and longing spread across his young loins. He was more aware than ever that he was growing into a young man.

Juliette entered the room and watched the two young people for a while before she spoke. When they became aware of her, she told the young lad, Lord Brent, your parents want you to come rest before dinner. Your room is ready. Come and I’ll show you.

As you wish, but who are you? he asked, rising to his feet.

I am Juliette, Rianne’s governess.

Can Rianne come with me? he asked boyishly, not yet completely aware of the subtle undercurrents of his adolescence, yet fully aware that he found the young girl intriguing.

Not now. You will need to rest before the evening meal.

Are you also her tutor? he inquired with eager curiosity.

I have helped her with her studies, but her mother and father were her true instructors. She learned many things from them.

I have no one to teach me now? Rianne stated thoughtfully, tears forming in her eyes.

Brent reached and took both her hands, pulling her to her feet. They stood together on the fluffy bear rug while he looked deep into her eyes. I will teach you, Rianne. I will teach you all that I know, he said more gently than he knew he was capable of with a girl.

Rianne reached out, putting her arms about his neck with a hug. I like you, Brent. You are very kind. My parents would have liked you, too.

From now on, you will be my little sister, Brent declared boldly, his affirmation more meaningful than any words he had ever spoken. I will teach you and always look after you. With that, he did an about face and walked proudly followed Juliette from the room. At the door, he looked over his shoulder and smiled at Rianne, a warm smile that captured her heart.

She still had moisture in her eyes, but she returned his smile, feeling truly befriended for the first time in her young life outside the adoration poured on her by her parents and the servants. When Brent was out of the room and the door carefully closed behind him, she thought of him with a note of gentleness. He had said she would be his little sister. Those were warm words. She had never expected to be anyone’s sister, much less have a brother to love.

Chapter Three

The day of the funeral started out cold, crisp and brittle. The earth sparkled with crystal droplets on the grass, leaves, and trees. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the rain-dampened landscape began drying out after yellow sunshine soaked up moisture from the water puddles.

The funeral director brought the funeral wagon around front. The servants loaded the coffins of Rianne’s parents side by side. From around the countryside came sympathetic folks to pay their respects, including the estate tenants in their Sunday best, creating a small army behind the funeral wagon. Most of the residents of the small village of Burnham had also turned out, among them the sheriff, the constable, the mayor, the innkeeper, the tavern owner, and the shopkeepers. Another small group of men who were boisterous and short on respect stood to one side, speaking raucously loud with rowdy laughter echoing from their throats.

Rianne noticed them first as she went to take her place behind the funeral wagon with her godparents and her new friend Brent.

Don’t pay them any attention, Brent whispered as he watched the steady sweep of her eyes toward the alien group.

Wrapped in a warm fur cloak, Rianne stuffed her hands in a fur-lined muff. She pulled a fur hood on her head. She stood tall and proud, conducting herself in a manner that would have pleased her parents.

They should not be here, Rianne whispered to Brent. They are not friends. Even before the words were out of her mouth she marched over to where they stood, coming to a stop in front of them to gaze intently upon the face of each. The men became silent as their gaze clashed with those intense blue eyes. Their laughter and smiles evaporated upon witnessing the little girl’s coldhearted gaze. When she had memorized the faces of the five men, she turned as if to leave, then looking at them carefully again, she spoke calmly and precisely. I wish you to leave this property now. If you choose not to, I will have my people drive you away.

Those who were close enough to hear her could not believe the strength the young girl displayed. They stood aghast as the men glanced uncomfortably at each other. A long moment passed before four of them turned arrogantly and sauntered to their horses. The other one seemed reluctant to leave. Come on, Davy, the man with the scarred face called over his shoulder. With a startled jerk of her head, Rianne studied the man called Davy. She stamped each of those coarse faces into her memory and it would not be the last time she would see them, or they her.

When they were well out of view Rianne turned and rejoined the funeral procession, her small face impassioned with grief for the parents who had formed the foundation of her life. No one made a sound, standing in awed silence by her brave performance. There were only the hoof beats of the horses upon the frozen ground and the scrapes of shoes from a hundred or more feet as the people followed behind Rianne and the funeral wagon.

No one attempted to intrude on the little girl’s thoughts as she led the group, her eyes stationed on the two coffins in the front of the procession. Even Brent, who had first walked beside her, had now taken his place alongside his parents just behind her. He focused his eyes on the back of her head and shoulders where her blonde hair hung and bounced with her steps, occasionally sprayed by a whiff of wind. He watched with admiration at the straightness of her head and back and how she threw her shoulders back like that of a soldier marching into battle. She could read, could fence with a sword, knew how to serve as a host, displayed manners of an adult, and was not afraid to stand up to five burly men who looked needful of a bath, barber, and clean clothes. Brent decided she was a very special girl and admired her with growing interest.

Even with the bright sunlight blazing down upon them, the day was still very cold and uncomfortable. The people shivered in their woolen wraps, pulling them more snugly about their bodies as, step by slow step, they traipsed down the road then up the hill to the cemetery. It sat near the edge of a forest, shaded by tall trees in the latter part of each day. Folks gathered in rows about the gravesite, leaning close to each other to break the gusts of wind that brushed icily against bare faces and cloaked bodies.

The tenants cried openly, having loved the Duke and Duchess who often went out of their way by ministering with medicines and extra food when drought or disease blighted the crops. They lowered rents when a tenant suffered an unusually bad year and there was no end to the giving when anyone needed it. The tenants loved the Duke and Duchess dearly, dolefully missing them already.

The service moved quickly with the respectful voice of the minister glorifying the renowned Duke and Duchess of Beconshire. In turn, a couple of tenants paid respect with words of remembrance on the