A Wealthy Widow Read online

  “Are you truly all alone? Have you no one to protect you?”

  Charles read the answer in her face. Looking into her eyes, he was conscious of an overwhelming desire to hold her close and tell her that he would care for her as long as they both lived.

  No other woman had ever made him feel quite like this. His stomach clenched with a fierce desire that shocked him by its intensity. And yet it was more than desire—it was a feeling he had never experienced before that he did not yet understand. He reached out, touching her cheek with one finger.

  “Arabella…”

  A Wealthy Widow

  Harlequin®Historical

  Author Note

  In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, there was a passion for gothic novels. When huge old houses were lit by candlelight, and there were none of today’s modern conveniences, it must have been gorgeously frightening for society ladies to read of young girls cruelly locked away and at the mercy of evil men. How much more terrifying would it be for a young girl stolen from the bosom of a loving family to be forced to take part in a satanic ritual? And think of how her family must have suffered when she could not be found! But in the age of Romance there were at least three brave men willing to walk through hellfire for the sake of the women they loved.

  This trilogy deals with the abduction of Miss Sarah Hunter and the search for her by her brother Charles, the Earl of Cavendish and Mr. John Elworthy. It began with Elizabeth Travers and the Earl of Cavendish, and continues with Charles Hunter and Lady Arabella Marshall. The last book tells Sarah’s own story.

  The element of darkness is balanced by the thrill of romance, and I hope you will love reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

  A Wealthy Widow

  ANNE HERRIES

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

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  ANNE HERRIES

  Winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize, Anne Herries lives in Cambridgeshire. She is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment and to give pleasure to her readers.

  Available from Harlequin®Historical and ANNE HERRIES

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  Look out for Sarah’s story in

  A Worthy Gentleman

  Coming soon

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Afterword

  Prologue

  ‘I had begun to think you would not come today,’ the girl said, smiling at her visitor. She was a pretty girl with soft fair hair that gently waved to the nape of her neck, though at the temples the wings of white testified to the suffering of a debilitating illness. Her eyes were a deep green, but there were shadows in them, and hollows in her cheekbones. She was recovering her health, but the nightmare of her past still haunted her. ‘Nana has been a little better this morning, but she looks forward to your visits so much—and so do I, of course.’

  ‘I know.’ Arabella placed her basket on the table. It was filled with delicacies, the kind of thing that would tempt an invalid to eat. Her old nurse had cared for her all her life until she retired to this cottage on the estate, and Arabella was very fond of the elderly lady. She smiled at the girl, of whom she was also extremely fond, loving her as she would a sister. ‘I look forward to them too, but Nana is so fortunate to have you to look after her, May. It was a lucky day for us when you came into our lives.’

  For a moment the girl’s face clouded. Her friends called her May because it was during that month that she had wandered into their lives more than a year earlier. She had not known where she came from or even her own name. All she knew was that she had been walking a long time. She had been cold and tired and very hungry when she arrived at the isolated cottage at the edge of the village. She hardly remembered knocking at Nana’s door to beg for food, because she had collapsed on to the floor only moments after being invited inside.

  May had been desperately ill, her feet torn and bleeding, almost starving and in a raging fever for days on end. Nana had nursed her devotedly, sitting by her bed and comforting her as she cried out and tossed from side to side, haunted by terrible nightmares. The doctor had held little hope of her recovery, but Nana and Arabella had cared for her, never giving up even when it seemed hopeless. Arabella had visited at least twice a day, bringing them both nourishing foods, medicines and fuel for the fire. Sometimes she sat up throughout the night so that Nana could rest. Between the two of them they had coaxed May back to life. And when she began to recover and get up, Arabella had given May pretty clothes to wear for she had only the thin silk shift she had been dressed in when she arrived. May knew that she owed her life to Nana and Belle.

  ‘I am the lucky one,’ she said now. ‘You have both been so kind to me. You don’t know where I came from or what kind of a person I am. I could be a thief or…anything.’

  ‘No, you could not,’ Lady Arabella Marshall said, her dark eyes bright with mischief. ‘I know that you are honest, kind and loyal, May. I am so glad that you are here with Nana. Otherwise, I could
not easily have gone to London, as I must next week. It is tiresome, but I am promised to my aunt—though if she imagines I shall marry to oblige her she will be disappointed. I have no intention of it!’

  ‘Do you not wish to marry?’ May looked at her, feeling a little puzzled. Belle was very beautiful with glossy hair the colour of a raven’s wing and dark eyes that seemed to glow silver when she felt anything deeply. She was wealthy in her own right and had been married at eighteen to her childhood sweetheart, who had been killed fighting the French. ‘Are you still grieving for your husband, Belle?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Belle said truthfully. ‘We were very much in love, May. I adored Ben all my life. Our fathers’ estates were side by side and we saw each other often. He taught me to ride when I was little and I worshipped him, tagging behind him like a puppy…’ Her laughter was rich and warm and wholly delightful. ‘He was always so brave and he was killed being a hero. His commanding officer wrote me a charming letter about how much he was loved by all who knew him. How could any other man measure up to him? If I married, I think I should be for ever comparing my husband to Ben—and that would not be fair, would it?’ Her lovely eyes were sad, haunted by regret for the husband she had lost.

  ‘No, but perhaps you might love someone if you let yourself.’

  ‘I love you and Nana,’ Arabella said. ‘And my aunt too, of course. I shall visit Aunt Hester, because, apart from Tilda, who is a distant cousin of my mother’s, she is my only relation. She and, of course, her son, Cousin Ralph—whom I detest, though I do not tell her so for she is a dear and cannot help having a toad as her son. Ralph takes after his father, who made poor Hester’s life a misery until he obligingly died and left her comfortably provided for.’ Arabella shrugged one dainty shoulder.

  ‘I promised my aunt I would go up to town when the Season was almost over. I do not wish to join the mad whirl of the matrimony stakes, but I dare say we shall find enough to amuse us. I enjoy the theatre and there will still be those families who do not care to decamp to the sea or the country. It will be lively enough for me.’ And she avoided the Season because it gave too many opportunities for unwelcome marriage proposals, of which she had already received more than she could recall.

  Her eyes rested on the girl for a moment. She had not told May, but one of her reasons for going up to town was because she intended to find an investigative agent, to search for details of the girl’s past. May seemed content to stay with Nana, but she did not belong here. Somewhere she must have a family who cared for her. At least, Arabella hoped that there was someone who cared about the girl.

  It was nearly sixteen months since she had come to them and Belle had hoped that her memory might return. As yet the past remained a secret to them all, but Arabella was determined to discover the truth. She had waited because May was still so vulnerable, still unable to cope with questions about the past. It was time to try to discover the truth, but whether or not she told May of her findings depended on what that truth turned out to be. The girl was safe and loved with them and Arabella would never desert her. Only if she had a loving family to welcome her back would Arabella tell her what she had discovered.

  ‘I shall go up and see Nana now, dearest,’ she said. ‘If you look in the basket, you will find a book of poems I thought you might like to have. And there are some embroidery silks. I know that you like to sew. I shall bring you some material from town and you may use it to make up whatever you choose. What colour would you like for a new gown?’

  ‘You spoil me,’ May said, looking thoughtful. ‘But if I could choose, I think I should like yellow…yes, that is a colour I like.’

  Arabella nodded. It was a small thing to discover, but she had learned not to ask the important questions. Little by little, she was teaching May to know what she liked, and perhaps one day she would remember all the things she had forgotten.

  Chapter One

  Charles Hunter stared moodily at the tankard in front of him. He had been drinking heavily the previous night, drinking because of the shock of the news that Daniel had told him concerning his sister. It had thrown him into turmoil again. He had been searching for her for more than a year, torn between doubt and hope. At first he had not known what had happened to his sister. She had seemed to disappear into thin air, and he had suspected that she had been kidnapped. Daniel, Earl of Cavendish, and others of his friends had vowed to help him find Sarah. After exhaustive investigations, acting on information received from a certain Mr Palmer, they had all believed the search was over. Charles had been planning to take a young girl’s body from a suicide’s grave and bury her at the family vault at his home, but now Daniel had aroused fresh doubts in his mind.

  ‘Talk to Fred yourself,’ Daniel had told him just before he left on his wedding trip with Elizabeth, his new and much-loved wife. ‘Fred was a footman for Sir Montague Forsythe and he says that he found a girl wandering in distress at about the time we know Sarah ran away from her captors. Palmer told us that she might have drowned herself in the lake that night, but what Fred has told me makes me doubt that. I have taken Fred into my employ as an assistant to my gamekeeper and I believe him honest. I do not think he can tell you more than I have already—but it makes me think that it was not Sarah who drowned herself in Forsythe’s lake, but a village girl who had been turned out by her family because she was with child.’

  ‘Then where is Sarah?’ Charles had been repeating the question over and over again in his own mind ever since his friend’s revelations.

  This morning his head felt as if there were a hundred hammers working at his temples. His own fault, he readily admitted, for drinking. Feeling sorry for himself would not help him find his sister—if there was any chance of it! Sarah had been missing for so many months, more than he cared to remember—and all the agents he had employed had failed to find any trace of her. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth. His mother believed her dead—had always believed it, even before they had heard of the unknown girl who had drowned herself. Daniel had given him hope, kept on searching when Charles might have given way to despair. Charles had thought her dead, but now he was haunted by the idea that Sarah was alive. His worst fear was that she was trapped in a whorehouse somewhere, living in fear and misery. His sweet, innocent little sister at the mercy of evil men!

  ‘Oh, God, no! Damn it, no!’ Charles said the words aloud, anger mixing with the agony of uncertainty. He brought his fist down hard on the table in front of him, making the remnants of his meal fly from the plate. ‘I cannot bear it. It shall not be!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir. The landlord told me I might share the parlour with a gentleman. I am sorry if you feel it an intrusion.’

  Charles blinked and looked up. Until that moment he had not realised he was no longer alone in the inn parlour. For a moment he stared at the young woman, struggling to focus his somewhat bleary eyes. She was dressed in the height of fashion, clearly a person of some wealth and consequence—and he realised, as he raised his eyes to her face, extremely beautiful, though not in the usual way. The hair peeping from beneath her elegant travelling bonnet was a glossy black and her eyes were very dark, though as he continued to stare at her, he saw a silver spark in their depths.

  ‘If I am intruding, I can leave…’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Charles belatedly got to his feet. ‘Excuse me. I was about to go myself. Please feel free to call the parlour your own, ma’am.’ His words were abrupt, harsh, for his mood was bleak, tortured, and he hardly knew what he said or did. ‘I have things to do…’

  As he walked from the parlour he was aware that he had probably sounded rude. It was not how he would have greeted such a woman in the old days, for she was certainly a beauty, and the type of woman he most admired. He had admired Elizabeth Travers—the young woman Daniel had recently married—and he had been rude to her too at the start. He had apologised to her later for his boorish behaviour, but at the moment he was too tense, too filled with ap
prehension to be the gentleman he was at heart. How could he be carefree and charming, when his guilt and remorse haunted him? He ought to have found Sarah by now!

  It was unlikely that Fred, the footman-turned-gamekeeper, would be able to help him find Sarah, but Daniel had put him in touch with another man who might help him. Jesiah Tobbold was a man of some resources. He had helped Daniel protect his family from Sir Montague Forsythe. There was nothing to fear from Forsythe now that he was dead. Charles had killed him in a desperate struggle when the villain had tried to escape after kidnapping Elizabeth and murdering Lady Roxborough.

  Not for the first time, Charles wished that they had managed to keep Forsythe alive. He should have died at the end of a hangman’s noose, as Daniel had always intended. Perhaps he could have told them where Sarah was…if he knew. Had she managed to evade her captors that fateful night? Or had Forsythe found her and imprisoned her in one of his houses of ill repute? The question haunted Charles. Until he had discovered the truth he would never rest. His mind was made up. He would speak to the assistant gamekeeper and then ask Tobbold for help to continue the search.

  Arabella stood for a moment staring after the man who had just left the inn parlour so abruptly. His behaviour had shocked her, not so much because he was rude, but because of the expression of near desperation on his face—and because he so obviously did not recognise her. It was several years since they had met, but she had known him despite the ravages of grief in his face. She was sure it was grief that had given him those dark shadows beneath his eyes, and wondered what had caused him such pain.