Love's Liberty

Lesley-Anne McLeod

Description

Julia Clemence had loved Simon Mancroft-Martley her entire life, but when she was sixteen and he twenty-one, he had bought a commission and gone to war. He had been gone nearly five years, and on his return an unexpected encounter in the village church convinces Julia that he loves her as she does him.But Simon has lost an arm in battle, and is determined not to burden her with a crippled husband. Her parents concur with his decision, and she is forbidden to consider him eligible. Julia, by their actions and his, is denied the freedom to accept or decline an offer of love and marriage. Her stratagems to achieve liberty fail, and she loses hope. But in the parish church that has been her solace, Simon admits the truth of her many arguments, and gives her the freedom to choose her future--with him or without him.

Sujets

• Historical romance
• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 0001
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601740069
• Langue: English

Extrait

Love's Liberty
A Regency Romance
By
Lesley-Anne McLeod
 
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2007
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and eventsdescribed herein are products of the author's imagination or are usedfictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actualevents, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Lesley-AnneMcLeod
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-006-9 ISBN 10: 1-60174-006-9
Cover art and design by Cait Bens
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproductionor utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by anyelectronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented,is forbidden without the written permission of the author orpublisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint ofGCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
Love's Liberty
Julia Clemence had visited the ancient church of St. Stephen'sdaily, and twice on Sundays, for very nearly the entirety of the past fiveyears. It was four years and nine months ago that Simon had gone towar--fifty-seven months of anxiety and fear, two hundred and twenty-eightweeks of daily prayer and loving hope. And now Simon was to comehome.
She had known for a week. She knew that he had beenwounded, hospitalized, invalided out and intended to sell his commission.He would be changed, she could not doubt it, but how, she could notconjecture. Surely though, nothing could alter their affinity.
The worst was the waiting; she did not know when he wouldreturn to her small corner of England, to the green forests and sapphirerivers of Hampshire. It was sunny this day, an over-heated summer daywith a dazzling light. The old churchyard was murmurous with bees andbrightened by cornflowers and sweet william. Ripening corn scented thebreeze, and the ancient church drowsed in the brilliant sun of late summeras it had for more than five hundred years.
When Julia slowly entered St. Stephen's, her blue-grey eyesbedazzled by the sunlight, she could see nothing in the dim, cool depths. Itwas of no consequence. She knew the old building to the smallest detailfor it was her parish church and besides, there had been the daily visits ofthe past five years. The years that Simon had been gone.
She moved silently down the north aisle, trailing one slenderhand along the cool stone wall, her pale muslin skirts whispering abouther. Her fingers sought the carving of the rood screen and she drifted intothe chancel, deep in thought.
She had been only sixteen when Simon bought his commissionover the anguished protests of his parents. He had gone to war, proud,confident and courageous. He had kissed her cheek, telling her to be braveand good. As though he had been her older brother--or an uncleeven--though he had not yet been two and twenty.
His family had received news of him over the years; they sharedthe letters he had written to his parents, brothers and sisters with Julia'sfamily, their closest friends and nearest neighbours. Julia even had had twoletters; letters written to the girl she had been, not to the young womanshe had become. Nevertheless she treasured them, kept them close by heralways. She carried them now tucked in the bosom of her roundgown.
In the chancel her sun-dazzled eyes adjusted to the faint,faltering light reluctantly offered by the deep-set windows. There wassomeone else present, a man, kneeling at the altar rail. He was muttering,whether to himself or to his God, she could not say.