Honorable Imposter (House of Winslow Book #1)

Gilbert Morris

Description

The volume that launched the blockbuster House of Winslow series. Gilbert Winslow, forced by his family into the pulpit of the Church of England, becomes a spy among religious separatists. Who will he turn to when the forces of good and evil threaten to pull him apart?

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 juin 2004
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441233745
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright © 1986 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3374-5
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Cover illustration by Dan Thornberg
Cover design by Danielle White
To Johnnie
We have saved the best till last
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PART ONE
ENGLAND
1. The Masquerade
2. A Parson at the Ball
3. Tournament of Steel
4. A Matter of Honor
5. At the Green Gate
6. Humility
7. The Inner Ring
8. Back to Babylon
9. At Whitehall
10. Humility Finds a Man
11. A Traitor Unmasked
12. “They Knew They Were Pilgrims . . .”
PART TWO
THE MAYFLOWER
13. The Sweet Ship
14. Stowaways
15. On Deck
16. Captain Shrimp
17. The Storm
18. Another Kind of Storm
19. Land!
20. Mutiny on the Mayflower
PART THREE
THE NEW WORLD
21. First Look at Eden
22. Dorothy
23. “It Will Be All Right!”
24. The General Sickness
25. “Love Is Not Cold!”
26. Miracles Are Troublesome
27. A New Service
28. The Mayflower Sails
29. Out of the Past
30. “With All Your Heart!”
About the Author

CHAPTER ONE
THE MASQUERADE
“What! Not ready yet? ”
Lord Henry North burst into his daughter’s lavishly adorned chamber like the brusque February wind that furrowed the Thames and drove the beating waves against the stones of his ancestral home. His outburst made little impression on Cecily North. She gave a quick smiling glance at her father as he stomped in, shaking the snow from his ermine cape, then calmly continued gazing at her reflection in the silver hand mirror. A diminutive maidservant stroked her hair with an ivory comb studded with amethysts and jade.
“We needn’t hurry, Father. They won’t begin without us.”
Only three or four men in England could have taken so little heed of Sir Henry North. At the age of forty-five, he stood high on the pyramid of English culture. Except for the Lord Chancellor, the Lord of Lancaster, and King James the First of England, there was none to question his ways—and none who would answer him so casually as this beautiful daughter of his.
His eyes suddenly flashed at Cecily’s careless answer, and he strode across the room to her. Taking her smooth bare shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip, he said, “You need a beating, my girl!”
“No doubt I do—and so do you, Father.” Then she turned to him, taking his hand in hers and giving him a quick smile. “We are both too proud for our own good. But then—who’s to give us the whipping? There’s the rub.”
Lord North could not conceal the quick grin that leaped to his lips. The hard grasp on her shoulder softened to a caress, and he grunted, “Know me too well, you do! You should have been a boy.”
A touch of regret tinged his voice, and Cecily reached up with her free hand to cover his. No one knew better than she that the one vacuum in her father’s life was the lack of a son, and she got up and gave him a quick kiss, saying, “Never mind, Father. If Mother has her way, you’ll have a son-in-law soon. Then you can make of him what you will.”
North held on to her, staring at her and wondering that she knew him so well. He saw a woman of twenty with hair black and sleek as a raven, highlighted by bold black eyes able to meet any man’s glance. Her full red lips needed none of the paint which ladies of the English court had imported from France. They were almost pouting, and smooth as silk. Her complexion, like his own, was olive and flawless. She was not tall, but the full curves of her body made men forget her stature; she had the full-bodied figure of her mother—in the eyes of many, the most beautiful woman in the court.
“A son-in-law?” North released his grip and picked up her white fur mantle from the table, casting it around her shoulders. “I’ve lost out on the cattle show. Which hunk of prize young nobility has your mother been parading in front of you this time? Young Wentworth?”
“No, Father, that was last month. He fell below the required standards,” Cecily laughed. “I think when Mother found out that there was a bar sinister on his mother’s side, she threw him to the wolves—along with all the others. Really, Father, I think Mother would marry me off to Lord Findlay—if he could stand up long enough to get through the ceremony!”
“Well—perhaps it’s not so bad as that. ” Lord Findlay, nearly ninety, was an enormously wealthy earl of Scotland. “But I must say that Wentworth was the best she’s dredged up so far.”
“He’s a cup of cold tea,” Cecily shrugged. “Why don’t you ever nominate a candidate for the office of son-in-law, Father?”
He was suddenly serious, and there was a faint light of anger in his eyes. But he said only, “Cecily, your mother and I have disagreed on so many things—but most of all on this. I want you to have a husband who will have three assets—courage, wit, and loyalty.”
“What about titles and money?”
“I can give him all he needs along those lines,” Lord North shrugged. “But I’ve seen enough of this marrying a girl off to a scarecrow made of sticks for a fancy title and a few sovereigns. I want your husband to be—the son I wanted. Then—then I can be at ease.”
She turned to the door and shot him an arched look, “Well, there’s always Lord Roth. He has enough gold to satisfy even Mother.”
He gave her a quick look and said, “Yes, he has. And enough courage and wit to satisfy me. But what about you, Cecily? Does the Lord Simon Roth have enough to satisfy you? ”
For one brief moment, Cecily let the habitual smile slip from her face, and she said soberly, “I don’t know, Father. I just don’t know. ”
He took her arm and led her to the door. “Well,” he said gently, “perhaps at the ball tonight you may find out. It’s revealing, what a man is in his own castle. Maybe you can look beneath that smooth surface Simon covers everything with.”
“Yes, that may be.” Then Cecily smiled at him. “He’d do for all of us, wouldn’t he, Father? Enough money for Mother, enough courage and strength to suit you—and enough of a man for me.”
As they went down the stair to meet Lady North, Cecily heard her father say so softly that she almost missed the words, “Strength, money, a title—but what about the man? ”
Cecily did not answer, but said instead, “Mother, you look beautiful!”
“Thank you, Cecily.”
Lady North had heard those words so many times that they slid easily off her smooth face. She was more beautiful than her own daughter, this woman. Even now at the age of thirty-five, the smooth skin, the flawless figure set off by the low-cut gown, the hair without a touch of white, the sleek complexion that put to shame younger women—all was totally admirable.
“We’ll be late, Cecily,” Lady North said. “But you will be worth the wait for the guests.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Cecily answered with a rather cold smile. “I suppose it will be the same party, after all.”
“Who else would you expect?” Lord North asked. “The nobility doesn’t grow a great deal from day to day. Now, the barque is waiting. Let’s be on our way before this snow gets worse.”
The home of Lord North was on the Thames, and he kept a barque for transport on the river; designed by Henry the Eighth, it was manned by a crew of twelve oarsmen who could send the vessel up or down the Thames as fast as the best carriage. The royal symbol, a lion, was still affixed to the prow, a circumstance that prompted the rather rare wit of the Sovereign, King James. He had once remarked to the court, “North has all the money in the realm—and all that’s left is the Crown itself.”
“Not so, Your Majesty,” North had protested with a wry smile. “As long as I have the money, you may keep the crown!”
Not many dared jest so easily with this dour king. He had grown up with a sour breed of Scottish churchmen who had taken most of the humor out of him, but it was a mark of the royal favor that he had merely laughed at North’s jest.
The journey from the palace of Lord North to that of Lord Simon Roth took less than two hours, but it was bitter cold, and the family shivered in spite of the thick furs.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Lord North pulled the curtain aside and peered out into the swirling drifts. “I think we’re about to land. That looks like Simon’s palace.”
“Good! I’m about to turn into a block of ice!” Cecily said with chattering teeth. “And after all this, I suppose it’ll be just another boring affair.”
“Not quite the same, Cecily,” Lady North smiled. She seemed to be impervious to the cold. “Remember, this may be your home someday.”
Cecily shot her a quick glance and then looked toward her father. Then she said wryly, “Then Simon is the next hot-blooded stallion we must consider?”
“You are crude, Cecily,” Lady North shrugged without a trace of anger. “Try to be more civil to Lord Roth.”
“And to the parson,” Lord North added suddenly as he helped Cecily up onto the pier.
“Parson?” Cecily asked suddenly. “What parson?”
“I forgot to mention that a relative of mine—a distant relative—will be one of the guests tonight,” Lord North grinned. His face was fixed with the cold, but there was a grim humor in his dark eyes as he handed his wife up to stand on the wharf beside his daughter. “I would appreciate it if you both would be hospitable to him.”
As they hurried along the paved walk toward the towering palace of Lord Roth, Lady North asked, “What parson is this, Henry? You