Already His (The Caversham Chronicles - Book Two)

  Michael has been Elise’s future husband since she was ten...

  Only he didn’t know this.

  “I detest smelling salts!” Elise opened her eyes and shoved the offending bottle away from her face, then gave him a frosty glare.

  “Then you should not have fainted.” Relief flowed through Michael. For a moment fear of losing her had paralyzed him, but when he realized what had happened he’d ordered the coach to stop and called for her maid to help him. God, he was going to hate explaining this to her brother.

  “I didn’t faint. I never faint.”

  He cracked a cocksure grin. “Right.”

  “Did I hear my lady? Has she come to?” Bridget asked behind him.

  Elise tried to sit up, but he held her down. “Rest. Your maid’s just concerned. Yes, she’s finally come around,” he said to the maid. “Why do you women insist on wearing things like this—” Michael held up the spencer. “—on warm days like today?”

  “Because,” the servant said, “to appear indecently dressed will bring the wrath of society down onto her head. It’s my job to see that she at least appears conventional.”

  “Did you...?” Elise sputtered, apparently just noticing her sleeveless dress and unbuttoned collar. “How did...?”

  “I removed it to aid in cooling you. Don’t worry, I didn’t take any liberties. I was too busy fanning you with your book.” He lowered his voice so Bridget couldn’t hear him, and added, “Besides, when that time comes, I want you very much conscious, my sweet.” Smiling, he thought, how he looked forward to that day.

  Elise muttered something he didn’t fully catch, though it sounded like a rant about stubborn men and their misguided allegiance. Michael knew she was well when she turned another frigid glance his way. “Let’s be off then,” he said. “Woodhenge is still some four hours distant, without the stop for lunch.” He held Elise’s hand, preventing her from leaving the coach and riding with her waiting maid. “No. You stay with me. She can ride in the other coach.”

  “Oh! You arrogant cur,” she hissed. “I don’t want to ride with you.”

  He held his tongue thinking she would definitely want to be with him before this day was over. If only he could restrain his frustration at her insolence. “Be that as it may, you will.” He sent Bridget back to her vehicle, and shut the door on theirs. Soon they were underway once again.

  Within minutes Elise fidgeted with the book she’d finished. He could tell she was contemplating re-reading the thing to avoid talking to him. He didn’t want that. He wanted her ebullience and vivaciousness to fill the coach. He wanted to talk to her, explaining the decision he’d come to, and ask if she’d still felt the same about him, and about a possible future together. Then afterward, assuming she still did, he would laugh with her, hold her, touch her, kiss her.

  But if she didn’t, he had only twenty four hours in which to change her mind. And the only way to begin with this spirited minx was to be honest, because that was the one thing he knew she valued beyond measure. She always had.

  “Do you remember that night at the Holderman’s?” he began, his voice sounding somewhat strange, even to himself. Maintain control, his brain ordered his heart. When she nodded, he continued, “Do you remember what you said?”

  “I’m afraid I said a great deal that night,” she said as she stared out the window. “I cannot remember specifically what it is you wish me to recall.”

  Michael took a deep breath, almost afraid to begin. “You said, ‘Have you ever known something to be so right and true in your deepest heart, without ever knowing how it could be that you know.’ I have not forgotten your words. You spoke from your heart when you said that.” She turned to face him, and he thought he saw a flicker of something, an emotion deep inside her she was yet unwilling to give rise to, so he continued, hoping it was the response he’d wanted. “I think I understand what you meant now, because I don’t know where this feeling is coming from. I only know that I don’t want to lose it.”

  “May I ask how you came to this conclusion?” Her voice barely contained her emotion. He could see that she wanted to believe him, and he could only continue as he’d began, with honesty.

  “On my word, Elise, this... this... whatever-it-is between us caught me very much unaware. One day, you were just Ren’s annoying sister, and the next I wanted you and at the same time knew I could never have you. Then I started thinking on why I couldn’t and every reason came back to one thing—the agreement your brother and I made when we were young, in which we promised each other sisters were off limits. At the time it was made, I worried about your brother breaking Christina’s heart. You were never an issue, as you were just a child.”

  She didn’t react to his speech, but he could see she was fighting a smile. Michael removed the loosened cravat completely, as it was growing warmer and more stuffy inside the slow-going coach. He shed his unbuttoned waistcoat, tossing it onto the seat with his jacket, and continued, “Then there was our age difference. In my head, I wasn’t seeing you as the young woman you’ve become, but rather as the little sister of my friend. Am I making sense so far?”

  Michael could see the hope bubbling just beneath the surface, but she just nodded mutely. He went on. “That night, at the Holderman’s, you tried to tell me the age issue was irrelevant, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it. Then you, termagant that you are, arranged that evening at the theater with Huddleston and Wilson.”

  “I’ve got questions about that...” she began, but as realization dawned, her eyes first widened with shock, then narrowed with skepticism. “How did you know....”

  He held up a hand to cut her off. “Later, please. Let me finish. When I asked Ren about allowing someone older than me to court you, he reminded me of a few things and clarified others, basically telling me what you’d said the night of the Holderman’s ball—that our age difference would not be an issue with him.

  “Once that began to sink in, I started to see that I couldn’t allow someone to ‘tame’ you or break your spirit. It was the one thing about you that always drew me to you. That’s what makes you special.”

  “You followed me the other night,” she said. He loved that tilt she got to her head when she asked him a question. “And you heard Edgcumbe, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I only thought to be there to protect you should you need me. Though you obviously held your own. I should have known you would be fine. You are a strong and direct young woman. Edgcumbe is like a colt still finding his legs, and not what you need, Elise. In a few years time, he would have worn your spirit down and you wouldn’t be happy. Neither would he. Then, soon after, he’d seek his comfort elsewhere, be it his club, gaming, or a mistress. And you would continue to grow older and unhappier.” He paused and let his words sink in.

  “Look at me. Please, Elise.” When she did, he spoke again. “That’s not what I want for you.”

  It seemed an eternity to him while she quietly digested his words. True to what he knew of her nature, she asked, “Why are telling me this? Now?”

  “Because I want to kiss you again, Elise.”

  ALREADY HIS

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013, Sandy Raven

  ISBN: 978-1-939359-05-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in cr
itical articles and/or reviews.

  Cover design by The Killion Group, Inc.

  www.thekilliongroupinc.com

  Formatting by Author E.M.S.

  http://www.authorems.com

  Dear Reader,

  Already His is the second book in my series, The Caversham Chronicles, and I hope you enjoy Michael and Elise’s story as much I loved writing it.

  This book is special to me because the heroine and I have one passion in common. Horses.

  Note that the type of horsemanship Elise practices in this book likely didn’t exist at that time in the form we would recognize it, even though Xenophon had written his book On Horsemanship around 350 BC, and Daniel Sullivan (d.1810) had already whispered his way across Ireland. Anyway I cannot, in all good conscience, write something my heart doesn’t believe is humane (i.e., the normal horsemanship practiced then,) so I didn’t do it. I believe in and practice safe and humane horsemanship, and cannot see any heroine I create doing otherwise. Elise also rides astride which women did do at the time according to my research. It was much more common in the countryside on the mainland, rather than in England itself, and women usually wore breeches of some sort under the skirts of their riding habit. Keep in mind that during this, my favorite period in English history, society believed it was undignified for a lady to ride astride. And when all a young lady had to recommend her were the size of her dowry, familial connections, and her reputation, they usually kept their reputations pretty spotless.

  This Summer, the third book in the series. Loving Sarah returns to the ocean, and you’ll find the preview first chapter at the end of this book. It’s the story of Ren’s youngest sister who wasn’t in London during the events in this second book as she was too young, but she does make an appearance in the Epilogue.

  Sarah craves adventure and thinks the three Seasons she’s had have been enough. She’s ready to settle into a comfortable spinsterhood. But first, there are a few things she wants to accomplish while she’s young enough to do so. One of those things is sail across the Atlantic in a race that her brother-by-marriage, Lucky Gualtiero, and his business partner, Ian Ross, are participating in. Knowing she will be sacrificing a great deal by doing it, she stows onto his ship waiting until after the start of the race to make herself known.

  Except she didn’t make it to the right boat.

  I would love to hear from you! So, if you have any questions or comments, I’m online at:

  www.SandyRaven.com

  and on Facebook at:

  https://www.facebook.com/SandyRavenAuthor

  Sincerely,

  Sandy Raven

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my natural horsemanship mentor and friend, Janet Schipper. If I could just have an ounce of your understanding of how a horse thinks inside my brain, I’d be a much better horsewoman than I am.

  To my DH, Curtis. They say that necessity is the mother of invention. But it’s also the maker of a pretty darn good proofreader and copy-editor. Thanks for helping me out. I owe you.

  To Gail Shelton. You’re the best editor and friend a writer can have.

  To my D1. You’re the absolute best I.T. Department a mom can have. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.

  To my D2. You get me, and for that I love you more than you could ever know.

  To Janet, Marilyn, Beverly and Nita. I have known no finer horsewomen in my life. I am honored to call you my friends.

  PROLOGUE

  Woodhenge (near Goring), Summer 1808

  Michael Brightman, heir to the pile of crumbling stone in which he currently found himself, hurried through the narrow corridors, eager to reach the rooms he kept in this, his uncle’s home. He thought about his odds of finding a willing wench among the kitchen or laundry staff at that moment, but decided against it. And the village was certainly too far to travel in the middle of his older sister Sabrina’s wedding feast, take care of business, and return. Damn his balls, but the past two hours of staring at Miss Stansbury’s delectable decolletage—and envisioning his face planted between those luscious breasts—caused an uncomfortable tightness is his breeches that would need relief soon, whether by his own hand, or a willing woman.

  He’d prefer the latter, but in a bind his hand would do.

  He hurried through the chilly hallway of the family wing and slowed his pace when he heard the muted sobbing and delicate sniffling of a young lady as he passed the priest hole. The medieval tapestry that hung on the wall to his left had been the handiwork of several of his early female ancestors and their ladies, and had been in that same spot for over three hundred years. Only a few knew the true purpose of the tapestry was not in displaying the battle scene which won the first Earl of Camden his title, but rather it served to hide the entry of a secret passageway. The tiny room hid a stairwell leading to an escape route from the castle that not many knew about, so Michael wondered who it was hiding during his sister’s wedding feast. The room had been a favorite of his and his sisters when they were children. He and Christina used to play in the secret room, and hide from their nurses when they were young. Thinking on it, he hadn’t seen her below in some time, and he just passed Sabrina and his mother, so likely this was Christina. He wondered what had her so upset?

  Glancing up and down the corridor and seeing no one, he moved the tapestry and slid behind it. Running his hand along the wall, he reached the open entry to the priest hole which began the escape route his relatives used on more than one occasion when the castle had been attacked.

  As expected, he found Christina, in the tiny antechamber to the stairwell, with a solitary taper lit on the table. The room was unchanged since the last time he’d been there, with only one small table and two chairs filling the space.

  He stood in the doorway, feeling as though the entire room had grown smaller over the past few years. Michael watched as Christina blew her nose delicately into a linen. His heart wrenched for her, his little sister. “If you had shut the door,” he said, “I never would have heard you weeping.” He put his hand on her back, wanting to give her his sympathy for whatever was breaking her heart. “Why aren’t you below, enjoying the festivities?”

  “No reason,” she sniveled and wiped her nose. “I’m simply feeling sorry for myself.”

  “I know you better than to believe that nonsense. You’re the least likely girl to feel sorry for herself that I know.” He stroked her back gently. “Come now, dry your eyes.” Michael tried to sound cheerful, thinking to get his sister back out into the great hall where the party was ongoing. “Tell me who it is that has you in tears and I will make sure the bounder pays for your upset.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Absolutely you can. You know I’m not averse to pummeling the face of the Prince himself if he were the one, though I doubt you’d find him to your liking.”

  Christina dabbed at her eyes with her kerchief and shook her artfully arranged golden curls. “No. It would drive a wedge into your friendship. Even though he was not the only young man standing near me, when I turned I saw no one but Glencairn. I just hope Lord Vance did not witness his actions, because he is the man I am most interested in. Glencairn, though of noble birth, will certainly wind up a drunken, debauched rake. If he were to ever marry, he will not make the unfortunate young lady a good husband.”

  “What did he do?” Michael had to ask, though he was not certain he really wanted to know because he hated the thought of having to call out his friend.

  Christina started a convoluted explanation, and in between wiping her tears and blowing her nose, Michael thought he heard her misspeak. “He did what?” Michael’s ire rose, especially when he realized of whom she spoke. “Glencairn touched you inappropriately? In front of others? Where?”

  She nodded.

  “Christina, tell me exactly what did Glencairn do?” Before he pounded his friend’s face into a bloody pulp, he wanted to be certain of his actions.

  “We were leaving the dance floor after a long, exhausting country
dance, where Mr. Hampton was my partner, and Glencairn partnered Miss Prudence Chichester. There was such a crowd on the way to the refreshment table as it was the end of a set. Lord Vance was nearby, on my left, and Glencairn was directly behind me. I felt a large warm hand, masculine to be sure, touch me...” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “on my...” she seemed to struggle with saying where Ren touched her.

  “Where did he touch you Christina?”

  She pushed the heavy wooden door closed, and whispered, “He more than touched my bottom, Michael, he... he squeezed it! I have never been so shocked in all my life. That’s when I turned around to see your friend standing directly behind me acting nonchalantly, as though what he’d done was of no consequence.”

  His sister went into another bout of tears, repeating her fear that Vance might have seen what Ren did, and that her chances with him were now forever ruined. Michael wanted to slam his fist into Ren’s ugly mug for what he did to cause his sister such distress. He knew better than anyone what a profligate rake his friend was. Michael had to warn him away from ever touching his sister again. At sixteen, Christina was too young and innocent for the likes of him.

  Michael had heard enough. He wanted nothing more than to pummel his friend into the ground for taking liberties with his sister, but held his anger in check for her sake. He strode from the room, and went in search of Lord Glencairn, his best friend for ten years, since their very first day at Eton when they were both eight years old. The bounder had touched his sister inappropriately and by damn he would apologize to her.

  Michael found Ren in the old castle’s receiving room which was the official card room for the evening. He sat with one of his new brother-in-law’s relations, Michael forgot the fop’s name, and several other young rakes, most of whom were older than they, Lord Vance among them. As Michael drew nearer, his friend met his gaze and gave him a lazy smile, likely influenced by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.