Cliffdane: Historical Romance

By S.A. Lewis

Charles Ransom, Viscount Everly, was enjoying his freedoms on a quaint vineyard in France. He couldn't be sure if it was living in the picturesque countryside, the tiny cottage, hard labor, or the fact that no one in France knew of his title that made him so fond of this place. Unfortunately, a letter from his mother caused an abrupt halt to his life in France, forcing him to return to his struggling estate.
After the passing of her father, Miss Sofia Crawley and her two sisters were whisked away to live in an unfamiliar village in Sussex. With barely enough money to feed themselves, Sofia quickly devised a plan to supplement their meager income. Using the skills she was taught by her grandmother, Sofia started to sell baked goods. Soon, her pastries plan led the sisters to an empty manor owned by an incredibly handsome young viscount.
If the glitz of a ballroom and societal expectations were replaced with hard work on a rundown estate, would there be a chance for a budding romance? Could a young lord ever fancy what he presumed to be a kitchen maid? Anything seemed possible this far from London.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 7, 2025
• ISBN: 9798992624700

S.A. Lewis

A devoted wife, mother, daughter, and friend sums up S.A. Lewis' passion for writing love stories. With her love for storytelling and indulging in the latest book, she realized her fascination for the historical romance novels lay within its simplicity. She enjoys the old-fashioned way of finding true love, in person. Her hope is to create a world that evokes feelings of warmth, romance, and a touch of spice. A refreshing palate cleanser between the profound romance novels that are deeply cherished.

Book preview

Chapter One

When Charles Ransom stepped off the cutter and onto English soil, he wanted to kiss the ground under his boots. The ferry ride over from France had been a revelation, the closer the boat drew to English shores, the more elated he was to be home and see his family after two years.

Oddly, he had given no thought to leaving the vineyard on the French countryside until he received the last letter from his mother. A very vague letter. What caught his attention was the fact she mentioned money, or the lack thereof, and she never spoke of something so vulgar such as his father’s finances. Why would she need to think of such things in the first place? His father had a plentiful income. Another concern was his parents now residing in the London townhome rather than the country seat in Sussex. They hated London.

Once Charles hailed a hackney at the docks, he inhaled a deep breath of London’s stale air and slumped back on the seat to ponder his time away. He closed his eyes as the carriage rambled down the roads, hoping the tightening in his chest would reside. He had been staying in France since he took his grand tour the year after he graduated university. It was pure happenstance that brought him to the vineyard when the rocky road he traveled to the last village on his tour caused his carriage to lose a wheel. The vineyard owners, Pascal Renou, and his wife Reine took him and his friend Arthur Rowley in once they saw them on the side of the country road. Arthur stayed the first week but needed to get back to England.

Charles had fallen in love with the small, thatched roof abode the couple put him up in and was in no hurry to get back home. One of the things he enjoyed most about living in France was the fact he had anonymity on the vineyard and in the tiny village that sat next to it. They had no use for stuffy ballrooms or races down rotten row to prove their status. It was a quaint little living and before he knew it a year and a half had passed.

Unfortunately, the couple lost two sons during the war and finding help to work the vineyard was next to impossible for that same reason. Charles volunteered to work for their small winery in exchange for room and board in the cozy little cottage he stayed in on their land.

Charles became close with the couple during his stay in France. He could never replace their two sons, but he knew the Renous now thought of him as a dear friend. Although his studies at school were more business related, he wished he would have taken a few classes in agriculture. His father had tenants to tend to his lands and was never involved with the farming.

When Charles stepped out of the hack he hired at the docks, he looked up to the second floor of his family home. His sister Elenore sat in the window seat gazing off into the clouds. It had been a long time since Charles last saw her, but he could not help but think there was a sadness in her stare. He made his way to the steps and stood at the door. Strangely enough, the family butler, Patterson, didn’t open it immediately. After letting himself in, he nearly ran into the cook in the hallway.

Oh! Milord, I did not see you there! Begging your pardon, can I take your coat and bags?

Why would you do such a thing, Mrs. Crandall? Where is Patterson?

Just then his youngest sister appeared. He dropped his bags as Patricia ran towards him. Brother! You are finally home! she shouted as she jumped into his arms.

Ooofff… You have grown, Trish! He chuckled as he set her on her feet.

Of course I have, you have been gone forever.

She was fourteen when he left for his grand tour two years ago; he guessed time went by differently for someone her age.

Not that long, little miss, but longer than I intended. He smiled and bopped her nose. Believe it or not, I have been working the entire time I was away. He flexed his arm muscles. And not behind a desk. He teased.

Trish took his hand and walked him to the parlor chattering about ribbons and bobbles. He heard his mother singing all the way down the hall. She had not improved since he left. As Charles entered the room, he stopped short. His father slept in the chair beside the fire with a blanket over his lap. His heart sank seeing how feeble he had become. The marquess was strong and strapping when he left London, what had happened to him?

His mother’s piano playing came to an abrupt halt. Charles! She rushed to embrace him.

Mother. He smiled softly, hugging her tighter than he expected to.

His father snorted himself awake. Son. Is it really you? He smiled gently.

Charles strode to greet him, expecting him to stand and give his long-lost son a hug. Yes, father, I am finally home.

His father, normally a jovial man, simply nodded from his chair with what looked like a tear in his eye. Glad to hear it Charles, I am sorry I—

Can’t get up, his mother interrupted.

He cannot stand? Charles gasped. He couldn’t breathe. Never one to panic, he was as steady as they came, but two years away now seemed if it had been twenty.

Papa took a fall awhile back. Trish stood protectively by their father’s side. He has not been able to move about on his own ever since. They say it’s his hip.

He frowned. And how does he get around? Why did his mother not tell him this in her letters? She wrote to him once a month. A prick of guilt shot through him for not responding to her letters in a timely manner and for assuming life at Cliffdane carried on as normal.

We had to move his bedroom to the first floor after the injury. Mickey carries Papa when he wants to go to his room.

A wave of horror washed over him. Mickey! The coachman? And where is Patterson?

His mother gave Patricia a strange look. A look to silence her? Charles, must we speak of all of this now? Between your tour and sojourn in France, it had been ages since we have seen you.

It was not a sojourn, mother. He huffed.

Whatever you want to call it, dear. It has been two years.

Shame slammed through his entire body at her words. He stared down at his boots for a long moment. I will see myself to my room for a much-needed bath and then join you all at supper.

He touched his father’s shoulder. Before I go upstairs, do you need me to… c-carry you to your room? He was barely able to say the words.

Stuff and nonsense. The marquess had a look upon his face Charles did not recognize.

Charles put his hand over his father’s and smiled. He seemed so frail now. With a deep sigh, he left the room.

Brother. His sisters footsteps chased after him. I will get Mickey to bring up the pails of water for you.

He didn’t want to ask why the five footmen wouldn’t be carrying up the water for his tub. Thank you, Trish.

Charles would have gone out to find Mickey himself, apparently one of the two staff members left in the household, but he needed to speak with his sister Elenore. She would know what was going on around here. At eighteen, she must be more aware than the rest of his family. He furrowed his brow and scratched his head before knocking on her door. God he prayed she had some answers.

When Eleanor answered the door, she looked almost gaunt.

Nory.

She barely smiled. His heart dropped like a lead weight. During the fifteen minutes he’d spent in this house, he realized his return was not the celebration he imagined.

Charlie. She nodded softly.

He embraced her. Come sit and tell me all that has happened in my absence.

His sister shook her head, Not yet, Charlie, I want to hear how you have been. It had been ages. Smoothing her skirts when they sat down in her window seat, she waiting to hear his tales.

Her expression touched his heart,