The Timepiece

By Paula Panariello

When an Army officer and a young widow decide on a marriage of convenience, will the memory of her first husband drive them apart?

Margaret Covington is a young widow whose son is the heir of the Earl of Bedford. Upon meeting the Earl, she finds a cold, austere man who wants control of her sons. She feels trapped and begins looking for another alternative in her life. However, she is haunted by the memory of her first husband. She wears his timepiece and can not be parted from it.

Major John Stanhope has given his life for his country for years in the Peninsular Wars. While on leave, he too begins to think of other options for his life when he meets Margaret Covington and her young sons. However, he grows increasingly jealous of her dependence on the timepiece.

Can Margaret be parted from the timepiece to make room for a new love in her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798350947014

Paula Panariello

Paula Panariello is from a small town in Western Pennsylvania and has spent the last thirty years reading historical romance novels. Sweet historical romance is her favorite due to her interest in history and the pure escapism of a good happily-ever-after. In her previous career, Paula was a registered nurse for many years. She has always had the idea for a good story running through her head and finally decided to put her ideas to paper. Paula views human emotions as intricate and unique as snowflakes. Love, loss, anger, and frustration elicit vastly different responses, a truth often glossed over in predictable plots of typical historical romance novels. Drawing on her experiences with patients and families, Paula infuses her characters with depth and complexity, breathing fresh life into the genre. She believes understanding our diverse reactions to adversity holds profound lessons and strives to translate these insights into captivating stories that draw readers into her world.

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The Timepiece

©2024 Paula Panariello

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

print ISBN: 979-8-35094-700-7

ebook ISBN: 979-8-35094-701-4

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

EPILOGUE

About the Author

Chapter 1

Margaret Covington stood in the cemetery in front of her husband’s grave. It was October and the leaves had turned brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow. Although the sun was bright, the air was cool with a hint of the winter to come. A chilly wind blew bright colors across the spot where her late husband was laid. The long climb up the hill from the home she shared with her father and sons had allowed her time to think about the great love of her life. She had come here often since Daniel’s passing three years earlier. His loss still affected her, not with the feeling of soul-shattering sadness, but with mourning what could have been. She stood by the graveside while the wind blew her dark green muslin dress around her legs and lifted her skirts. Wisps of her blond hair escaped from her tidy chignon, flying around the delicate features of her face. With a shiver, she pulled tight the well-worn shawl she had thrown around her shoulders for warmth and clutched the timepiece she had worn around her neck since Daniel’s death.

I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do, she murmured softly, as if in prayer. No one was around to hear her; the quiet was punctuated by a chorus of birdsong.

Two weeks earlier, her life had been upset by the arrival of Mr. Thaddeus Gill. He had introduced himself as the solicitor for the Earl of Bedford. He was a short man, no taller than Margaret. His brown hair was sparse in the front, and he was dressed simply in a black jacket with a black waistcoat and black trousers. The solicitor looked as if he possessed a formidable legal mind behind his stern demeanor and would serve the earl well. Gill told Margaret the earl’s given name was Percival Covington. The earl was the father of the Honorable Daniel Covington, and he had sent Gill to locate his son.

Margaret could not believe that, after nine years, Daniel’s father saw fit to seek him out. Although she was aware her husband had had limited correspondence with his father, Daniel had never explained a great deal to her concerning the break between them. He had told her that when his mother passed, his father had become more remote and increasingly authoritarian. Her husband had chafed at the rules and dictates. When Daniel left school, he decided to see the world, and America had been the first place he had come.

Margaret’s father, the owner of an import/export company, had an opening in his business, and Daniel had gratefully taken it. The job was to be a temporary fix to his financial problems, but the company had become home to him. It was through business interactions that Margaret and Daniel fell in love and, in time, married. To her knowledge, Daniel had had almost no correspondence with his father since their marriage.

Out of courtesy Margaret had sent her father-in-law a letter at Daniel’s passing but had never received any missives in return. She never expected any communication with the man. Interestingly, Gill stated the earl had not received the letter and was not aware his son had passed. The solicitor informed her the earl had suffered severe misfortune these past years. His son Michael had died two years earlier in the Peninsular Wars. His eldest son and heir, Percy, had died eight months ago from a wasting disease. Unfortunately, the heir had three daughters but no sons. Margaret informed Gill her husband had died three years prior of typhoid fever. The solicitor asked if children had been born from the marriage, and Margaret told him she had two sons. That was when she discovered her sons were the sole surviving heirs to the Bedford earldom.

Mr. Gill, I have no idea what that means. My sons are American, exclaimed Margaret, not only confused but also a bit curious.

But your sons are Covingtons, ma’am. They are heirs to a fortune and several large estates. Gill said this with a pomposity that indicated he felt she should be honored and excited to hear this news. He then explained the laws of primogeniture, the right of succession belonging to the firstborn male child. Margaret was vaguely aware of this feudal tradition, but never considered it would apply to her or her sons. She knew enough about Daniel’s background to know he had been well-to-do and his father had been an important man in his homeland, but the extent of that importance was news to her. She furrowed her brow as she considered what this might mean. Surely this could not be.

"Mr. Gill, my sons have never been to England. I have never been to England. I would not have the first idea what is required," Margaret said.

The solicitor explained the significance of the earldom, that a great many people depended on the land and its administration. The earl also played a role in the government. Gill begged her to consider what her sons could lose if she did not give due consideration to the inheritance. It was his responsibility to deliver this news and take her back to England with him.

Margaret had had no idea Daniel’s father had been an earl, and she was not even sure what an earl was or what duties he performed. Daniel had told her his father was a man of status in his country, but, according to Gill, her father-in-law was extremely prominent, and the family very much desired to keep such a position. Only sons could inherit, however, which eliminated the earl’s granddaughters from inheriting.

Two weeks had passed since Margaret had received this news, and she still had made no decision concerning her sons’ future. Gill was getting anxious to return to England and to fulfill his duty to escort the earl’s daughter-in-law and her children back with him. Margaret was worried. Her head was swirling with questions compounded by a fear of what this change might mean for her sons.

Her background could not have been more different from that of an English earl. Margaret’s father, Seamus McClearn, had come to Philadelphia as part of the Scots migration from Ulster. He worked hard as a laborer in the Port Richmond section of the city, for a man who owned an import/export business, and eventually bought the business. Daniel quickly became a valuable asset to Seamus’s company.

Oh, Daniel, why did you not tell me? Margaret continued her solitary conversation. She pulled at her shawl and looked up to see her father climbing the hill to the cemetery. Seamus was huffing, his face red with the effort of the climb. He was hunched over in order to keep the chill from reaching his aching joints. Age was beginning to rob the old man of the energy he had when he first arrived on this continent. She fretted about him.

Ah, darlin’. You made your old Da walk up that hill." Seamus tried to catch his breath.

Sorry, Papa. She reached out her hand to steady him. Her father was a big, burly man with red hair and piercing blue eyes. He was also a jovial, pleasant man, which she felt contributed to his success as much as hard work.

Seamus looked into his daughter’s light brown eyes and reached up with thick, work-worn fingers to place a strand of Margaret’s hair behind her ear. Gill is pacing around the parlor like a caged animal. He is anxious to be on his way back. He said he has business that awaits him, and you must give him an answer soon. Seamus knew she was concerned and wished he could help her with this decision, but it had to be her decision, not his.

Margaret held his eyes for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the stone engraved with Daniel’s name. She sighed deeply and said softly, I know, Papa.

Tell me, said Seamus, did Danny ever say his da was mean or cruel?

"No. Not that I can think of. Mostly he said he was—well—cold." Cold and domineering, now that she thought of it.

Seamus shuffled a little, trying to stay warm as the wind tossed leaves into the air and the smell of autumn filled his nostrils. When I met Danny, I thought he was runnin’ from the law, he chuckled.

Margaret looked up quickly, startled by his remark. Really, Papa! How could you think such a thing?

Think about it, daughter. A well-dressed Englishman with good manners and educated. Why would he come here? Why would he want a job with me?

Margaret had been so taken with Daniel’s charm and appearance she hadn’t considered how others might view him. Daniel had been extremely handsome. He was tall and strong, and his dark blue eyes reminded her of a stormy winter day. His blond hair was full of curls that often tumbled down on his forehead, making him look rakish and carefree. He was well-spoken and dressed in the style of an aristocrat. She had fallen in love with him almost immediately.

Margaret wrapped her arm around her father’s elbow affectionately. If you thought he might be a criminal, why did you let him work for you? Papa, you had him keeping your accounts!

Bah! I hated the books and hadn’t been able to find anyone I could trust to do them. The fact that I hired Danny to do the figures and track the stock didn’t mean I didn’t oversee his work. Then I could see somethin’ between the two of you. He was a bit too polished and pretty for me, but he suited you. He chuckled as he drew her in closer and Margaret felt his love.

Margaret was too young at the time to consider all that, but her father had. She had been too swept away by Daniel to think clearly. The happiest day of her life was the day they married. She had adored him. She thought she had her happy ever after. Of course life is never that simple. Disaster and disappointment lurk around every corner. It was a hard lesson for Margaret, and she still lived with that fear. To give your heart away is to risk its destruction.

Three years after Daniel’s passing, Margaret was still living with her father. Her brother, Martin, and his wife were now living over the main warehouse with their growing family. Margaret knew her papa would ask them to live in the big house if not for Margaret and her sons.

You know I have no love for the English. They were the scourge of my youth. But your Danny was a fine Englishman. Your boys are the sons of an Englishman. This is their legacy. Seamus sighed as he gazed at the spot where his son-in-law now lay. Leaves of red and gold covered most of the grave, adding color to the lifeless sod.

You think I should go. It wasn’t a question.

She turned to him, and he put his hands on her arms, creasing his brow earnestly.

No, love. I would have you and your family stay with me, but that would not be fair to your sons. They have the right to see what would be lost and gained and to meet the rest of their family. His voice was gentle and filled with emotion.

Margaret again looked at the grave. I just wish I knew what Daniel would say, how he would feel. There was a reason he left his father and had little to do with him.

Seamus waited a moment, then said, Margaret, you must live your life the way you feel led now. Daniel lives on in your sons and he would want you to do what is best for them.

He was right. Although Daniel spoke little of his father, she knew he had a falling out with his father after the death of his mother, but not much more. He never told her that he hated the man or that he was an unsuitable parent in any way. They just did not rub well together. Her choice was between the known and the unknown. She could stay here. Her father would continue to support her, but her brother needed to move to the big house. What then? Move over to the warehouse? To do what? She had to consider her sons. She was sure Papa would make room for them, but Martin had two sons and they would also need a place. It was time. She made her decision.

Tell Mr. Gill I have decided. We will go. Margaret straightened her shoulders and looked at her father with a confidence she didn’t feel.

Devotion was a huge ship. Margaret thought it ironic that its name seemed a tribute to the devotion to her sons that was at the heart of this voyage. She and the boys had boarded in Philadelphia more than four weeks ago. It was a long journey to England, one fraught with questions about the wisdom of her decision to leave behind all that was familiar.

The parting in Philadelphia was very difficult for them all. Margaret and her sons had shed tears and young Patrick had threatened not to come. His beloved grandfather had a man-to-man talk with the boy and explained the reasoning behind the journey. He told him what a fortunate boy he was to be able to see his family in England. Margaret knew how hard it was for her father to see them go so far away. He was remembering the family he left behind in Scotland years ago, and his heart would break if he thought he would never see her or his grandsons again. Waving to her family from the ship as they left port was one of the most difficult events she had ever experienced.

Every day of the journey, Margaret questioned her decision. Would the earl be a kind man, or would they all be at the mercy of a tyrant? She told herself this was only an exploratory visit. She could return home anytime she wanted.

One day ominous storm clouds loomed overhead and the sea was choppy and rough. Margaret watched her sons standing beside one of the crewmen, who pointed out whales off in the distance. Their excitement at seeing the large creatures of the sea made her smile despite the impending storm. For two days, the ship rocked back and forth and continual rain forced them to find things to do inside their cabin. Margaret entertained her sons with stories of their father and made up games to keep them busy. After the storm, the clouds opened to reveal a brilliant blue sky and a rainbow so colorful the boys exclaimed it was the most beautiful sky they had ever seen. For the most part, the journey had proven uneventful and the North Atlantic crossing remained calm. The experience for the boys had been filled with curiosity and wonder mixed with sadness at parting with the familiar. Gill had made all the arrangements and was doing all he could to make the trio comfortable. He knew they were being thrown into unknown and unfamiliar territory.

At last one sunlit morning, Margaret stood at the front of the ship, watching land appear in the distance, drawing nearer and nearer. The long journey was coming to a close. The boys were still in the cabin, sleeping soundly, while Margaret’s restlessness had drawn her onto the upper deck to watch the sunlight sparkle on the water, a million pieces of light scattered over the sea. The scene seemed a parody of the million questions flitting in and out of her head. In another day she and the boys should arrive at their destination. Perhaps then she would be able to find answers and calm her fears.

They had departed from London early in the day after a restless night in a fine hotel. Margaret had hurried the children through a quick breakfast of tea and delicious biscuits with local blackcurrant jam. Margaret was too nervous to eat. Soon they were whisked into a carriage and on their way to meet the earl. It was a very important day.

The Earl of Bedford had sent one of his fine coaches to take them on the remainder of their journey. It was a well-sprung coach with a cream-colored leather interior, much gold trim, and the earl’s escutcheon on each side, which allowed them to make good time. A coachman and two outriders accompanied them. As they passed through the villages, people stopped what they were doing and stared at the coach, curious about its inhabitants. Occasionally, the boys waved to someone on the road and received a tentative wave in return, delighting them and making them giggle.

Margaret’s thoughts were spinning like a whirlwind as she rode with her sons, Patrick, eight, and Phineas, four, on soft, padded seats, they on one side and she on the other. They rode past farms that, in summer, were lush with vegetables for the cities they supported. The loamy, sandy soil allowed for vegetable gardening and extensive farming. Gill had told her the area was also a center for lacemaking, in which many of the village women engaged while gossiping eagerly about the local goings-on. Patrick, curious about these new sights and sounds, watched out the window quietly, occasionally commenting about something that caught his attention.

Gill, who rode alongside them on horseback, had secured the hotel for them in London. The boys had been overwhelmed by the whole experience, asking countless questions, fidgeting, and trying to hide their nervousness, while Margaret worked desperately to calm her own nerves and comfort them.

While she had explained to her sons that the earl was their grandfather and was eager to meet them, it was difficult for them to understand he was their father’s papa. Although they understood their grandfather in Philadelphia was her father, they had never met this man or even known of his existence. It was even more difficult to explain his position to her sons. They kept comparing the earl to the mayor of Philadelphia, whom they had met before. It wasn’t exactly accurate, but it was the closest comparison she could make.

As the carriage bounced along the road, Margaret’s stomach became more knotted with nerves. She should have eaten before leaving the hotel, but she was so filled with anxiety that she couldn’t think of food. She still had many doubts that this was the right thing to do, but had decided this trip was necessary for her to come to a final decision. She owed that to her sons.

Phinny had, thankfully, fallen asleep against Margaret’s shoulder about an hour after leaving the hotel, the rocking of the carriage lulling him much as the waves of the ocean had calmed his spirit while on the ship. Patrick sat pensively staring out the window, swinging his legs back and forth, back, and forth. Both her boys closely resembled Daniel with their light blond hair and blue eyes. Patrick was much quieter and more cautious. He was uncertain about this trip and a new grandfather. Phineas was, well, just Phinny. Although he had been sad to leave his Grandfather McClearn, he was also excited about the trip and meeting this new grandfather. He had always been a happy, sunny-natured child, always looking for an adventure and not as pensive as his older brother. Patrick had been old enough to remember his father and still fell into moments of silent grieving, but Phinny had been too young to have vivid memories of his father. She knew Patrick still missed Daniel as much as she did.

Margaret was getting weary from the long ride over bumpy roads. They had been traveling for about three hours, according to the timepiece around her neck. Her stomach was beginning to growl and Phinny was rousing from his sleep, asking for something to drink.

Suddenly the carriage slowed, awaking Margaret with the change of pace. She saw they were approaching another village. The earl lived in Biggleswade in the county of Bedford. Contrary to its name, the town was far from big, about the same size as all the small villages they had passed, but this one had a town center on the River Ivel. Small cottages were scattered here and there and horses pulled carts filled with a variety of produce and milk. Chickens of all colors peppered most yards, while children played in grassy areas with rudimentary toys. The weekly laundry hung from lines stretched from tree to tree. Margaret and the boys watched curiously out the windows of the coach as they passed through this unfamiliar land.

Chapter 2

It was a beautiful fall day in London. The rain that had fallen the past two days had cleared off, leaving the air crisp and clean without the usual tang of coal smoke. Upper Brook Street, known for its stately townhouses, was the London home of Viscount Nicholas Stanhope.

On this day, Major John Stanhope was walking to his brother’s home after receiving a two-month leave from his unit. He was a major in the 52nd Oxfordshire Regiment of Foot. John had joined the military shortly after his nineteenth birthday. His father had always wanted him to do so, and it seemed the proper role of an aristocratic second son. His brother was the current Viscount Stanhope, his father having passed two years ago.

As John approached the townhouse, he stopped to look at the home of his youth. Stanhope House was a brown brick house that stood four stories high and featured arched windows with scrollwork over the top. The family had bought it in his grandfather’s time so they had a place in town. As he walked up the front steps, he had the familiar feeling of home. His whole body felt the warm contentment of coming to the place he loved most. As he stood on the porch of the small