A Valentine Secret: A Sweet Regency Romance: Seasons of Love, #4

By Emily Murdoch

Jonathan Brodie, the only son of Sir Roger and Lady Brodie, has lived in the village of Maplebridge his whole life. Penelope, the daughter of the local florist, was adopted by the Baldwins when she was just a baby. They could not be more different and yet, one blustery January morning, their paths collide in a chance encounter that is destined to change their lives forever.

Jonathan soon discovers that Penelope is far from the quiet wallflower that she first seems, but rather a beautiful rose just waiting for its chance to bloom. After spending more and more time together, it's not long before their feelings for each other begin to blossom.

However, when Jonathan starts investigating Penelope's past, in order to present her with the truth about her biological parents, his grand Valentines gesture threatens to destroy any hope of a future with the woman he has grown to love.

Penelope begins to doubt Jonathan's motives. Is he only concerned with placating his domineering father and convincing him that she is worthy of the Brodie name? Despite his good intentions, will Jonathan's Valentine Secret ruin everything? Or are two people from opposite ends of society simply destined to remain poles apart forever?

A Valentine Secret is a charming regency romance novella about never giving up on true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Murdoch
• Release date: Jan 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215964316

Emily Murdoch

Emily Murdoch is a writer, a poet and a lover of books. There's never a time she's without a book. Her debut novel, If You Find Me, released in 2013 to global high praise and critical acclaim through St. Martin's Griffin and Orion/Indigo UK. If You Find Me, a Carnegie Medal 2014 longlister and a Waterstones Children's Book Prize 2014 finalist, has earned starred reviews from Booklist, Kirkus, and School Library Journal; is a Young Adult Library Services (YALSA) Best Fiction for Young Adults (BFYA) selection of 2014; was named a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice for June 2013; an Irish Times Editors’ Pick for 2013; an Editor’s Pick for UK’s The Bookseller 2013; a Booklist Youth Editors' Choice for 2013; and a Booklist Top Ten Pick of 2014. If You Find Me has also been nominated and included in numerous state awards/high school master reading lists, amongst those in: SC, TX, KY, RI, PA, WI, OR, DE, CT, SD, NH, OK, VT, and AR. If You Find Me was also a finalist for the Goodreads Choice Awards Best Books of 2013 in the Best Debut Author and Best Young Adult Fiction categories, and was a finalist for the German Children's Literature Prize 2015, along with a finalist for the German Buxeholder Bulle Award 2015. If You Find Me has been translated and published in Canada, the UK, Germany, the Netherlands, Spain, Korea, Taiwan, Italy, Brazil, Hungary, Turkey, and Vietnam, as well as in Braille. When she's not reading or writing, you'll find Emily caring for her horses, dogs and family on a ranch in rural Arizona, where the desert's tranquil beauty and rich wildlife often enter into her poetry and writing. Emily's other passion is saving equines from slaughter. She uses her writing to raise awareness of this inhumane practice, with the goal of ending the slaughter of America's horses and burros through transport to slaughterhouses in Canada and Mexico. She provides sanctuary to abused and slaughter-saved equines who dazzle her daily with their gentle gratitude in exchange for security, consistency, food and love. As Mahatma Gandhi said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Emily hopes her penchant for writing will do just that. All-in-all, she's a lefty in a right-handed world, writing her way through life and smearing ink wherever she writes.

Book preview

Chapter One

The day on which a person’s life changes irrevocably is not one that begins with trumpets, but with an idea. Jonathan Brodie’s idea was to merely wander down to the village that he had grown up in, and buy some flowers for his mother. An idea. That was all it took.

Having lived in Maplebridge all of his life, almost everyone who saw the tall smartly dressed gentleman knew exactly that it was Jonathan Brodie, Sir Roger and Lady Brodie’s only child, back from his studies at Oxford.

Good morrow, Mr Brodie! Mr Giles, the local magistrate, was striding towards Jonathan with his assistant Mr Jeppard carrying his case files behind him.

Jonathan nodded with a smile. Mr Giles, good day to you.

Jonathan’s blond hair as a youth had not given way to dark, but instead was as bright as it had been the day he was born – but his jawline had sharpened, his legs had lengthened, and now as he approached his twenty first birthday, it would be impossible to mistake Jonathan for anything else than what he was: a young man of fine birth, good breeding, an expensive education, and impeccable taste.

Mrs Fettle, along with her good friends Mrs Osborne and Mrs Butterfield dropped quick curtsies as they went by, the bitter wind giving them too many reasons to continue on home, despite the fact that the son of Sir Roger Brodie had just passed them.

Maplebridge Hall was atop the village up a slight slope, and it did not take Jonathan long to reach the first shop, a hatters owned by Mr Thorpe that all in the area frequented, when they could not get to the larger town of Linsteeple five miles away.

Jonathan could not remember a time when he had not known Maplebridge like his own personal playground; after all, it had been 1795 when his father had been raised to the rank of baronet through the death of his own father, and he had been just learning to walk at the time. Every brick, every tree, every single part of the village was as dear to him as the horses that were currently nestled in the winter stable at Maplebridge Hall.

His footsteps took him automatically past three shops and he could not help but smile unconsciously as he saw that the florist shop had not changed a bit since he was a boy. Spending the last term at Oxford for his examinations had created a nostalgic, rosy impression of Maplebridge in his mind, and as Jonathan looked around him, everything was exactly how it should be. The same homes were covered in the same frost, and the same people who were unchanging as ever were wandering the same streets that he had when he had been but a child.

The door pushed open without any hindrance. Blond hair askew from the brisk January wind that had been whistling through the village all morning, Jonathan stared at Malcolm Baldwin, the elderly man that had owned the village florist shop for as long as he could remember. Jonathan had turned up the lapels of his greatcoat on the walk down the lane, yet the floristry shop was kept just as cold inside as out.

Mr Brodie, smiled Mr Baldwin, the proprietor of the shop who had, as usual, fingernails encrusted with soil that smelt damp and fresh. What a pleasure it is to see you, sir. Flowers for your mother?

Who else? Jonathan took off his gloves, and regretted it instantly as his fingers hit the cool air of the florist shop. For some reason, Oxford had always seemed warmer than Maplebridge. Choose what you like, Mr Baldwin, you have a much keener eye than I do for these sorts of things.

Mr Baldwin, an elderly gentleman of about sixty, shook his head as he smiled. Why Mr Brodie, you cannot simply choose flowers and flora with no thought to the consequences! All have secret meanings, connotations that you should be aware of before you present such a powerful gift!

And the fern? Jonathan Brodie looked up at the proprietor with a confused look, feeling the coarse leaves between his fingers. You cannot intend to convince me that fern, such a simple and uncomplicated little plant, also has a secret meaning?

Mr Baldwin wheezed a laugh as he pulled up a potted fern from behind the counter, his apron covering his frockcoat. Jonathan could remember the first time that he had ever ventured on his own into the Baldwin’s floristry shop. He must have only been about sixteen, but the Mr Baldwin of his memory was a mirror image of the Mr Baldwin before him today. Like his shop, he has not changed one bit over the years. Young sir, there is not a single flower or plant in this world that does not have its own special meaning, if you know what you are looking for. Why, the fern is a symbol of sincerity; it is possible that you are unaware of this?

Jonathan smiled as his eyes flickered helplessly around him at the countless cut flowers that filled the small shop. Mr Baldwin’s assistant was bundled up against the cold behind the counter, cutting off stems from a large branch of greenery, and there were two other customers in the shop perusing the daffodils that were clumped in bunches of ten by the door. Every single part of the shop was packed with stems and buds and greenery and vases and… well, as far as Jonathan could see, everything you could possibly need to house anything green and living in your home.

This was not what he had expected when Jonathan had started down the hill towards the village that morning, as the January sun of the last day of the month started to struggle through the clouds and warm up the spring ground. He had put off his return to Oxford to please his father, but his feet were itching to leave – despite the fact that his degree had been completed. Maplebridge was like a small museum, in a way, with such little change and excitement that for Jonathan, there was not quite enough to keep him there.

If he had known it was going to be as cold inside the shop as out, he would have stayed but a few moments – but the event to change his life was still to come.

The language of flowers is not something that I have ever sought to learn, replied Jonathan with a frank smile. Latin and French were the order of the day at Oxford, I’m afraid, and I did not really excel at those languages either. How then is a man like myself meant to navigate the dangerous route of flower giving?

Well now, Mr Baldwin coughed slightly as he spoke, there is little danger to be had when presenting flowers to a female relative, such as your good mother. What a young gentleman such as yourself, Mr Brodie, must do is pause when presenting flowers to a young lady of your acquaintance.

Jonathan frowned slightly, and dug his hands deeper into his greatcoat in an attempt to force some warmth back into them. Pause?

Mr Baldwin nodded solemnly as his assistant went into a back room and then returned with a large spool of string. Young ladies, the older man said conspiratorially, will, on the whole, be searching for a clue as to your intentions to them, and are apt to see love where it simply is not meant. That is why, Mr Brodie, I would not suggest purchasing roses for anyone save your mother.

Roses?

Roses, Mr Baldwin confirmed with a nod. The flowers of love, Mr Brodie.

Jonathan heard a slight giggle from behind him, and turned to see that the two customers he had barely noticed before were, in fact, the Fettle sisters.

As they noticed the son of Sir Roger Brodie of Maplebridge Hall, the two women curtsied low, their frocks covered by the jackets they had taken to ward off the cold January wind.

Good day, murmured Jonathan quietly, and he turned away from them, back to Mr Baldwin, whose wheezing laugh had only increased.

I beg pardon, young sir, the elderly man said with a knowing look. I do not jest, I assure you – but I think those two young ladies were rather hoping that you would be looking for a Valentine.

Jonathan smiled good naturedly. A Valentine? I had heard from an acquaintance of mine – Lady Audrey, you remember my god sister – that flowers and cards were exchanged by some on St Valentine’s Day, but I had assumed that it was a French fashion.

Oh no, far from it, said Mr Baldwin patriotically. What do the French know of love?

It was difficult to hide his smile, but Jonathan managed it. Well, they do say that French is the language of love, Mr Baldwin.

Flowers are the language of love, replied Mr Baldwin, his voice emphatic. And there is no better language that I know. No, Mr Brodie, the tradition of exchanging a love note accompanied by flowers is one that is very traditional on St Valentine’s Day, and one that many of my customers are proud to partake in.

Jonathan knew not to take Mr Baldwin too seriously, and he was proved right when he saw the sparkle in the old man’s eye.

And best of all, he whispered to his customer