Caged

BreAnn Allen

Description

Twenty-two year old Lydia Jones lives at the top of the social ladder in the town of Riverwalk, Pennsylvania. With her status comes strict rules and the demands of a young woman in high standing. And, though she resents the rules imposed on her, her loyalty, love, and duty to her family are her number one priority and everything, including love, is no longer of importance.Then she meets Mr. Simon Partridge.A young, successful lawyer from New York, Simon Partridge moves to Riverwalk to join the courts as a Junior Judge. His past is mysterious but his charm and gentle nature appeal strongly to Lydia and she finds herself considering love for the first time. The attraction is shared with one flaw: Simon recognizes that Lydia is actually not the woman she yearns to be.Blossoming love is put to the test as jealousy, manipulative family members, and an old client of Simon's interrupts their lives. Can Lydia's new found bravery to stick up for herself and be her own woman stand fast in the face of this adversity? And what of her relationship with Simon? Can they survive the trials of life or will their love fail when a trip to New York becomes disastrous?

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Pneuma Springs Publishing
• Date de parution: 09 mars 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782284352
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Caged



BreAnn Allen
Copyright


First Published in 2017 by Pneuma Springs Publishing Caged Copyright © 2017 BreAnn Allen BreAnn Allen has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Mobi eISBN: 9781782284321 ePub eISBN: 9781782284352 PDF eBook eISBN: 9781782284383 Paperback ISBN: 9781782284291 Pneuma Springs Publishing E: [e-mail] W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Dedication

To the three people who taught me how important it was to be myself – my mother Pam, my father Jerry, and my Grandpa Townes.
1 - Lady Lydia Jones
It was breakfast time at the Jones table. I looked down at my plate sadly. It was partly full of food; food that looked delicious. To my right, at the head of the table, my father ate quickly. Once again, he had to work early. Across from me, my mother ate, humming a little as she did so. I sighed and picked up my fork.
I suppose I should be happy. I have food, a warm bed, and a roof over my head. But I miss my simple life. I miss when it was just the three of us sitting in front of the fire, playing cards or marbles on rainy days. I miss it when my father would come home, covered in soot from his apprenticeship, and show me little trinkets he had made just for me. I miss it when, on stormy nights, my mother would sit in her rocking chair, sewing a dress, and singing to me as I hid in fear from the thunder and lightning.
“Are you listening to me, Lydia?”
My father’s voice jerked me out of my thoughts. I looked at him. He was staring expectantly at me.
“Forgive me,” I said quietly. “I was lost in my thoughts.”
“I asked if you were feeling ill. You haven’t eaten a thing on your plate.” I stared at it. “We had them prepare your favorite breakfast.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I began to eat and he smiled in satisfaction. I had done my best to hide my sadness from him. He was so happy, as was my mother, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn’t want them to see how much I longed for what we were.

When I turned 14, my father began working as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Before that, he had been a fisherman but they lost their boat to damage and competition. He was a natural at smithing and his mentor was excited to have him. He was one of three apprentices and envied among the other two. However, he stayed humble. When his mentor would give him praise, he would bow his head respectfully and, when he would give him reprimands, he’d take them with a straight back.
His mentor was old, though, and needed a replacement. The other two apprentices were there mostly because they wanted to gain a talent. My father was faithful, sometimes working late into the evening to get an order filled when his mentor would fall ill. The day came when his mentor was ready to retire.
That’s when he revealed his secret. He was not a mentor for the smithy. The real owner had been visiting his ill mother and agreed to use the smithy as a cover up for the High Judge of our city. It took my father and his fellow apprentices by surprise. High Judge Merrick chose my father to follow in his footsteps.
So, my father went from a humble blacksmith to a Judge in training, bypassing the usual Junior Judge initiation. We were moved from our medium-sized townhouse into a large, two story home. He spent every day under High Judge Merrick’s wing. He showed him the ins and outs of being a Judge. My father picked up on that as quickly as he did smithing.
There was one thing High Judge Merrick demanded change, and that was me.
Before we moved, I would run around with my friends Jill and Jane in my skirts, barefoot, and playing tag. We were thick as thieves and raised quite the ruckus among the older folks. They seemed to enjoy watching us scream and jump around though.
I was 16 when we moved. I tried to play with my two friends as much as possible. Of course, we were no longer able to do as many antics as we used to. Mostly we wandered by the river our town was named after with a picnic basket. We would get out of our heavy dresses and walk in our slips. Our shoes were discarded and our hair left down. It was scandalous among women but we didn’t care.
High Judge Merrick did.
At the age of 18, I was called into his office. I had never been before and I was nervous. It was large and everything was made of wood. I remember sitting in the chair across from his desk. He was smiling at me. Although very old, he was kind and able. He leaned forward, still smiling.
“How are you today, Miss Jones?” he asked.
“Very well, thank you, Judge Merrick.”
“Good, good,” he said, rubbing his chin. “And, tell me, how are your friends?”
I frowned. Why was he asking about my friends?
“They’re doing quite well, also,” I said slowly.
He nodded and stood up, putting his hands behind his back. He walked around the room, taking down some books from his bookshelves. I watched curiously.
“Do you know what it means to be a young lady of high standing?” he asked.
I thought of my mother.
“Well, I know my mother goes to fancy dinners and tea parties,” I answered. I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. “She goes to a lot of tea parties.”
He smiled. “Yes, those are some of the things a young lady does.” He put five books in front of me. A couple were rather thick. “But there are other things. Many others.”
Tentatively, I picked up one of the larger books. Table Etiquette it read. I frowned a little and flipped through the book. There were many pictures of women in poufy dress sitting at tables. They had multiple napkins in their laps and at least ten things on the table in front of them. I looked up at him.
“Being a young lady of high standing requires many things, Lydia,” he repeated quietly. “A young lady is the example. She is the first thing a person sees at a public function for her husband – or father, in your case – is usually entertaining the male guests.”
“In my case?” I repeated.
He smiled again. “Surely you know that, now that you have reached the age of eighteen, you have become a young lady.”
I don’t know why it was taking me so long to understand where this was going.
“Well, yes,” I said. “But I’m doing well, aren’t I?”
He stared for a second then sat back down. He opened a drawer and took out a piece of parchment. He held it up. Whoever wrote it must have been very upset for their handwriting was barely legible.
“This came from Lady McMullin,” he said. “You see, two weeks ago, she went to the river to enjoy a nice stroll. What she saw was most upsetting.”
I thought. “My friends and I were at the river. Perhaps she saw me push her into the water? It’s a game we play, you see. She wasn’t actually hurt.”
“That’s not what upset her,” he said. “What did upset her was seeing you, a young lady, walking along in your slip and without shoes on your feet. And your hair was down.”
I blushed. “It was just us girls,” I said. “There were no young men around.”
“That is exactly the point, Lydia,” he said. “You are not a girl anymore. You are a young lady.” Now I understood. I stared at the books then back at him, my face and heart falling. “You will begin lessons on Monday. You may go.”
I sat still, though, staring in disbelief.
“But-”
He pushed the books closer to me. “Begin studying. If you start now, you’ll be better prepared.” My lower lip trembling, I stood and went to the door. “Oh, and Lydia?” he called and I turned, my hand resting on the doorknob. “You are not to see Miss Dunham or Miss Gailles again.”
“Yes, Judge Merrick,” I whispered and left.
I had to rewrite my letters to my friends several times for I kept crying, smudging the ink. My father had been worried about my visit with Merrick. He feared I had done something horrid enough to land me in the jailhouse. When I explained what happened, he sat me down in the parlor and called for a cup of tea.
“He is right, my bird,” he said and I looked away. “This will be good for you, Lydia. You’ll see.”
“Yes, Father,” I whispered.
2 - The Butcher
That was four years ago.
“I made you a new dress,” my mother said brightly after breakfast was finished. “Would you like to come see it?”
“Gladly,” I said.
We waited until my father stood first, though, before standing as well. He kissed us each on the cheek then took his case from the butler and left for work. My mother led me up the stairs into the room she used for her sewing. A powder blue dress was hanging on a mannequin made especially with my measurements.
“It’s beautiful, Mother,” I breathed, running my fingers along the soft fabric. I turned to her. “What is it for?”
“Your father is hosting a dinner tomorrow night,” she said and I sighed quietly. She didn’t notice. “He has invited all the Judges and their wives and daughters.”
Great. I’d have to be around Gertrude and Harriet.
“What is the dinner for?”
“The arrival of a new young Judge named….” She thought for a moment. “I believe his name is Partridge. Yes, that is his name. As the High Judge, it is your father’s responsibility to make a good impression and warm welcome.” She glanced sideways at me. “And, from what I understand, Mr. Partridge is an eligible bachelor.” I rolled my eyes. “Though your father has no interest in such matters, of course,” she added with a sigh.
“Would you like me to try it on now?” I asked, dodging the subject.