Silver Enchantress

Patricia Rice

Description

Abandoned as a mute child, Eileen has no last name and no memory of her childhood. Despite her early years in poverty, she discovers a happy life with a loving adoptive family, friends, and her painting. But when her aristocratic neighbor steals her wayward heart, she learns that family and art are not enough.Once a careless rakehell, Drake Neville returns home to the responsibilities of his newly inherited estate. As wealthy Lord Sherbourne, he is obliged to marry his childhood betrothed-but his creative soul is drawn to the beautiful artist with no name. He cannot marry her-yet he will never forget her. After Eileen helps save Drake's young cousins from a Jacobite rebellion, he expresses his gratitude by searching for her family. But he uncovers a deadly web of deceit, a nightmare that endangers Eileen, their families, and Drake's carefully planned future. Together, they must risk honor, name, and life itself to face the past that haunts her and jeopardizes any chance at love. . .

Sujets

• Historical romance
• Historical fiction
• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Book View Cafe
• Date de parution: 05 décembre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781611387124
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Silver Enchantress
Dark Lords and Dangerous Ladies


Patricia Rice
Silver Enchantress
Patricia Rice

Copyright © 1988, 2016 Patricia Rice
First Publication: 1988 New American Library
Book View Café: 2016
A ll rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form .
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental .
Published by Rice Enterprises, Dana Point, CA, an affiliate of Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
Cover design by Killion Group

Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008- 1624
http:// bookviewcafe.com
ISBN 978-1-61138-712- 4
Contents



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Author’s Note



Prologue

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

Epilogue


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About the Author

Also by Patricia Rice

Devil’s Lady


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Author’s Note

D ear Readers:
I sold my first book in 1982, back in the days when all I had was an old Bic pen and a college-ruled notebook to scribble in while the kids played in the yard. I had to buy a used Underwood typewriter with a stuck S key to type up my proposals because we didn’t have money for anything more. Needless to say, those first books were typed once and not again. The editor would go through with red pencil, I’d make copies of the page, type up a new one, and clip them together. After I was making enough money to afford it, I graduated to cutting and pasting new sentences onto old pages and making a clean Xerox copy. Since books were cheap to print and readers loved big thick books, we didn’t do a lot of cutting or editing .
It wasn’t until the 1990s that I had enough money to indulge in a new computer—one where I saved each chapter to a huge floppy disk .
Most of the books I’ve labeled as the Dark Lords and Ladies series were written in my typewriter days. They have been edited of excess verbiage and perennial head-hopping. At the time, the author omniscient voice was popular and justified watching scenes through the heads of servants and doting family. I’m afraid the multiple head spinning would drive the modern reader into gales of laughter or angry book heaving. But I have left enough in to understand the voice in which it was written. To do otherwise would deprive the book of the lovely flavors I instilled at the time of writing. The story and the characters remain unchanged. We were fond of old-fashioned melodrama back then, and I’d be fascinated to know if you enjoy the Perils of Pauline style .
I hope you’ll sink in and stay there and enjoy a good rousing tale of love lost and won again .
Thank you so much for reading !
Who seldom understand, but have the grace to endure
Prologue


Tell me not here, it needs not saying ,
What tune the enchantress plays .
—A. E. Houseman, More Poems
T he woman’s screams lingered on the evening air long after the men disappeared. The autumn-colored trees shivered with her hysteria, and the trampled ground shook with her pain .
Amid the muddied leaves littering the forest’s floor lay the crumpled body of a large man, his rich, golden hair now caked with a brownish substance that bore no resemblance to the mud below him. The trampled ground bore evidence of the strength of his resistance .
Another leaf drifted from the oak, adding to the mound of leaves forming a red and brown mantle over the fallen warrior. No movement disturbed nature’s blanket—except in one corner of the clearing. Beneath a chestnut sapling, a tiny lump of dark green velvet whimpered .
That sound alone brought alertness to the crouched figure in the bushes. Terrified, the intruder gave the corpse a wide berth as she inched across the clearing, her old eyes searching for the source of faint sobs. Discovering the velvet-clad bundle, the old woman gently lifted a small head in her capable hands. The child burrowed deeper in the debris of summers past, but when the woman spoke, a small face turned expectantly toward the sound .
A gasp escaped the old woman’s lips as she raised her fingers from the child’s copper tresses and stared at the blood staining her palm. The blank gray gaze of the child’s eyes briefly reflected the blue in the sky above, then went dark .
Chapter 1

England, August, 1735
A thick canopy of oaks blocked out all but the most daring of the sun’s rays. No breeze lifted the damp tendrils of her heavy hair as Ellen stooped to rescue a buttercup from the woodcutter’s crude lane. Ellen foraged among the brambles for berries, but more often than not, she dawdled over a purple violet or the flight of a butterfly .
The dull thud of hoof beats startled her, but she made no effort to run and hide as her brothers did when strangers intruded upon the forest. The boys were older and wiser and warned of confronting danger in the open. Ellen, however, greeted strangers with curiosity, though she often felt the stripes of the woodcutter’s switch for her foolishness. The boys called her a dull-witted clod for not learning the sly ways that allowed them to escape their father’s ire. Ellen ignored their insults as she ignored all else, traipsing through her childhood, accepting whatever life brought .
This day it brought two elegantly garbed gentlemen on horseback, or rather, one gentleman and one youth. The elder was garbed conservatively in a long waistcoat, knee breeches of rich satin, and bagwig, but the younger had discarded both coat and waistcoat and rode in shirt sleeves, with his lace cravat untied. The boy’s golden hair shone like candle flames against the forest’s dark backdrop, and his laughing eyes made a mockery of any dignity he might have achieved with his noble mount and wealthy dress .
As she watched the intruders, they returned her regard, for forest sprites were seldom encountered in these modern times. The child’s thick auburn hair gleamed like burnished copper. She could be no more than nine or ten, and beneath her tattered gown, she seemed slighter than any elfin creature. But the bold stare of her silver eyes inflamed the boy’s imagination. Like the mirror of a still pond, her eyes captured the clouds and reflected the light, revealing nothing of hidden shadows .
“Have we entered an enchanted forest?” The boy asked seriously, but his eyes continued to laugh. “Are you the fairy princess who lives here and guards the inhabitants? Are we trespassing ?”
The child seemed to consider this question solemnly but did not reply .
With little patience for foolery, the older man intruded. “Is there a well around here? A stream? Somewhere we might rest the horses and take a sip of something cool ?”
“A morsel of bread or a crumb of cheese would be appreciated also,” the youth said with a laugh. “My belly growls and threatens to eat me alive. Surely fairy princesses can command a feast, if it be only an apple ?”
A flicker of something like laughter lightened still gray eyes, and the child motioned for them to follow before turning down the right-hand path .
Quicker than his father, the boy hastened to turn his mount after her. Too hungry to keep the sedate pace required by her small steps, he removed his foot from the stirrup and leaned over to offer his hand to the child .
“Ride with me and point the way, princess .”
A flicker of delight lit her eyes before they shadowed again. Taking his hand, she placed her foot in the stirrup and allowed him to haul her up in front of him. She rested effortlessly in the curve of the saddle, as if accustomed to riding in such a manner .
She led them to a clearing containing a small thatched cottage. No flowers bedecked the windowsills, though an exhausted, unkempt garden grew in one corner of the lot. One ancient donkey swished its tail at a nagging fly. The child gestured to be let down .
Both strangers dismounted, eyeing the dark windows with unease. The child’s shining eyes and scrubbed cheeks had given the impression of rude health, overriding the crudity of her gown. Her gestures had led them to believe she belonged to a wealthier house, perhaps as servant or child of caretakers .
The girl directed them to the stream trickling through the yard. As they watered their mounts, she disappeared through the gaping cottage door .
In a twinkling she returned, carrying two battered mugs and a jug of cider on a platter, as if she were indeed a princess and serving tea to royalty. The effect was spoiled by the appearance of an unshaven scarecrow of a man, who yelled after her .
“What do you mean to do with that jug, girl? Come back here, you little hellion!” He halted at the sight of the visitors .
Ignoring the shouting brute, the girl poured the drink and offered it to her guests .
Glancing from the scarecrow to the child, the youth rebelliously drank long and deep from his mug. His father shot him an angry glance, but now that the damage was done, he, too, sipped the offered refreshment before speaking to his host .
“Do not scold the child, man, she only does our bidding. I will pay to replace the jug. We have come far this day and the next inn is