PoetsandPromises Read online

  Poets and Promises

  Lucy Muir

  Blush sensuality level: This is a sweet romance (kisses only, no sexual content).

  Elisabeth Ashwood is quite content with her quiet country life and has no desire to alter it, but she finds her whole life changing when circumstances dictate that she agree to a betrothal to the son of a family friend. Their reacquaintance, however, could only charitably be described as perilous.

  Lord Sherbourne, in an attempt to gain favor with his betrothed, decides to introduce the studious Elisabeth to Leigh Hunt, leader of the London literary set. Delighted, Elisabeth finds herself frequently spending time with the morally ambiguous group, which includes Mary and Percy Shelley, despite knowing it’s not considered an acceptable milieu for a young woman of good family.

  Having set herself on a path certain to clash with societal mores, Elisabeth may have to fight to save both her good character and her growing relationship with the dashing Lord Sherbourne.

  A Blush® Regency romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Poets and Promises

  Lucy Muir

  Chapter One

  “Papa, I beg of you, do not ask this of me,” Elisabeth Ashwood pleaded, her clear gray eyes beseeching. “You know I have no desire to marry. I am happy here at Thornhill with you and Mama.”

  Lord Ashwood leaned back in his chair and sighed, running his hand over his thinning hair in a gesture of frustration. “Daughter, I know you have been content here with us, as have we, but every woman must eventually desire her own establishment. It is only natural.”

  “But you know that I do not,” Elisabeth rejoined. “Here I have everything I could desire in comforts and family, and I have Reverend Fairacre and his wife to guide my studies and share my leisure. To marry someone I do not even know…” Her voice trailed off as she contemplated being uprooted from everything she had ever known to spend the rest of her life in places and with people unfamiliar to her.

  “You knew his father well from his visits here,” her father reminded her, “and you must remember the son from your childhood.” The baron gave another sigh at his daughter’s unrelenting expression. He folded his hands together on his desk and spoke earnestly. “Elisabeth, I have informed you that the Dancing Lady went down and the cargo I had invested so heavily in went down with her. What I have not told you is the dire state in which it leaves my finances. The truth is, daughter, unless I have an immediate infusion of capital there may well be no home here for you to stay in. Thornhill will have to be sold.”

  Elisabeth mirrored her father’s previous action, running a hand over her soft brown curls as she took in this new information. She should have known her father would have tried to spare her from the worst of his financial difficulties. But now that she knew, how could she refuse a plea to help her father retain their family home—and her brother his inheritance?

  Elisabeth knew that to all outward appearances her reluctance was unreasonable. She was being offered marriage with a peer of unblemished reputation and great fortune. But although marriage was the natural conclusion to girlhood, Elisabeth had never desired it. As the eldest and only child for fourteen years, Elisabeth had enjoyed an unconventional upbringing, spending her days riding about the estate with her father and studying with a well-educated governess whose own accomplishments had included Latin and Greek. After the birth of her brother when she was fourteen years of age, the patterns of her daily life had been too entrenched to change. When Elisabeth had grown too old for a governess the vicar husband of her dearest friend, Jane Fairacre, had continued to direct her studies. Elisabeth had been quietly content with her simple country life and strongly attached to her family. She had met no local gentleman she had ever considered marrying and did not wish to leave her family and Thornhill to search for one through a London Season. Now she faced the sudden loss of all that had constituted her life for four-and-twenty years!

  “Could we not leave Thornhill to be rented and find a smaller house in town until your finances improve?” Elisabeth pleaded in desperation, turning back to her father. “Did you not have the cargo insured? Is there nothing left?”

  Apparently deciding the only way to reach his daughter was to be brutally frank, Lord Ashwood spoke without mincing his words. “Elisabeth, I have few hopes of ever being able to recover the amount I have lost. I took a chance on that cargo. It was insured for enough to cover what I owe other investors, but not enough to recoup my own losses. Had the Dancing Lady made port I should have doubled our fortunes. But now both ship and cargo lie at the bottom of the sea and all we have is at risk.”

  Elisabeth felt her last hopes vanishing. “Papa, perhaps I might take a position as a governess or ladies companion,” she offered. “I know I should be able to find one.”

  “Daughter, you are not using the mind of which you are so proud,” Lord Ashwood said, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Would you never have a home of your own? Would you be at the beck and call of a person’s most unreasonable whim? And how would that save your brother’s future? Would you have him lose his inheritance for want of your assistance?

  “I know your mother and I ask a great deal of you, Elisabeth,” her father added in a gentler tone. “But it is not as if similar bargains are not made frequently in many families of distressed circumstance. And it is not as though I am asking you to marry an old man, or one whose person you would find objectionable. Lord Sherbourne has but thirty years and he is a viscount.”

  Elisabeth turned abruptly from her father as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Slowly, she walked to the study windows and leaned against the heavy draperies, staring out at the bleak winter landscape. The bare limbs of the elms etched stark patterns across the gray January sky but even in its winter severity the scene touched her heart as no other could. Thornhill was her home.

  There was no choice, of course, she thought as she fought back tears while she pretended to consider her decision as she gazed out the window. In truth there was nothing to consider. Much as she hated the thought of leaving her family, her good friends the Fairacres and the daily concerns and duties that made her beloved home, she would have to agree. She would not be the cause of her brother losing his inheritance or her mother losing her home. She took a deep breath and resolutely turned to face her father, her back straightening and her voice firm.

  “Very well, Papa, I shall do as you ask,” she submitted. “But must the marriage take place so soon? Although I remember his father well, I have few memories of the present Lord Sherbourne. Might I not have some time to become accustomed to the idea?” Elisabeth asked, thinking that any delay would be good—who knew what might happen with the passing of time?

  “Lord Sherbourne has already considered this,” Lord Ashwood informed his daughter, sounding pleased to give proof of the prospective groom’s considerate nature. “He asks that you go to London this February and stay with his sister for six months. You will marry in August. It is a thoughtful gesture, and will give you time to become acquainted before you are wed.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Elisabeth answered briefly. February. So soon. Elisabeth felt tears threatening once again. “I must go tell Molly so that she may review my wardrobe and have things ready,” she said to her father, wanting to escape the study for the privacy of her bedchamber before they spilled over.

  “Of course,” Baron Ashwood agreed, looking at his daughter keenly. “Elisabeth,” he said quietly, “I know you have not had the inclination to marry. Lady Ashwood and I were perhaps remiss in your upbringing. No doubt we should have brought you out and introduced you into society beyond what is to be found here. But you seemed content…

  “I thank you for your brother.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Elisabeth said
, her voice breaking, and she walked rapidly from her father’s study as the long-threatening tears began to roll silently down her cheeks.

  The bitter January wind funneled gusts of snow through the streets, howling past chimneys and doors and causing passersby to pull their overgarments close about their bodies. But no hint of cold prevailed inside the small sitting room on Curzon Street where a strong fire blazed in the hearth and heavy curtains muffled the night sounds. Two gentlemen sat companionably on either side of the fire, a bottle of Madeira on a table between them.

  A change of wind direction caused the sitting room fire to flare and sparks flew out past the tiles. Roused from a half sleep by the flying embers, James Earlywine shifted his legs away from the fireplace and reached for the half-empty bottle.

  Richard Montfort Leslie Sherbourne, viscount, smiled lazily at his friend from where he sat, legs stretched out comfortably in his chair opposite the fire. “Now that you are awake enough to comprehend my tidings, Earlywine, I have some news to impart.”

  “Oh?” James inquired as he filled his glass and replaced the bottle on the table.

  “Yes, you must congratulate me. I am to be married come summer.”

  James’ blue eyes flew wide open, his sudden intake of breath at the news causing him to sputter, sending a fine spray of golden droplets over his white linen.

  “Leg-shackled? To whom?” James asked when he caught his breath. “You have only been back in London from India since this past November, and I was not aware of any woman to whom you have been paying your addresses.”

  “To Miss Elisabeth Ashwood, daughter of Baron Ashwood. The baron was a close friend of my father’s.”

  “But why? Do you know Miss Ashwood? You couldn’t, you have been in India these past thirteen years.”

  “I knew her as a child,” Lord Sherbourne explained, amused at his friend’s shocked reaction to the unexpected announcement. “It is my duty to marry and set up a nursery. I did not think it of importance when I had no thought of succeeding to the title but that terrible accident… “ His voice faltered as he recalled the day the news had finally reached India of the carriage accident that had taken his father, brother and brother’s wife and child from him. Regaining mastery over his emotions, he continued, “It has made it my immediate duty as the remaining Sherbourne to wed and secure the line as well as to take over the running of the estate. I have no desire to fence with hopeful mamas through a Season here in town, nor any heart to flirt with their equally hopeful daughters. Miss Ashwood is unmarried at four-and-twenty and will likely be grateful and biddable, well past the giddy high spirits of youth. Her father is in need of funds after a ship he had invested in heavily was lost. Moreover, saving their fortune shows respect for the long friendship between my father and hers.”

  “Still, you have no idea what Miss Ashwood may be like after thirteen years,” James protested. “There is a great deal of difference between a child of ten and a woman of four-and-twenty. She might be anything. She might be disagreeable or prune-faced or a complete ninny.”

  “The baron sent her likeness,” Richard said, reaching for a miniature lying on the end table next to his chair and tossing it to James. “See for yourself.”

  James caught the miniature neatly and leaned closer to the firelight, studying the likeness carefully. It showed a woman past girlhood but still young, with clear gray eyes and soft brown hair, a face with an expression sweet yet serious. “She looks well enough,” James allowed, tossing the miniature back to the viscount, “but it seems a dashed cold-blooded way to go about finding a wife. You might yet meet someone for whom you will form a tendre, and then what will you do if you are promised elsewhere?”

  “You are a romantic, Earlywine,” Sherbourne commented as he slid the miniature back in his waistcoat pocket. “But you are no example of the benefits of romantic love as a basis for a good marriage. Or how is it you also have reached a score and ten years without marrying? I seem to recall mention of many ladies you claimed to have had the soft passion for in the letters I received from you while I was in India. How is it you are married to none of them?”

  “Upon closer acquaintance I found I did not love them after all,” James responded imperturbably. “You shall see, Sherbourne, it is not as simple as you make it out to be. Love is an emotion, and they are not always governable.”

  “One’s emotions should always be governable.”

  “I have found the tender emotions rarely are,” Earlywine stated knowingly.

  “I am practical, and at age four-and-twenty I trust Miss Ashwood is also,” Sherbourne stated calmly. “We shall do well together.”

  James shook his head doubtfully as he poured a last glass of Madeira. With three sisters James was not as sanguine about years adding practicality and seriousness to the character of women. In his experience, they were likely to be up to starts of all sorts at any age.

  “Do you plan to marry this summer without seeing her before the nuptials?” he asked.

  “No. Miss Ashwood is to come to town this February and stay with my sister for some months,” Sherbourne elaborated. “That will allow us time to become acquainted before we are wed in August, after which I shall settle at Longwood.”

  “That is a good plan,” James acknowledged. “I shall look forward to becoming acquainted with her myself.”

  “I had hoped you would say that,” Sherbourne said with a smile. “I shall be depending upon your help. I have been gone from London these thirteen years, and fear to find myself at sea once again amongst the ton. Company society in India was a rather rough and hard living. I need someone to guide me lest I go astray.”

  “You may depend upon me,” James assured his friend.

  “February! So soon! I shall miss you excessively!” Jane Fairacre exclaimed, reaching for Elisabeth’s hand and holding it tightly.

  “It is Lord Sherbourne’s wish that I leave soon and reside at his sister’s until the marriage that we may become acquainted before the marriage takes place.”

  “It is not a bad plan,” Jane said comfortingly. “It is true I wish it were not necessary for you to leave but my reasons are selfish, for I shall miss our outings and our discussions, as will Mr. Fairacre.”

  Elisabeth looked around the cozy rectory sitting room, thinking how very much she would miss her friend. Jane had not yet been blessed with children in her marriage and Elisabeth’s friendship with the vicar’s wife had continued as close as it had been before Jane had married. How many pleasant afternoons and evenings she had spent with her friend and Mr. Fairacre, times filled with walks through the woods when the weather was fine, reading together by the vicarage fire during storms and having spirited discussions on topics from politics to art to religion whatever the weather. Mr. Fairacre was no mean scholar and he had guided both his wife’s and Elisabeth’s studies, adding many works of philosophy and politics to the histories and biographies they had chosen for their reading. She would miss their close friendship beyond description.

  “Oh Jane,” Elisabeth said, her voice trembling. “How shall I bear it?”

  Jane squeezed Elisabeth’s hand and spoke firmly. “You must do your duty to your family. You must be strong, Elisabeth. We shall not lose our friendship. We shall correspond, and once you are actually wed you will be able to return here for visits.

  “And think, going to London will give you opportunities one does not have here—think of all there is to see and learn, the great cathedrals to visit, the museum. It will give us much to talk about when we do meet again.”

  “But I know nothing of Lord Sherbourne! Perhaps he may be dictatorial or will not indulge my interests—perhaps he will dismiss them.”

  “I cannot think that,” Jane replied, releasing her friend’s hands and pouring her another cup of tea, adding a lump of sugar for strength. “Drink this,” she pressed, handing Elisabeth the cup of sweetened tea. “It will calm your nerves. Remember that Lord Sherbourne is widely traveled and has lived in India
these many years, as has his sister. One must believe such travel and experience has had a broadening effect on the mind. You must hope for the best,” she counseled.

  “I know you have the right of it,” Elisabeth agreed, sipping at the hot tea. “It is only that it was so unexpected—Mama and Papa have never before even suggested a possible suitor despite my advanced age. And my leaving is to be so abrupt. I could wish I had some time to accustom myself to the idea before I depart to London.”

  “I doubt that would make it any easier, but would only give you more time to fret,” her friend counseled wisely. “Will your maid Molly accompany you? She would be one familiar face.”

  “Yes, Molly is to accompany me,” Elisabeth acknowledged. “And with no reluctance whatsoever! She views it as an adventure and a chance to advance to the status of lady’s maid.”

  “You must also view it as an adventure and opportunity,” Jane said firmly. “You must brace yourself and face this with fortitude and firmness.”

  Elisabeth found fortitude and firmness difficult to achieve as the hired yellow chaise swayed into London a brief few weeks later. The journey itself had been comfortable enough, for Lord Sherbourne had arranged for her to go by post-chaise, generally acknowledged to be the fastest and most comfortable way to travel. However the long hours confined in the chaise with only her maid to converse with had given her more time to fret than she could have wished. What would Lord Sherbourne and his sister be like? What if she and Lord Sherbourne did not suit? She might be stuck in an unhappy marriage for the rest of her life. Or what would she do should Lord Sherbourne and his sister find her provincial? They had both traveled halfway around the world to live in a strange and different land. Would they find her quiet upbringing had made her dull? A thousand questions and worries tormented her the miles to London.

  “How elegant those town houses look, miss. Do you think we will live in one?” Molly asked excitedly, bringing Elisabeth back to the present moment.

  Elisabeth looked out the window and saw they had come to a street of bow-fronted townhomes built of gray Portland stone and differing only in the color and style of the front doors. Decorative iron railings separated the townhomes from the walks and street. Elisabeth found the elegance cold and missed the views of hills and forest.