Isabella's Promise: A Sweet Regency Romance (Brides of Somerset Book 4) Read online

  Isabella’s Promise

  Brides of Somerset book four

  Karen Lynne

  Isabella’s Promise

  Brides of Somerset Book Four

  Copyright © 2019 by Karen Evelyn.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, without the prior written consent from the author. For more information, address the author at:

  [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Any likeness to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Characters and storyline are products of the author’s imagination.

  Other Books by Karen Lynne

  Brides of Somerset Series:

  The Earl’s Reluctant Bride

  Courting Eliza

  Lady Abigale’s Wager

  Isabella’s Promise

  Join my reader's group and enjoy updates for new books and little bits of tidbits on 19th-century history.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Like this book

  Chapter One

  Isabella just returned from Bath as she tiptoed into her Bristol home hoping to avoid her mother at least for a while. She stopped in the hall as she heard footsteps, relieved as Mildred came around the corner.

  “Miss Isabella, your home.” Mildred gave her a comforting smile, wiping her hands on a towel. “Do not worry, your mother is not home yet. She went to her ladies' auxiliary meeting and will not be back until this afternoon.”

  Isabella dropped her hand from her chest in relief, she turned to go up the stairs, while Mildred followed.

  “Thank heavens for small blessings,” Isabella said. “I need just a little rest from my journey before my mother starts making demands.”

  “You had a good time then,” Mildred asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Isabella twirled landing on her bed. “Lady Abigale was such fun. Things were just getting exciting when mother sent a message to come home.”

  “I am pleased I’ll bring you some warm water so you can freshen up.” Mildred left Isabella to think about her trip, it had been glorious.

  It was the first time seeing her friend Abigale, they had been writing for several years. Eliza, Mrs. Notley’s niece, had introduced them through letters and they’d been writing ever since. Isabella had been invited to Bath with Mrs. Notley and her niece Joanne, Eliza's younger sister. The Notley’s were prominent in the community and respected by both her parents, who allowed Mrs. Notley to escort Isabella to parties and other functions. Mrs. Notley was the only one her mother trusted to escort Isabella beside herself. Mrs. Notley had been allowing Isabella to correspond with her friend through her household otherwise Isabella was sure her mother would read her letters.

  Isabella jumped from the bed and rifled through her reticule, searching for the bag given to her by Abigale. It was there as she pulled it out, opening the drawstrings. She emptied the coins upon her bed, counting each one. A note contained the address of Fyne Court, a sanctuary where Isabella could go if need be. But would she? It would take a lot of courage to defy her parents, especially her mother.

  Isabella looked around the room, clutching the pouch to her chest. If her mother found this, she would take it. Lifting the feather mattress, she slid it deep underneath. Only Mildred changed the beds so it would be safe for now. Isabella had committed the address to memory just in case. She hated that she was so distrustful, but until Isabella had met Lady Eliza and Lady Abigale, she had no friends, her mother made sure of that.

  At four and twenty, she was practically a spinster. Whenever she met someone she genuinely liked, her mother interfered. It was easier to obey then suffer the consequences. Her father was no better as he spent most of his time at work.

  Isabella went to the mirror and sat removing her bonnet. Turning her head from side to side, she examined her reflection as her shiny blond curls bounced back and forth. As far as Isabella could tell an ordinary face stared back at her. Gentlemen had told her she was beautiful, but thought they were just being nice, for her mother continually let her know that she was unattractive, even her brother Benjamin ignored her. Except for this summer when Lady Abigale, Abby, Isabella called her, came for a visit to Bath. Benjamin had suddenly taken an interest in her. She suspected it was Abby he was interested in for her friend had the same blond hair and blue eyes but was stunning, at least Isabella thought so and so did her brother.

  They had been invited to a garden party at Sir Andrew’s estate. Just when things were getting exciting, her mother wrote requesting she return home, she needed to attend a party in Mr. Stones' honor, but of course Benjamin stayed behind. Isabella was sure Sir Andrew was interested in her friend. Sometimes Isabella wished to have been born a boy. Sighing she turned as Mildred came through the door.

  “When is my mother coming home?”

  “This afternoon, you have an appointment with Mrs. Arlington, the modiste, later today.” Mildred handed Isabella a towel. “Seems you need new dresses.”

  Isabella took the cloth and dabbed her face watching Mildred. The maid turned, trying to look busy as she avoided looking at Isabella. A slow chill ran down her body.

  “Mildred, what have you heard?”

  The housekeeper fussed with some day gowns in Isabella’s wardrobe further avoiding looking at her. Isabella knew the action, Mildred knew something, she feared her brother was right that her parents were angling for her to marry Mr. Stone. Her brother had warned her that’s why she was being called home to attend the party for the gentleman.

  “You know I cannot say, your mother has forbidden me talking about the party.” Mildred pulled out a pretty muslin with blue trim. It matched her eyes but made her look too young.

  Isabella held her tongue. It was no use for she did not want her mother’s wrath to come down on the dear maid's head as well.

  Mildred had been with them for five years, just before Isabella’s first Season. The maid had been one of the few servants to remain, as her mother was a hard taskmaster and expected the help to perform several jobs for little pay. Mildred stayed and put up with her mother doing the extra work of several servants including a ladies' maid for Isabella. Why she stayed, Isabella could only guess, but she trusted the maid to keep their conversations private and away from her mother’s hearing. In fact, Mildred was the only one in the household she felt she could trust not to report her doings to her mother.

  Mildred dressed her before going downstairs. Isabella picked up some sewing to keep her busy while she waited.

  Isabella could hear her mother enter the house as she barked orders to the butler and then started in on ordering Mildred to some task.

  “Has Isabella arrived?” Her mother’s voice carried into the parlor.

  “Yes, madam, she
is in the parlor.” Mildred’s voice had an edge of sympathy.

  Isabella tensed as the tapping of her mother’s footsteps drew near, a familiar sound, her mother swept into the room. “Good, you are home. We have an appointment with the modiste. I have your new wardrobe ordered. We just need to finalize the fittings. Do hurry Isabella, meet me in the hall the carriage will be ready.” Isabella's heart pounded as mother left the room, as it always did when her mother had plans for her.

  Isabella quickly retrieved her bonnet and cloak and settled on a chair in the hall so her mother would have no more complaints, Isabella hoped. She felt no better as they entered the modiste shop. Endless gowns were fitted while being poked and prodded with pins. Day gowns, walking gowns, evening gowns and the worst of all nightgowns made of the sheerest material making Isabella blush to think of wearing them.

  She dare not speak against the choices her mother made, although she felt they were a little too bold. Isabella accompanied her mother to the haberdasher where her purchases of gloves and matching reticules mounted, but her mother was still not done, they went on to the milliner’s shop, not once did her mother ask Isabella’s opinion while picking out bonnets and trimmings. Isabella’s jaw tightened while she bit her tongue fisting the material of her skirt willing herself to remain calm.

  “Isabella, you are wrinkling your skirt, what is the matter with you?” Her mother scolded, giving her a firm stare.

  “I am fine, I just see no reason for all these purchases.” Isabella relaxed her grip, smoothing the folds of fabric.

  “You will in due time.” Her mother turned back to the clerk dismissing Isabella’s concerns.

  Isabella moved to examine some ribbons across the room. Did her mother think she was brainless or maybe she felt Isabella was naïve and could continue to be manipulated even though she had reached the age of majority several years ago?

  By the time Isabella returned home, her mind was whirling, her suspicions had been confirmed. She didn’t want to think about her parents' plans for her. Benjamin had to be right, Mother just ordered a trousseau which could only mean one thing… marriage.

  Chapter Two

  Colton Egerton paced the room tapping the letter against his hand. How had this happened to his sister? She and her husband lived in India, where her husband worked for an import company. Now she was dead, and he had been left the guardian of her two daughters while her sons would remain in the company of their father. He understood his sister’s concern that the girls be raised in England, where they could receive the proper training to become young ladies, but him? Colton Egerton, a bachelor? He had not planned on getting married for a long time yet.

  He reread the letter the girls were on their way and would be arriving within a fortnight at his country estate. Colton didn’t even know what children needed, especially young girls! He slipped the letter into his breast pocket, running his hand through his chestnut hair. He knew he was in trouble. If there was a time to call in reinforcements, it was now.

  He dashed off notes for his friends to meet him at the club and walked out the door handing the papers to his man, Digby. It was a short walk to Brooks where he settled down on a worn leather chair, drink in hand to wait. It turned dark as the evening waned into night, a man silently lit the lamps around the room while Colton closed his eyes for just a minute. Murmurs of gentlemen hummed around the room wafting with cigar smoke.

  “Egerton, my gosh man, your note sounded urgent, but you look positively disheveled.” Captain Charles Rutley settled himself into a matching chair across from Colton, concern etched across his face.

  Colton lifted his tired eyes and slowly reached into his breast pocket, extracting the letter. He handed it across to his friend. Charles reached across, folding the letter into his hand and began to read.

  He signaled a footman for another drink as he watched his friend read the letter from India. Charles handed Colton back the paper shaking his head. “It seems you’ll be in charge of two young ladies. How old are they?”

  Colton groaned as he reached for a new drink from the footman. Rubbing the cool glass along his forehead, trying to wrap his mind around this new responsibility. He had assumed they were younger, but now he wasn’t sure. “I have no idea. The letter doesn’t mention their ages, and I haven’t seen my sister in years. She was married and gone before I was out of the schoolroom.”

  “This must be serious, you look a mess, Egerton.” Colton looked up into the face of his friend James Balfour the Earl of Malmesbury. Silently he handed him the same letter. James sat next to Charles as he quickly read, shaking his head, he handed it back.

  “You see why I called you two here? I am at a total loss as to what to do. I don’t even know how old the girls are.” Colton took a long drink from his glass.

  “Well, you’re going to find out soon,” said James. “The letter states they’re coming to your country estate. It looks like you have two weeks to get home and open the place.”

  “You’ll need to hire some staff and maybe a governess.” Charles agreed.

  Colton stiffened, his eyes wide, he didn’t want to move back to the country, but he could see that his friends were right. His small bachelor apartment was no place to have two girls or young ladies. He cringed at the thought.

  “Don’t look so down Egerton, I’ll be back in the country this week and Rutley, and I will help you through this. Besides, Susan knows what to do with children.” James reassured him.

  Susan? Colton rallied. Yes, he thought, the Countess of Malmesbury would know how to handle two girls. Colton began to relax.

  It took a few days to vacate his rooms in London while his man Digby, left ahead of Colton yesterday morning to get the caretaker started on opening the estate. It had been years since he’d been there. Colton wasn’t sure what he would find, but he knew it would take a lot of work.

  Colton had left for the war soon after his military training and hadn’t been back to the country estate since. After his widow mother died, the place was closed up. He missed her funeral because he was away fighting for England. His sister married long before he entered school and was living in India with her husband. He hadn’t given it much thought after he returned to the continent.

  He would soon be the ward of two ladies, him, a bachelor. Maybe they would be old enough to send off to finishing school. Isn’t that what you did with girls? He would need to consult the countess.

  Colton flexed his stiff hand. It ached since his war injury. The surgeon thought he would lose his arm, but it was saved by a young field surgeon. He’d received the injury defending his face from the assault of a French soldier. The sword had missed his eye but left a large gash along the right side of his face. He was lucky, his friend James intervened taking the Frenchman’s life before Colton lost his. He rubbed the long red scar running down his face. It no longer bothered him. Thankful he was only left with surface wounds. Some soldiers came home with mental unseen traumas, but much more devastating to their families. He would live with his disfigurement and be glad of it.

  He finished his business and left for James’s townhome where he would be traveling on horseback with Charles and James back to the country.

  The three men stood in front of Colton’s country estate; his valet remained at the front entrance waiting for his master’s instructions, James and Charles stood quietly by his side.

  Colton shook his head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  James gave Colton a slap on the back. “Do not despair until you have had a chance to take stock of the place. Come over tomorrow after you have had a chance to assess the needs of your estate. Then we will confer.”

  His friends left, and Colton slowly walked to the door approaching his man. “Is it as bad as it looks?”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse, my lord. The caretaker was drunk at the local inn. I managed to hire a few groundskeepers to start on the outside, trimming the brush away from the courtyard, but you’ll need a housekeeper soon
to hire the help needed. I am afraid it will be months before we see any progress.”

  Colton stepped inside while the air hung heavy, and dust danced in the light of the uncovered windows. His heart dropped at the sight of decay. It had been years since anyone lived here, he shouldn't be surprised, but he was.

  “Well, Digby, let’s take stock of the place and see where best to begin.”

  Chapter Three

  It had been a long week as Isabella's mother wreaked havoc with the household preparing for the party. Isabella’s new clothes started arriving, stacking up while Mildred worked to organize them, fitting them to the meager space in Isabella’s bedchamber.

  Mr. Stone had called several times to take Isabella riding. She had tried to avoid him by making excuses, but her mother would have none of it. So Mr. Stone had taken her for a ride in his buggy several days during the week. Mr. Stone appeared a gentleman, but Isabella was half his age. His slight stutter revealed his nervousness as they rolled through the park. The carriage soon pulled up to her home, and he helped her to the door as he clumsily reached for her hand, and raised it to his lips, giving her a sloppy kiss.

  “I look forward… to dancing with... you tonight miss Isabella.”

  “Thank you,” Isabella curtsied as she backed through the door, “for the lovely ride, Mr. Stone.” She didn’t give him a chance to come inside as she closed the door wiping the back of her hand down her skirt, a cold chill running down her spine. If she could just get through this party, then she could dismiss Mr. Stone.