Low Country Boil

Deborah Reese

Description

The year is 1783. The Lowcountry of South Carolina is boiling over in response to British tyranny during the waning months of the Revolutionary War. Lady Annabelle Gainsborough, a burgeoning debutant and esteemed member of London society, is not only unfairly banished from the ton but summarily dispatched to the colonial city of Charleston. Having heard of her father's fall from grace, her future in-laws, the Duke and Duchess of Warrenton, give her a lukewarm welcome. Her fiance, Viscount Jonathan Warrenton, is absent-completely unreachable. Unbeknown to her, he is entrenched in a colonial militia, serving under the infamous Francis Marion, better known as the 'Swamp Fox'. She is astounded that the Warrenton family, all peers of the realm, is siding with the colonials against the Crown. How could she possibly fit into this untenable turn of events? However, when the young couple finally connects, their attraction for each other is immediate. But will that be enough to hold them together when so many obstacles are set in their path?

Sujets

• Historical romance

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
• Date de parution: 06 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781638298274
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

L ow C ountry B oil
Deborah Reese
Austin Macauley Publishers
2023-01-06
Low Country Boil About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37
About the Author
Mary Reese and Deborah Burke, writing under the pen name Deborah Reese, are both grandmothers with Southern roots. Their time is divided between their families, their church activities and community service. They both enjoy reading and historical research. It has always been their dream to write a book which is fun to read, while painlessly teaching history.
They reside in Concord, North Carolina.
Dedication
In addition to Stephen Burke and the late Buck Reese, we would like to dedicate this book to our extended families.
Copyright Information ©
Deborah Reese 2023
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Reese, Deborah
Low Country Boil
ISBN 9781638298267 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781638298274 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022919718
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street,33rd Floor, Suite 3302
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Acknowledgment
We acknowledge our Lord and Savior, who makes all things possible.
Chapter 1
“Never again,” Annabelle vowed aloud as she stared across the horizon from the deck of a Barque crossing the Atlantic. “I refuse to place my life in the hands of another.” In the process of fleeing her past and fearful of an unknown future that awaited, she was oblivious to the beauty of the sunrise glistening off the waves. Instead, she thought it best to contemplate her prospects. Her impending predicament loomed large; there was no denying that. The question to answer – how was she to proceed? Lady Annabelle continued to lean against the ship’s railing and allowed her mind to replay her most recent past. It pained to recall how her world had been snatched away, leaving her alone and confused; her life as a pampered debutante ending abruptly, cruelly. How could she ever have imagined that her father’s continued gambling would catapult her from the pinnacle of London’s elite to an object of pity and rejection? Disgraced, she hid from the world, not believing she would ever recover. But, months passed, and as one discovers, time heals most wounds. As she rose from the ruins of her former life, Annabelle realized that she was indeed fortunate to have this chance to start anew. But she also realized the huge challenges ahead; an unfamiliar country, a family she had not seen since childhood, and a fiancé duly arranged.
A fastidious, well-turned-out gentleman approached her. “There you are, my dear.”
Annabelle Gainsborough groaned as once again the ingratiating voice of her father’s watchdog invaded her private time and space. Would William Brumley’s intrusions never end? She had no choice but to abide his company because her father, the Earl of Trent, hired him to ensure her safety on this long voyage from England. But rest assured, he would not be tolerated once she was settled with her new family.
In tandem, she and Mr. Brumley stared skyward as they were interrupted by a declaration from above. “Land ahoy! Land ahoy!” She looked up to see a young seaman pointing from his perch in the crow’s nest.
Finally! She would soon make landfall in the colony of Charleston, South Carolina. She felt ready. Her first and most important life decision clear. She would allow no one to hold sway over her life. Perhaps, because her fate had been cast like a roll of the dice, she trusted no one. When he could no longer cover his losses at the gaming tables, it quickly became apparent that no amount of royal blood could erase the stain of poverty. How uncanny that her father’s solution for their insolvent state was for her to be obligated to the son of his old friend, the Duke of Warrenton. She was not totally averse to this opportunity of marriage. After all, she had already turned nineteen. Jonathan Warrenton, the younger son of the Duke of Warrenton, appeared to be a complete dilemma. Annabelle would meet him halfway. She could not blame the young viscount for her recent misfortunes. But she couldn’t chance being under the thumb of another man. The closer Annabelle neared Charleston; the more doubts clouded her mind. Would the Warrenton household welcome her with open arms? Did they realize the unpleasantness of her present circumstances? Being an honorable and well-connected family, Albert Warrenton would never consider reneging on a pledge such as his son’s betrothal to her. Even so, his complete blessing might not be forthcoming.
Pushing these negative thoughts aside, she promised herself a retreat from any self-pity and vowed to flourish in this new land. After all, if she had survived amid the cruel snubs and distant glances from her former friends, she could handle anything life offered.
“Lady Gainsborough,” William Brumley repeated with obvious impatience while dabbing beads of sweat. “We really must ready ourselves to disembark. The ship is to arrive in port within the hour. And I, for one, do not want to spend a moment longer than necessary on this ‘slop chest.’”
Brought abruptly into the present, Annabelle looked up, absently nodding in agreement. “Of course, William, if you’ll escort me back to my cabin, I’ll prepare for our leave-taking immediately.” She allowed him to enfold her arm, yet as always, holding her more closely than necessary. Annabelle quickly disengaged when they reached her door. “It shouldn’t take me more than a half hour to be ready. I would appreciate it if you could return then.”
Bowing, he nodded his assent and left. Annabelle eyed the half-packed trunks, knowing she would soon arrive and take her maiden step on American soil. Excitement bubbled up, as she quickly changed her ensemble. Whom and what would she encounter on this twentieth day of June 1781?
“Oh, mum, you are a sight for sore eyes, you are,” said Berthe, Annabelle’s cockney maid, who had volunteered to cross the Atlantic with her from England but had been stricken with ‘mal de mere’ the entire trip. “Blimey, but I’ll be glad to be on dry land again. I surely hope we’ll be likin’ it here in America. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I plant my arse back on a ship.” Berthe stated emphatically while peeking through the porthole.
Berthe reminisced about being orphaned at a young age. Found starving in a gutter by one of the Gainsborough footmen, she became Annabelle’s handmaiden. Together they grew closer, more like sisters, at the Trent country manor. Grateful, she loved Lady Annabelle dearly and was treated as one of the family.
“Well, we’re ready to see our new home, Berthe. Now don’t make a ‘storm in a teacup.’ The two of us can weather anything, so don’t start your fretting. I have a feeling you’re going to be right at home in our new surroundings.” She wished to uplift her friend’s spirits.
“Like you always say, I can be a mite prickly at times. But I’ll try me best to hold me ‘sauce-box’.” She folded more of the gowns and smaller items in the trunks. “So, do you want me to stay ’ere with our belongings to make sure these clumsy oafs take care of ’em?”
“If you would, please. I’ll catch up with you on the docks.”
Mr. Brumley’s knock was right on time. Annabelle stole one last glance in the mirror to be sure she appeared presentable. She had given up elaborately dressed gowns some time ago, but she was soon to meet the parents of her fiancé and felt she must look the part of privilege. She breathed in deeply and tried to ignore her uneasiness in facing a future that was uncertain. Holding her head high and shoulders rigid, she pushed aside her misgivings and opened the door to allow William Brumley into her stateroom.
If not such a practiced deceiver, her paid chaperone would have been rendered speechless. Annabelle’s raven hair rested like a jewel crown atop her head, while a creamy pink satin gown accentuated her curvaceous figure. William’s beady eyes remained riveted on her ample breasts, which pressed against the low-cut bodice by a stomacher. His fleshy mouth hung slightly open as he stared at the ancestral medallion that seductively dangled above her cleavage. Slowly his eyes turned downward, to her tiny, corseted waist from which flared a long train of gathered silk, fastened with braids of satin ribbon. Her discomfort with his perusal was evident by the trapped expression displayed in her dark blue eyes.
“You are the picture of perfection,” spoke William as he attempted to s