Love Uncommon (A Novella)

By Erin Lausten

Laura Betancourt flew to England to finish research for her Master’s Thesis in archaeology. She expected to spend hours elbows deep in old church records; not on an adventure through time right into the arms of the infuriatingly handsome Marquess of Dersingham.
Will she choose to return to a life she knows ? Or will she take the chance on a love found in the Regency village of Ravenstone?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Lausten
• Release date: May 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458009043

Erin Lausten

History has been the single unifying interest in Erin Lausten's life from a very young age. After several years as an archaeologist she moved to libraries where she realized her true passion lay in writing the stories in her head. Combining romance, history and excitement she hopes her readers walk away from her books smiling and ready for more.She lives in Arizona with her archaeologist husband and three children.

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Love Uncommon

Erin Lausten

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Erin Lausten

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, the please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Publisher’s Note

This book is a work of fiction. All persons, locations, and events are used fictitiously.

Acknowledgements

Without the help of the wonderful army of friends and family I would never have made it to this point. I would like to thank my readers Eliza, Mindy, Dawn, Kelly, Sarah and Leslie. Your insight made this a better story. I would like to thank my copy editor Emma Teixeira for helping me with those nasty commas and other errors that got past my exhausted eyes. Thank you to Dawn Zimmerman for her lovely cover art. And finally a thank you to my beloved husband and family who through patience and love motivated me to write.

Chapter 1

Leisteschire, England 2011

If self-destruct were an option on her fancy little smartphone, Laura Betancourt would have shelled out the extra bucks. She should have just used the silent feature as nothing good could come from the number that just showed up on the screen; but she answered nonetheless. Self-torture was a tough habit to break.

Her blood pressure rose with each syllable that chirped into her ear. Despite the thousands of miles of land and sea that separated her from her job in the States, there was no escape. I don’t care how much the city will make in taxes! That house is the oldest in the whole county!

Her co-worker cut her off with an agitated response. Laura bit her lip. How she hated being interrupted, but she pushed it aside. More important issues were at stake than her personal pet peeves. Once again the city had conveniently forgotten to go through the appropriate channels before demolishing an historic property. It happened far more often then she wanted to think about. They can’t just bulldoze a house that old. Isn’t it on the National Register?

More agitated chirping split through her ear. Apparently no one had bothered to put through the paperwork to have the house protected. The city would get a slap on the wrist, a few nasty letters to the Editor of the newspaper, and perhaps even some bad air time on the local news; but that would be it. In a month it would be like nothing happened and a brand new strip mall, complete with unfilled merchant space, would pop up out of the ground. Laura’s teeth ground against each other and pain sliced through her jaw. She opened her mouth to vent her frustration. This time she wouldn’t sigh in resigned understanding. This time she wouldn’t brush it off as another nod at developers. This time…

She checked her mirrors, then sped around a rusted out farm truck. A sedan veered away from her just as she swerved back into the left lane. Censoring eyes glared out from behind tinted windows as she sped past in her silver two-seater. After several hours driving on the wrong side of the road she finally felt comfortable driving in England. Apparently a little too comfortable.

She glanced at the speedometer and cringed. Her mother would have been terrified by her driving. Even with several years gone since her death, Laura could hear her mother gasp and grab at the door handles. She softened the pressure on the gas and adjusted her focus from the lost cause back in the States. It would do no good killing herself. The battle may be lost, but she was still ready to fight in the war.

Well, someone dropped the ball on this! That house should never have been slated for demolition. When the voice mewed in her ear and Laura’s patience fled. She wrinkled her nose in disgust then sighed in resignation. Their response was common. A few hours of heated frustration at the office would peter off as the archaeologists moved on to the next piece of history that needed attention. Everyone knew they fought a losing battle. Dwelling was ineffective and self destructive.

Her thumb pressed the disconnect button and she threw the phone onto the passenger seat. Quitting her job wasn’t an option and strapping her body to the bulldozer wasn’t either. A deep breath steadied her hands and helped refocus her eyes on the road. Scanning the embankments for signs she prayed she hadn't missed the turnoff to Ravenstone.

There was little time left to dedicate to her research in Britain. Working herself up over the insanity back home was unneeded distraction. The heartburn it caused only compounded the complications. She had to focus: Three years of graduate level study and six months up to her elbows in musty documents had led to this moment. With the research she would collect from the small village of Ravenstone, she could finally complete her thesis and walk away with a Master’s degree in Archaeology.

The Master’s would lead to a job in the State Historic Preservation Office, and with luck she could save at least a few culturally significant properties from a backhoe’s fury. And maybe for once she would have enough power to make a difference.

She glanced at the stack of paper under her hastily discarded phone. Twenty letters from the mysterious J.W. mingled with exquisitely rendered sketches of the Elgin Marbles. Soft lines depicted the stone faces of battle-tortured men and horses. Shadows flowed as only one who had actually seen them could portray. Before heading to Ravenstone she'd stopped to see the actual marbles and held the drawings up beside them. The heart and soul of the sculptures had been captured without flaw. They were breathtaking.

She shook her head to break away from the memory. This was not time to get her head all wispy. The sketches had been a tremendous discovery. They were brilliant, precise, and different from the actual marbles now residing in the British Museum. An hour comparing the two and she realized they were sketches done prior to the marbles trek from Greece to Britain. They were an image of the Athenian Parthenon never to be seen by humanity again.

It was a coup. And even better, accompanying the sketches had been a scathing article denouncing the removal and transportation of the marbles to Thomas Bruce, Earl of Elgin’s Scottish estate. The article in itself wasn’t ground breaking. The nature of the Marbles removal from Greece had been mired in controversy from the final day of their arrival in 1812 all the way to the modern day.

But Laura meant to prove that the spirit of preservation had been as strong and alive during the Regency as it was in her own heart, and her thesis would help her prove it.

A stone and wood sign flew past the corner of her eye. Guessing that her turnoff was just ahead she made a hard right. The roads were narrower than she was used to so she kept her hands high on the steering wheel to prevent weaving out of the lane. With as much open landscape surrounding the area, it was a mystery to her that they kept the roads so thin. Would an extra couple feet kill them?

She slowed down to a practical crawl and scanned the local buildings. A few homes with pretty yards and multi-colored flower pots lined the street across from multi-storied commercial buildings. Brick played a dominant role in the architecture and she imagined most had been laid in mortar long before her birth. The village was romantic, rustic, everything she ever imagined a British country village would be.

She laughed at herself. Sappy fantasies had played far too much time at the front of her mind lately. But, she could blame that on the letters. Beneath the sketches sat a stack of love letters from the artist and author to his lady. The passionate J.W. had laid bare his feelings for preservation in those letters. The heat and emotion behind his words made her heart flutter like paper caught in the wind. The fact that he bared his soul to his love just added flame to the fantasy.

The sketches had captured her imagination and the love letters captured her heart. She shook her head. Fantasies had gone from visions of graduation and professional progress to dreams of falling into the arms of the deeply passionate J.W. She snorted. The closest she would get to the man that wrote those letters was in this small village where the documents originated.

Fingers tightened on the wheel. She may not fall into his arms, but she would drive away from Ravenstone knowing just who J.W. had been.

As the small sedan approached a t-intersection she spotted a cemetery enclosed by a cobblestone wall. Peeking through a grove of cedars