The Gift: The Blooms of Norfolk, #4

By Angelina Jameson

Sir Thomas blames himself for his sister's disability, and nothing her friend Lady Rose can say will change his mind. Lady Rose has been in love with so many men her flighty ways convince the ton she could never be serious about one man. Can a Christmas gift open Thomas's heart to love and forgiveness and show Rose the man she needs was right in front of her all along?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angelina Jameson
• Release date: Sep 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215420058

Book preview

Prologue

August 1828, Wickling Manor, Norfolk

Thomas! His sister Emma flung the door open to the study and rushed in to stand in front of his mahogany desk, a piece of vellum in her hand and a scowl on her face.

He looked up from the papers he’d been studying. What is it, Emma?

Mother sent me a letter. She shoved the missive under his nose. She is in London. When she left us after father’s death, you told me she had a breakdown and entered a convent. She writes that you banished her to Paris. Mother says you won’t let her return to Norfolk.

The day he hoped would never come had arrived. It looked as if his careful plan to keep the unpleasantness that was their mother from Emma was all for naught.

Nearly a year after his father died in India and their mother returned to England, she decided she could take no more of life in the dreary countryside with a young daughter to raise. She threatened to tell Emma the truth about her parentage if Thomas didn’t increase the stipend allotted to her in her husband’s will. She wished to live in Paris, and Paris was expensive.

Their mother, in exchange for a lavish allowance, would stay away from England. Away from Emma. She agreed to never tell Emma about her numerous lovers and how she wasn’t sure who her daughter’s real father was. Most importantly, she would never tell anyone how her husband really died.

Emma was to have her first season next spring. Their mother had agreed to stay in Paris.

Sit down, Emma, he said calmly although he felt anything but calm at the moment. The gray sky he observed outside the window of his study echoed his inner turmoil. There are a few things we need to discuss.

It was time to tell his sister at least some of the truth. Their mother had always been an indifferent parent at best. He had raised his sister alone from the time their father was posted to India eight years before. Thomas had left Oxford to come home to Norfolk to look after Emma.

Thomas knew his father had taken his wife with him to separate her from her numerous paramours. Gossip about his mother had even reached him at school.

Emma took a seat on a stuffed chair and curled her legs beneath her. It was a childhood habit that resurfaced when they were alone.

She looked at him intently as she said, Tell me, Thomas. Tell me what you’re keeping from me.

Emma. . . He struggled to find the words to explain his actions. The bracket clock on the corner of his desk ticked loudly, as if prodding him to say more.

I should have asked why she left without saying goodbye to me, Emma said. Mother was not the most affectionate parent, but I do believe her when she says she misses me. She didn’t write before as she was afraid of angering you.

He wanted to retort that their mother wasn’t too afraid to write to him often enough over the years and ask for an increase in her stipend.

Mother left us because she didn’t want a quiet country life with her children, he replied. It is true that I paid her to stay away.

Emma straightened her legs and got to her feet; her hands were balled into fists by her side. You paid Mother to abandon me? Thomas! How could you? I don’t care what you say. I’m writing Mother, and then I’m going to London to see her.

She rushed from the room and out into the corridor. He sighed and rose from his chair to follow her. He made it into the entry hall to see her trip near the top of the main staircase. There was nobody on the stairs to halt her tumble. Emma shrieked. Time slowed down as he watched her tumble down the staircase, head over feet. Thomas reached Emma’s side in time to prevent her head from hitting the black and white checkered marble floor of the entry hall.

Emma!

He lifted his sister gently from where she lay upon the bottom treads of the staircase, her wide skirts tangled about her.

I’ll fetch the doctor from Braxton, the head footman said loudly over the raised voices of several servants who arrived in the entry hall, presumably upon hearing Emma’s scream.

Emma sobbed in agony as he carried her into the drawing room and laid her gently on a wide stuffed sopha.

He said in a voice that shook, It will be all right, Emma. The doctor is coming.

Tears streamed down his sister’s face, a face contorted with pain. His housekeeper entered the room and handed him a glass containing a dark gray liquid.

Laudanum, she said at his inquiring look. It is a very strong dose.

He raised Emma’s head the slightest bit and held the glass to her lips. Her loud cries had turned to soft groans. Here, my dear. Please drink this. It will help with the pain.

Emma swallowed the laudanum. When she finished drinking, she closed her eyes and didn’t make a sound. Her silence frightened him. He was relieved to see her chest rise and fall with each breath.

Stay with me, Emma, he whispered as he knelt beside her motionless body. Please forgive me and stay with me, dearest sister.

Chapter One

December 1829, Norfolk

I’m not cold. I’m not cold, Lady Rose Blevins said aloud as she stamped her feet for warmth.

She wore a fur-lined pelisse, and her hands were stuffed into a fur mitt. Despite the chilly weather, she was determined to meet Sir Thomas Childs on the very steps of his home.

Rose didn’t know if she shook from cold or indignation. Christmastide was nearly upon them before Sir Thomas saw fit to return to his estate and his invalid sister. Emma was her best friend. She hated seeing someone she cared about neglected by her only family.

It was winter. Sir Thomas could not have been on an archaeological dig. There had been reports of six inches of snow in London and parts of the south of England. The London Times reported the Thames had an inch of ice on its surface.

From her bedchamber window she had seen the baronet’s coach turning into the long sweep lined with old oak trees. She rushed downstairs to confront her friend’s errant brother.

The traveling coach pulled into the gravel forecourt of Wickling Manor. A footman rushed out from inside the house to take a valise from the baronet’s coachman before he hurried back into the warmth of the manor.

Sir Thomas alighted from his carriage. Rose squared her shoulders, her mouth set in firm lines.

The baronet took the three steps up to the house in haste, his face drawn. He asked wearily, Can we save your lecture until later, Lady Rose? It is freezing out here.

As he swept by her, she caught a whiff of his cologne; it was dark and woodsy. She’d never encountered a man who smelled as good. The realization did not lighten her mood.

She glowered at his back as she followed him into the house. There was bound to be several servants within earshot. He knew she would not make a scene in the entry hall.

Sir Thomas handed his thick frock coat, tall black hat, and walking cane to a waiting footman.

Miss Emma is in her studio, my lord, the footman said.

Thomas strode down the well-lit corridor toward the former parlor that had been converted