To Warm A Wintered Heart (Regency Romance) Read online

  Copyright © 2016

  To Warm a Wintered Heart by Deborah M. Hathaway

  All rights reserved.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed by any part or by any means without written consent of the author.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by Draft Horse Publishing

  Providence, Utah

  ©Copyright 2016 by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Cover Art by Ravven

  First Printed Edition, 2016

  This book is a work of fiction. All character names and personalities, excluding historical figures, are entirely fictional, created solely in the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016916572

  ISBN 978-0-9851831-4-1

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  Other books by Deborah M. Hathaway

  A Secret Fire

  When Two Rivers Meet

  For my family across the pond–

  Thank you for welcoming me into your homes,

  showing me around your beautiful country,

  and loving me as your own.

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Below a beaming sun and a vivid blue sky, the town of Stratford-upon-Avon hummed with pleasant chatter as the market day crowds brimmed. Lining the town’s busy streets were merchants selling their goods while shop owners propped the doors of their brown and white buildings open in hopes of coaxing frequent patrons and the fresh, late-September air into their small shops.

  Along the roads and amongst the lively crowds walked Charlotte Rosebury, a young woman of twenty years with a smile on her lips and a basket swinging in her hands.

  She did not seem to notice her slow, airy pace differing from the hurried footsteps around her, nor the simple tune she hummed as she searched the crowds for her mother and sister.

  Her hazel eyes squinted from the brightness of the sun, despite the shade her straw bonnet trimmed with pink flowers cast upon her, and after spotting her family standing just outside of a shop, she hastened her step only long enough to dart across the road’s nearly constant procession of carriages pulled by high-stepping horses.

  “There you are, my dear,” Mrs. Rosebury said when Charlotte approached them with a smile. “How is Mrs. Crossley?”

  “I believe she is at last feeling better,” Charlotte replied, thinking of the elderly woman she had called upon moments before.

  “And did she enjoy the flowers?”

  “Oh, very much. I promised to bring more, as well as another basket of freshly-picked apples, next I call.”

  Mrs. Rosebury nodded before Charlotte glanced to Julia, her younger sister of six years, who stood next to their mother.

  “Were you able to find a bonnet you liked, sister?” Charlotte asked, noting the sullen look upon Julia’s face.

  “No, I did not,” Julia said, frowning as she glanced sidelong at Mrs. Rosebury. “Despite my protests, Mama has forced this drab little thing upon me. However, I refuse to wear it.”

  Charlotte’s smile faltered when she saw the flimsy, off-colored bonnet Julia swung indifferently in the air.

  “Oh,” Charlotte said. “Mama, was there no better option? Might we search another time when there is a greater selection?”

  “This bonnet will do nicely,” Mrs. Rosebury said, “at least until our Julia ceases to leave her belongings out of doors to be rained upon or eaten by stray sheep.”

  “I see,” Charlotte said as her sister’s frown increased. “Well, I am certain fresh trimmings will do wonders for it, as well as a bright ribbon. Although the poor thing looks so tattered, a few markings from a sheep might help its appearance.”

  The sisters could not help but laugh until their mother hushed them.

  “When you two are finished, I shall share my exciting news.”

  The girls’ laughter disappeared in an instant.

  “What news, Mama?” Charlotte asked, intrigued.

  “I speak in reference to the letter I have only just received,” Mrs. Rosebury said, her eyes shining with excitement, “a letter from—”

  “Mrs. Rosebury,” called a voice from behind, “Mrs. Rosebury?”

  The Roseburys turned to see Mrs. Chalcroft, a middle-aged woman with dark black hair pulled into a taut bun, approaching them with a determined step.

  “Mrs. Chalcroft, so good to see you,” Mrs. Rosebury said. “How are you this morning?”

  “Oh, I am in quite a state,” Mrs. Chalcroft said with a hand to her chest, “quite a state, indeed.”

  “Oh, dear. Whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Rosebury asked, and Charlotte smiled at her mother’s kind indulgence of the woman’s usual theatrics.

  “Well, I was departing Mr. Booker’s shop earlier this morning, having purchased a new pair of gloves,” Mrs. Chalcroft began, “when I happened to look up to see you smiling down at a letter in your hands. Now, I would never impose, but…”

  Her words trailed off, leaving her sentence hanging heavily, and Charlotte smiled to see Julia barely hiding a nettled expression.

  “Well, Mrs. Chalcroft,” Mrs. Rosebury began, “you are fortunate, for I was just about to share the contents of my letter with my daughters, and I should be glad to share my happy news with you, as well.”

  “Oh, splendid!” Mrs. Chalcroft exclaimed, clasping her hands together near her chin. “Do tell.”

  “I am pleased to say,” Mrs. Rosebury began, “my dear friend, Mrs. Worthington, has accepted my offer to stay at Brightwood at last, and she will be here within a fortnight.”

  “That is exciting news, Mother,” Charlotte said.

  “Yes, quite,” Mrs. Chalcroft added, though her excited tone had weakened with the less than gossip-worthy news.

  “Oh, but this is not all,” Mrs. Rosebury continued. “You see, Mrs. Worthington has also informed me that her son, Mr. Gabriel Worthington, will be accompanying her.”

  Charlotte’s brows rose. “My goodness, that is unexpected. I did not think Mr. Worthington left his estate unless business required it.”

  “Nor I,” Mrs. Rosebury said before turning to Mrs. Chalcroft, whose interest in the conversation had swiftly returned. “Mrs. Worthington has written often of her son’s attentiveness to running his estate, but she has assured me he shall be joining us, which I am most pleased to hear, for though Mr. Rosebury and I have met with Mr. Worthington before, our daughters have not.”

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Chalcroft asked with a glance in Charlotte’s direction. “And are you looking forward to the gentleman’s visit, Miss Rosebury?”

  Charlotte smiled. “Of course,” she said. “I could nev
er complain at a chance to make new friends.”

  Mrs. Chalcroft nodded before asking Mrs. Rosebury, “Is the gentleman amiable?”

  “Oh, very amiable,” Mrs. Rosebury replied.

  “Is his estate very grand?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And he is…unattached?”

  “As far as I am aware.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Chalcroft said with a knowing smile in Charlotte’s direction, “I suppose we now know why the gentleman has at last chosen to come to Brightwood after all this time, do we not?”

  As all eyes fell upon Charlotte, a blush appeared on her cheeks, and she shook her head.

  “Oh,” she began, “no, I am certain he only wishes to…I am sure that is not why he…”

  Her words trailed off as Mrs. Chalcroft’s smile broadened.

  “We shall see, Miss Rosebury,” she said, and Charlotte’s blush increased.

  “At any rate,” Mrs. Rosebury said, “we are all quite looking forward to our time with the Worthingtons. I shall be sure to have you at Brightwood, Mrs. Chalcroft, during their stay. However, I do apologize, for my daughters and I must depart, as Mr. Rosebury is awaiting our return to Brightwood.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Chalcroft said, “only you must promise to inform me of any further news you might receive in regard to our amiable Mr. Worthington.”

  Mrs. Rosebury nodded before the women parted ways, the Roseburys heading in the direction of their carriage.

  “You must be thrilled Mrs. Worthington is coming, Mama,” Charlotte said as they weaved in and out of the crowds.

  “Yes,” Julia piped in, “and now all of Warwickshire shall know of your visitor because of Mrs. Chattering Chalcroft.”

  “You mustn’t speak so unkindly, Julia,” Mrs. Rosebury said, looking sternly over her shoulder as the sisters hid their smiles. “I do not mind if the county knows now, for I am certain word will spread quickly either way once Mr. Worthington arrives, as his reputation as an unattached gentleman is sure to proceed him.”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows at Julia before Mrs. Rosebury continued.

  “Now, make haste, girls. I am anxious to share our good news with your father, as he will be pleased to have another gentleman with him amongst us females.”

  The conversation shifted then to that evening’s dinner menu, however, Charlotte’s mind continued to revert to the Worthington’s visit until well into the night when the rest of the household had fallen asleep apart from herself and Julia, who quietly knocked at her bedroom door.

  “Come in,” called Charlotte in a loud whisper before Julia entered her room, her dark, natural curls flying behind her as she scurried across the floor.

  “Feeling a little cold?” Charlotte asked with amusement as Julia jumped into her bed and pulled the blankets to her nose.

  “Yes,” Julia grumbled with a muffled voice, “and I despise it. A moment longer upon this wretched floor and my feet would have surely frozen to it.”

  “Oh, I am certain my toes are colder than yours,” Charlotte said, sliding her foot across the bed until she met with Julia’s ankle.

  “Charlotte!” Julia yelped, immediately pulling her leg away.

  “Julia, hush,” Charlotte whispered, smiling as she placed a finger to her mouth. “You will wake our parents.”

  “You know I dislike it when you do that,” Julia said in a softer voice, scowling as she rubbed her ankle with her hand. “Oh, but I do despise this cold! A lady should never have to feel this way unless she is warmed by the loving arms of a strong and handsome gentleman.”

  “Julia,” Charlotte said, her eyes widening, “what a thing to say. If Mama heard you, she—”

  “I know what she would say,” Julia interrupted, “and that is precisely why I only say such things in your company.”

  The sisters exchanged a smile, and Charlotte shook her head before reaching to pick at a spare thread hanging from the sleeve of her nightdress, her mind once more returning to their forthcoming visitors.

  “I am very much looking forward to the Worthington’s visit,” she said. “I do hope we find Mrs. Worthington in good spirits, as we have not seen her since the tragedy struck her family.”

  “You refer to the death of her husband?”

  Charlotte nodded. “And, of course, their eldest son.”

  “Eldest son?” Julia asked. “Mrs. Worthington had more than one son?”

  “Of course. Do you not remember?”

  “No, indeed.”

  “I suppose you were only young,” Charlotte said, “and Mama attempted to keep the news of their passing concealed from even myself.”

  “When did it occur?”

  “Merely a few months after their last visit to Brightwood,” Charlotte replied as she stared into the smoldering fire across from her bed. “Mrs. Worthington’s husband passed away from an illness he contracted, as you know, but their eldest son succumbed to the same sickness, dying only days later.”

  “How terrible,” Julia said with a frown.

  “Indeed,” Charlotte said. “After our parents returned from their funerals, I remember overhearing them speak of Mrs. Worthington’s grief, as well as her son’s, for Mr. Worthington had not only lost half his family, but he also became heir of their large estate, Greyston Hall, all at the young age of seventeen.”

  “How frightened he must have been,” said Julia. “Did he take to his new position, even at such an age?”

  “As far as I am aware,” Charlotte said, nodding. “Mama says he takes care of his mother, the estate, and his tenants very well. Though, I believe he has little time for much else.” She paused for a moment, deep in thought before saying, “I must admit, I am quite looking forward to meeting the gentleman.”

  Julia nodded. “I only hope he is handsome.”

  “Julia,” Charlotte began with a smile, “you must know by now, when considering the good qualities of a gentleman, there are far more important things than a handsome face.”

  “Of course I know that,” she replied, “but you must know, handsome features only further a gentleman’s amiability.”

  Charlotte attempted to refute her sister’s claim before sighing. “I suppose there is truth to your statement.”

  “There, you see?” Julia said, brushing her curls away from her eyes. “I am right, after all.”

  “Yes, well,” Charlotte began, “I would not say such words to our aunt, or she might again attempt to smother you with lessons on good manners.”

  Julia groaned. “I do love Aunt Judith,” she said, “and I know she means well, but her constant disapproval tires me so.”

  “Have you decided whether or not you are to accept her and Uncle’s request?” Charlotte asked as Julia bit her fingernails. “A holiday in France might be enjoyable.”

  “Well, I do wish to see Cousin Bridget again,” Julia said, leaning her head back on Charlotte’s pillows as she sighed, “however, I could do without her mother’s company, especially so soon after spending months in London with them.”

  “You really ought to accept their offer then,” Charlotte said, “if only to give the poor girl relief from Aunt inflicting propriety solely upon her.”

  “You are probably right,” Julia said, sighing again, “but I am tired of talking of such matters. Let us, instead, speak of Chattering-Chalcroft’s words from this morning. It pains me to say, but I agree with her. I think Mr. Worthington is coming to Brightwood because an amiable young woman lives here.”

  Julia gave her a knowing look, but Charlotte immediately shook her head.

  “You are wrong, my dear sister,” she said.

  Julia’s smile only grew. “I would not be too sure. Perhaps Mrs. Worthington has made mention of you to her son, and he wants nothing more than to see your beauty for himself.”

  “Oh, yes,” Charlotte said, laughing wryly, “you must be right.”

  “Why do you doubt a gentleman might admire you?” Julia asked. “What of your time in Bath? Did you not
write of a Mr. Charleston who seemed quite taken with you?”

  “Yes, but if you remember correctly,” Charlotte said, “he was also quite taken with too many a pastry, as well.”

  Julia laughed. “All right, but what of the gentleman you wrote of nearing the end of the season?”

  “Mr. Quigley?” Charlotte asked, a sudden and involuntary frown appearing on her lips. “I assure you, he was certainly not interested in me.”

  “Did he not send you letters?”

  “Yes, but thankfully he ceased correspondence before too long.”

  “Was he so very unlikeable?”

  “He was certainly attentive,” Charlotte said, still frowning, “but that was only after my friend in Bath, whom he had admired and wished to form an attachment with, married another, and he realized he would have to look elsewhere for a wife, so he turned to me.”

  “Oh,” Julia said, her face scrunching up in disgust, “how disappointingly unromantic.”

  “Indeed,” Charlotte said dismally.

  “In that case,” Julia said, “perhaps we ought to pray for Mr. Worthington to be more agreeable than this Mr. Quigley.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I am certain he will be, for how could he be disagreeable with Mama’s dear friend for a mother?”

  “Even so,” Julia said with a sidelong glance, “I am certain any unpleasantness from Mr. Worthington could be removed in an instant if you allowed him to hold you warmly in his gentlemanly embrace.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Julia!” Charlotte exclaimed.

  However, after a moment, she joined her sister with laughter of her own, the joyful sound filling the room before echoing down the empty hallways and sleeping rooms of Brightwood.

  ***

  Gabriel Worthington’s stomach churned as he stared out of his carriage window at the green countryside, his troubled thoughts swiftly increasing as his brow furrowed.

  “Gabriel?”

  His light blue eyes darted away from the dark gray clouds looming above to where his mother sat in the carriage seat across from him, an expectant gaze upon her face.

  “Forgive me, Mother,” he said, “did you say something?”