Westbury
A
Traditional Regency Romance
Arabella
Sheen
Can Miss Georgina Morton surrender her independence and accept the
Duke’s love?
Miss Georgina Morton,
at the age of four-and-twenty, with a modest annual income of four hundred
pounds, believes she has no need of a husband and can manage quite nicely
without one. Yet within a matter of weeks, she’s betrothed to Giles
Glentworth, the Sixth Duke of Westbury, and bound for Regency London.
Set in rural Wiltshire and elegant, fast-paced London...a
runaway ward, a shooting at midnight, and a visit to fashionable Almack’s, are
only a few of the adventures Georgina enjoys while falling for the Corinthian
charms of the Duke.
Chapter One Excerpt 3
continued…
Georgina
gave a sympathetic smile. “I understand you thought it safer to travel these
roads as a man, but my concern is that you were permitted to leave your home at
all.”
“Oh,
no! I wasn’t allowed to leave, exactly. I’ve been staying with a cousin, and
I’ve...I’ve sort of run away.”
“Oh
dear,” gasped Georgina, astonished. She’d discovered the situation was far
worse than she first supposed. “If that’s the case, I think it best we hurry to
Rose Hill, so we can be comfortably seated, and you can tell me all I need to
know. Don’t you agree, Miss…?”
Georgina
waited, hoping she would be rewarded with a name.
“Please,
call me Abigail. But I beg you not to ask the name of my family because I know
you will feel obliged to contact them and inform them of my whereabouts. And
yes, I’d like to go to Rose Hill with you, for you seem like a person I can
trust.”
With
the decision made to journey on to Rose Hill, they walked over to The Red Lion
and entered. Speaking briefly with the landlord, they asked if he could spare a
stable boy to help take Abigail’s travelling bags to the house. When everything
was arranged to their satisfaction, and they knew that Ned, one of the stable
hands, was to deliver the bags, they set off at a steady pace.
Georgina
wasn’t exactly dressed for a long trek.
That
morning, she’d left the house hurriedly with Mr Kelley, a friend of her
father’s. Mr Kelley had been visiting her Papa, and upon discovering Georgina
intended to call upon the vicarage with a basket of eggs, he’d offered a ride
in his gig as far as the village. Georgina had readily accepted his offer and
without thinking about her return journey, or the fact she might need a
sturdier pair of shoes, she’d set off wearing house slippers and not her
robust, sensible nankeen half boots.
With
her bonnet tied securely upon her head, and wearing a plain beige pelisse over
her muslin morning dress, she looked exactly what she was―a refined young lady
dressed in a sensible style.
Georgina
was practical in outlook. Clothes were to be worn because they were of use, not
because they were the height of fashion. And although she would sometimes love
the luxury of dressing solely for elegance and not functionality, she was
realistic enough to know that, in the country, away from the bustle and trends of
the city, comfort and durability were the deciding factors when choosing what
to wear.
Spring
would soon be here, and today, with a fresh nip still in the air, Georgina was
thankful for the warmth and protection her old pelisse was giving.
Crossing
the brown, freshly ploughed fields in which crows and ravens were diving for
offerings, Georgina and Abigail soon arrived at the tall wrought-iron gates of
Rose Hill House.
For
most of her four-and-twenty years, Georgina had lived at Rose Hill House with
her parents. But since the death of her mother, whom she still sorely missed,
it was only Georgina and her father who lived there.
The
house was an impressive dwelling.
Although
not overly grand and not at all pretentious, it was a modest sturdy stone
structure, set in mature, well-manicured gardens. Positioned on the south side
of the house was the coach house and stables.
The
gardens wrapped neatly around the wisteria-clad walls. And with a lavish green
lawn extending down a steep incline until it reached the edge of a twisty,
meandering brook, it was indeed a strikingly beautiful place in which to live.
Behind
some woodland to the rear of the property was a small expanse of hidden
acreage. It was an area Georgina was allowed to keep aside for her horse
Splendour to use. There were also a couple of fields in which her father’s
farmhands worked, keeping the estate in sufficient crops and vegetables,
throughout the year.
Walking
to the house and entering through the impressive solid-wood door, Georgina
discarded her bonnet, pelisse, and the basket she’d been carrying, carelessly
onto a chair before showing Abigail into a parlour.
The
sun streamed in through the open French windows, and although it was a spacious
room, it felt cosy. In the centre, was a large, pink rug upon which stood a
circular table and matching chairs. A fire screen was before the hearth, and
above the mantel was a framed portrait of Georgina’s mother.
Pointing
to a chair, Georgina said, “Please, take a seat, I shall not be long. I will go
and find my father and explain the situation.”
Georgina
thought it best if she spoke with her father before ordering tea for Abigail.
She wasn’t reluctant to introduce them to one another; it was just that she
thought it best if she paved the way. Her father was set in his ways and
disliked his routine to be disturbed. And an unexpected guest would definitely
be a disturbance.
Georgina
found her father closeted in the library where he was accustomed to sit and
relax. The day wasn’t cold, but a comforting fire had been lit, and the room
had warmth to it.
Mr
Morton was a well-built man of sturdy frame and posture. He had strong features
and there was a black ribbon tying his dark brown hair back from his face. It
could be said that he was not dissimilar to Georgina in looks, but he’d nothing
of her soft femininity. He was ageing but not old, and today he was to be found
sprawled in his favourite armchair, reading.
Entering
the room, Georgina waited for her father to finish reading the page he was on.
And when he placed a finger, wedging it between the closed pages of the book,
marking the spot he’d reached, she began to explain about Abigail’s
predicament.
She
had his full attention.
Enlightening
him on Abigail’s unexpected eviction from the stagecoach, she then began the
daunting task of persuading her father to allow Abigail to remain. She insisted
it was to be only until Abigail was reunited with her family, or if not her
family, then until someone was found to take on the responsibility of Abigail’s
wellbeing.
Georgina
walked to a chaise lounge placed near Mr Morton’s chair and sat down, clasping
her hands firmly in her lap.
“So,
you see, Papa, we cannot permit this poor child to continue on her journey. It
would not be safe for her. She is an innocent, and we don’t know what might
befall her if she were to travel on to London―alone. She has no concept
of danger, and she is willing to place her trust in anyone who comes along.
Look how she blindly trusted me! I feel it my duty to offer some sort of
protection and guidance to someone so young. Is it not vexing, to be in a
position where we are unable to do anything to help?”
Disclaimer, Copyrights
and Publishing
Any
names or characters have no existence outside the imagination of the
author
or are used fictitiously, and actual events are purely coincidental.
No
part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, copied,
stored
in a retrieval system known or hereinafter invented, without
written
permission of the publisher.
Copyright
© 2019 by – Arabella Sheen
Published
by priceplacebooks
All
rights reserved.
ISBN
978-0-9575698-4-3
About
Arabella Sheen
 |
| Arabella Sheen |
Arabella Sheen is a British author of contemporary romance and likes
nothing more than the challenge of starting a new novel with fresh ideas and
inspiring characters.
One of the many things Arabella
loves to do is to read. And when she’s not researching or writing about
romance, she is either on her allotment sowing and planting with the seasons or
she is curled on the sofa with a book, while pandering to the demands of her
attention-seeking cat.
Having lived and worked in the
Netherlands as a theatre nurse for nearly twenty years, she now lives in the
south-west of England with her family.
Arabella hopes her readers have
as much pleasure from her romance stories as she has in writing them.
Social Media
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