Unmasked Heart: A Regency Romance (Regency Romance: Challenge of the Soul Book 1) Read online

  CONTENTS

  UNMASKED HEART

  Dedication

  Books by Vanessa Riley

  Chapter One - March, 1819, Devonshire, England

  Chapter Two - The Day the World Changed

  Chapter Three - A Stranger's Comfort

  Chapter Four - A Ride to Chevron Manor

  Chapter Five - The Hallow's Ball

  Chapter Six - A Confession, A Dance, A Plan

  Chapter Seven - Courting Maybe?

  Chapter Eight - Staking a Claim

  Chapter Nine - Dinner and a Miss

  Chapter Ten - The Wrong Man

  Chapter Eleven - The Wrong Kiss

  Chapter Twelve - The Consequences of a Kiss

  Chapter Thirteen - A Mistake or An Opportunity

  Chapter Fourteen - The Consequences of Yes

  Chapter Fifteen - A Routine of Hope

  Chapter Sixteen - Losing William

  Chapter Seventeen - The Nursery

  Chapter Eighteen - A Father's Love

  Chapter Nineteen - The Painful Truth

  Chapter Twenty - To Elope

  Chapter Twenty-One - Riding to Salvation

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Return to Ontredale

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Forgiveness

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Sermon of Terror

  Chapter Twenty-Five - A Soul Must Choose

  Want More?

  Author's Note

  Part One - Bonus - Next Book in the Series: Unveiling Love

  Chapter One: London, England August 4, 1819

  Chapter Two: Confession And Omission

  Part Two - Bonus - New Series - Advertisements for Love

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Part Three - Glossary

  UNMASKED HEART

  Challenge of the Soul: Book 1

  Vanessa Riley

  Shy, nearsighted caregiver, Gaia Telfair always wondered why her father treated her a little differently than her siblings, but she never guessed she couldn't claim his love because of a family secret, her illicit birth. With everything she knows to be true evaporating before her spectacles, can the mulatto passing for white survive being exposed and shunned by the powerful duke who has taken an interest in her?

  Ex-warrior, William St. Landon, the Duke of Cheshire, will do anything to protect his mute daughter from his late wife's scandals. With a blackmailer at large, hiding in a small village near the cliffs of Devonshire seems the best option, particularly since he can gain help from the talented Miss Telfair, who has the ability to help children learn to speak. If only he could do a better job at shielding his heart from the young lady, whose honest hazel eyes see through his jests as her tender lips challenge his desire to remain a single man.

  Unmasked Heart is the first Challenge of the Soul Regency novel.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my copy editor supreme, my mother, Louise, my loving hubby, Frank, and my daughter, Ellen. Their patience and support have meant the world to me.

  I also dedicate this labor of love to critique partners extraordinaire: June, Mildred, Lori, Connie, Gail.

  Love to my mentor, Laurie Alice, for answering all my endless questions.

  And I am grateful for my team of encouragers: Sandra, Michela, Kim, and Rhonda.

  BOOKS BY VANESSA Riley

  Madeline's Protector

  Swept Away, A Regency Fairy Tale

  The Bargain, A Port Elizabeth Tale, Book I

  Sign up at VanessaRiley.com for contests, early releases, and more.

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  Copyright © 2015 Vanessa Riley

  Published by BM Books

  A Division of Gallium Books

  Suite 236B, Atlanta, GA 30308

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9907437-7-4

  Cast of Primary Characters

  Gaia Telfair: the second daughter of Henry and Delilah Telfair.

  William St. Landon: the Duke of Cheshire and the son of the late Rev. St. Landon.

  Serendip Hallow: Gaia’s best friend. She is also called Seren.

  Sarah Telfair: the second wife of Henry Telfair, stepmother to Julia and Gaia, mother to Helena, Lydia, and Timothy.

  Henry Telfair: the man who has raised Gaia Telfair, father of Julia, Helena, Lydia, Timothy, and three deceased sons.

  Elliot Whimple: a neighbor to the Telfairs. He is a botanist.

  Julia Telfair: Gaia’s older sister.

  Millicent Rance: a cousin to the Telfair’s who was once engaged to Mr. Whimple.

  Deborah Smithen: the duke’s cousin and long time admirer.

  Benjamin Stelford: the duke’s best friend.

  Mrs. Wingate: the housekeeper at Ontredale.

  Albert: a loyal servant to the duke

  Miss Oliver: a woman disgraced in public for her out of wedlock pregnancy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  March, 1819, Devonshire, England

  MUD SEEPED INTO Gaia Telfair's slippers as she slogged to the old church. Out of breath, she clutched the rough-hewn rail of the cemetery's fence. A heavy shake of her foot didn't keep the wetness from leaching through the kid leather or the peeling satin lining. If there had been more time, she'd have grabbed her sister's sturdy boots or begged for the cook's stilt-like pattens.

  Yet there wasn't time. Her heart beat hard as she tried to imagine her brother's sweet smile. Two miles of fruitless searching between here and home had worn her to a thread. How could he vanish?

  Something must've upset him and made him run. Unlike her younger sisters, the incorrigible twins, Timothy wouldn't grieve her like this.

  A heavy sigh fell from her lips. If Gaia hadn't been glorying over Elliot's broken engagement, she'd have paid more attention to the six-year-old.

  Balling her fist, she rapped the top of the fence, stinging her knuckles. This wasn't Elliot Whimple's fault. It was hers. If Elliot knew of this trouble, the gallant scholar would lead a search party. Such a dear man.

  She cleaned her fogged spectacles against the edge of her short spencer, her best jacket, and then shoved the lenses onto the bridge of her nose. Straining, she scanned the graveyard. Everywhere were puddles and soggy earth, thick like cold porridge. Anyone lost in these woods would be soaked to the bone. Poor Timothy.

  She swiped at her eyes and leaned her full weight against the crossed timbers. The tang of rainwater perfumed the air. Lil' Timothy loved spring showers.

  Something small and dark fluttered the bushes edging the corner. Was it her imagination, or did a blur knock against the lone elm? Timothy?

  Fingering the oak rail for a splinter-free patch, she swung her legs over the fence. Lord, let him be well.

  Pulse pounding, she cupped a hand to her mouth. "Timothy!"

  Her voice echoed then disappeared in the breeze. No response, no crowds or foolish talk or repetition of the silly teases from her friends. The tweaks of how the afternoon sun would further darken her skin stung something deep in her chest. The sunshine could do no more damage to her olive-like complexion; well, no more than the blood in her veins or the luck of her birth. Her father called it a
pagan inheritance. Why did she have to be the one to show their Spanish heritage and none of her sisters?

  Gaia uncurled her tight fingers. She'd accepted she'd never be as pretty as any of the other fair Telfair girls, but it didn't lessen the pain arising from unthinking words, even those made in jests. With a breath, she swallowed the ache and moved forward.

  Toes clenching, she trudged past her older brother's marker. The memory of mopping his brow as he succumbed to his war injuries piled more sadness upon her heart. The pressure increased as she stared at his stone and the one shared one of the stillborn twins of her late mother. Shivering, she glanced away to the flattened grass path. How could she tell Father his last son was missing? Would the man's poor health sustain the news?

  Slipping to the elm, Gaia hung her head. No Timothy; just a fleeing rabbit and the lone marker for the old vicar. High blades of grass nearly covered the etched limestone. Set apart from the other graves, the caretaker must've missed this it.

  The afternoon sun filtered through the high stained-glass window of the chapel, casting a scarlet glow upon her snug sleeves and thinning knit gloves. If only the light could wrap about her and somehow spin time in reverse. Then, she would pay more attention to her dear brother, not her dearest friend's gossip and wild encouragement of chasing Elliot Whimple's love.

  Gaia whipped her head to the road and spied the approach of her running confidant, Serendip Hallow.

  The lovely girl, inside and out, waved. "Have you found Timothy?"

  "Not yet." The words caught in her throat, almost bringing forth a sob. She edged in Seren's direction. "Crowds scare him. He's so easily disoriented."

  "I've put a footman and a groom out to search; and to do so quietly. My brother's going to look on the moors. He'll do anything for pin money," Seren shook her head and tilted her bisque bonnet. A raven pin curl fell and skirted her vibrant green eyes. "Timothy might have wandered there, like before when Elliot found him."

  A stamp of Gaia's foot produced a splash of mud, further saturating her skirt and damp petticoat. Her shoulders sagged as she seized the rail. "No, more talk of that man. If I hadn't been so engaged with my own foolishness, I'd have kept Timothy. Our father will be so disappointed in me."

  "He's always so stern with you."

  True. Father was hard to please. If she were prettier, more like her beautiful elder sister, he might be easier. Stomach twisting, Gaia nodded. "But this lecture will be so deserved."

  "It's not. You have too many responsibilities. You deserve happiness." A bright smile spread across Seren's small oval face as she waggled her trademark charm, a four-leaf clover. "Listen to me; your brother will be found. Fortune is headed your way."

  Linking hands, Seren guided Gaia's climb over the railing, but, instead of letting go, she pulled her into a deep embrace, mashing her cheek against a fine rose shawl of rich Mechlin lace. "You matter. Tomorrow, when Timothy's safe, do something for Gaia Telfair. Work up the courage to tell Elliot Whimple your heart."

  Straightening, she put a finger to Seren's mouth. "Not now; I must find my little brother."

  With a half-step backwards, Seren shrugged. "Of course. Where haven't you looked? Maybe he's back at Chevron Manor."

  "He's not home, but..." With a final hug, Gaia pivoted toward the woods. "My oak; I took him to it last week. Pray he's there."

  Sprinting, Gaia didn't look back.

  One button, two, three. She ripped open the bone fobs of her short jacket to allow her arms to swing with greater speed. Elms and pines all blended into a blur of jade. The smell of peppery heather filled her lungs. Soon she'd be at her spot; the crag overlooking the moors 'neath the largest oak in England.

  Hopping across a pebble-infested stretch, Gaia stepped to her special place. Through the last few difficult years, this was where she’d sought comfort. Here, she prayed and cried and danced with the wind.

  She parted the bushes and stepped on to the clearing.

  Wiping her eyes, pushing at her spectacles, she squinted at the reddish-brown locks, the coloring so close to her own. Timothy? Nestled on a limb, perched high in the tree's canopy, lay her brother, a small lump in a dark blue coat. Not wanting to startle him, she crept closer.

  "Thank you, God." With one foot on a gnarled root and clasping a thick branch, she lifted close enough to stroke the boy's hair.

  Her slippers gave way, and she dropped onto a patch of wet leaves. Pea-green blades of garlic-smelling ransoms stroked her jaw. Cool air rushed her temples. Her bonnet had come loose and lay a few feet away. The brim bore mud stains. She sighed, more things to explain to Father.

  Lifting an arm and then a leg, she tested each limb. Nothing seemed hurt but her pride. "Timothy, you had me so afraid."

  "G-A-Ya?" The boy's soft blue eyes were swollen red. He clenched the branch as if he'd fall. "H-elp."

  "Stay put." She stood and swatted the stains from her dress. "Oh, how am I going to get to you?" At twenty, she was too old to climb trees. Definitely against the ladylike protocol her stepmother and aunt had tried to ingrain, but how else would she retrieve the scared boy?

  Lifting up the hem of her ruined skirt, she set her slippers again on the root and craned her neck, searching for a better place to grip. "This is punishment for listening to gossip and praising the end of Elliott's engagement. God, I shouldn't have rejoiced at his unhappiness, no matter how right it is to spare the world another bad match. Probably shouldn't have prayed for the break, either. Let Elliott Whimple not regret—"

  "I've heard young women pray for husbands, but I'd never thought one capable of praying for misery," the deep voice transitioned to laughter.

  Twisting to see, she fell again, but this time strong arms caught her and placed her on solid ground.

  "Now, what do we have here?" The tall man with the curious blue-green eyes handed her the reins of his pewter horse and wandered closer to Timothy. "Can I help you down, young man?"

  "Wait," her voice warbled, "he fears strangers."

  "Nonsense; a stranger's just an unknown friend to a daring lad." He reached near the branch.

  Her brother rocked his head and tried to scoot away. His low heel caught on the branch and Timothy teetered.

  Before she could blink, the stranger grabbed Timothy. His large hands swallowed the boy's middle as he stalked over to Gaia. "Does this brave adventurer belong to you?"

  She opened her arms to receive Timothy, but the man turned and put her brother atop his gelding. "I only let brave young men on Magnus. You must be so, for climbing such a big tree."

  A smile set on Timothy's lips as he gripped the leather harness on the well-muscled horse, but Gaia still trembled. She wouldn't calm, not until the boy was in her arms. "Sir, we are grateful, but I need to take my brother home."

  "Let him get his bearings back. We don't want him to become fearful of heights. My father once... Well..." He tipped his top hat and led Magnus in a circle around Gaia. "A young man needs to believe in himself."

  Timothy's high cheekbones held a dimpled smile. Who wouldn't on such magnificent horseflesh? The huge gelding pranced. The gorgeous creature towered. It was as tall as she. Stroking Magnus's onyx mane, her brother looked very comfortable, so different from the frightened boy from moments earlier.

  Yet Gaia's stomach knotted. Her little brother was her responsibility, one she cherished when she wasn't swept away in thoughts of Elliot or trying to appear unruffled by polite ridicule. She bit her lip for a second, wondering who this stranger was and when he would leave them. From the cut of his fine grey coat and the shine of his boots, this was a wealthy stranger, someone who wouldn't ordinarily associate with the Telfairs. The sooner Timothy and she returned home, the better. "Please, sir; we can't trespass upon your favor any longer."

  The fellow stopped in front of her. His wide shoulders blocked the sun shining through the leafy canopy. A hint of sea air, fresh and salty, hung about man and steed. "Be at ease. I'm enjoying the moors and the coast; so beautiful th
is time of year. But grant me one token of goodwill as the boy takes a few trots on old Magnus."

  Her tongue felt thick, and she fidgeted with the faded ribbons trimming her bodice. "What... would that be?"

  "Explain why you've prayed for misery. Hearing the tale seems a fitting hero's reward."

  His tone sounded too merry to be sinister, yet her knees wobbled. Only Serendip knew of her unrequited feelings for Elliot. Now a stranger did.

  She took a deep swallow. "I spoke... out of anguish. My brother looked as if he'd fall."

  "Yes, but such a curious intercession." He patted the horse and tugged the grinning Timothy from the saddle, putting him into Gaia's embrace. "One wonders what you'll ask for next."

  With the man's dark hair and solid build, he could've been an older version of Elliot, but scholarly Elliot had manners. He'd never press, and her natural shyness kept her from offering opinions. Leveling her shoulders to portray an air of confidence, she cleared her throat. "Sir, my prayers are for my Lord's ears."

  "Then I'm not worthy to hear. Still, my curiosity is not lessened. Have you prayed for anything else?" His baritone bore thick chuckles and a sense of elevation. "A plague or more hostilities with France won't do."

  "Horse. Horse." Timothy squirmed and knocked her spectacles askew.

  She squeezed him tightly. Righting her lenses, she caught the man's gaze. He was more handsome in focus. Nonetheless, wouldn't the stranger spread this tale at the local pub or wherever men told their stories? Whispers flew through the small village faster than falling rain.

  And when Father heard, he'd think her wanton and be so disappointed in her character. Fear squeezed her chest; with her brother's tiny hand secured in hers, she put him to the ground and pivoted back to the path. The sooner they made it home, away from strangers, the better. "Thank you again, sir."