Bess sighed. She’d always known Priscilla tried to buffer her from the worst of it.
“She also said it wasn’t true that all your mother’s property was gone. Look at the inscription.”
Bess held the ring close to the window. Sunlight glinted off the gold, blinding for a moment, then the words took form. “Dearest Lizzie, you are the center of my world,” she murmured. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “This really belonged to my mother.”
“It did.” Julius pointed to the gem. “Your mother was the emerald. Surrounded by diamonds, but she outshone them all. Your stepmother said your father only ever loved your mother. She believes he gave her the ring as a reminder she could never hold his heart.”
“Poor Priscilla must regret ever marrying him.”
“She has no regrets.” Julius swept a lock of hair behind Bess’s ear. “She knew he would never love her. Her thought was for you, my love. You needed a mother, and she longed to ease the pain of your loss.”
Tears blurred her vision as the ring took on new meaning. It was a symbol of two mothers—the one she never was allowed to know, and the one who’d chosen her.
“Oh, my sweet Bess.” Julius gathered her against his chest and tucked her head beneath her chin. “Please, don’t cry. I am hopeless when you cry. I haven’t a clue about how to comfort you.”
She hugged him, chuckling through her tears. “You are doing a fine job of it nevertheless.” When at last she drew back and lifted her face, her tears were gone. “Thank you for speaking with Priscilla. This is a gift I will cherish forever. I love it almost as much as I love you.”
And then she kissed him, the man at the center of her world.
The End
About Samantha Grace
USA Today bestselling author Samantha Grace’s storytelling has received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and critical acclaim from Booklist and Library Journal. She has written over fifteen Regency historical romance books and enjoys using her degree in behavioral psychology to create engaging, multidimensional characters. Her novel IN BED WITH A ROGUE earned her a RITA nomination, and LORD MARGRAVE’S SECRET DESIRE was nominated for a RONE award. A lifelong romantic, Samantha first caught a case of the warm fuzzies while watching Disney’s animated version of Robin Hood at age four. She has never looked for a cure. Samantha lives in Wisconsin with her real life hero, daughter, and Holo the Husky.
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WEDDED TO THE WELSH BARON
~ A London Lords Novella ~
by
SASHA COTTMAN
One ruined castle. Two lonely souls. A chance for love.
With little more than a ruined castle in Wales and a title to his name, socially awkward, Rhys Morgan is finding it hard to secure himself a wife.
When he unexpectedly inherits an English estate, Rhys hopes that all his problems might finally be solved.
But not only is Kington House a rundown disaster, he is shocked to discover it is being managed by a woman!
Wister York has been stuck at Kington House for three years. With no money and no prospects, her greatest fear is that when the mysterious Lord Carno arrives, he will throw her out.
But Rhys, is nothing like what she had been expecting. The shaggy Welsh baron sets her pulse racing and stirs within her deep desires.
Rhys in turn is fascinated by the dark-haired temptress. Feisty and clever Wister is like no woman he has ever met. When she is near him, he can barely think straight.
Passion and steamy temptation soon burn between these two lonely souls.
In the snowy ruins of Carno Castle, Rhys and Wister will have to overcome their pasts in order to secure a chance for love.
Chapter One
Carno Castle
Wales
The carriage finally disappeared over the hill and was lost from sight. Rhys Morgan, Baron Carno, swore quietly under his breath before turning away from the window of his study.
Two. Two valets had quit his employ in the past six months—three if you counted this latest one. But he hadn’t even bothered to set foot inside Carno Castle. Instead, the man had merely taken one look at the semi-ruin and got promptly back into his travel coach and departed.
“You are having a bit of a bad run when it comes to servants. Anyone would think you might take it personally.”
He gifted his cousin and best friend, Deri Hughes, Baron Ruthin, the merest hint of a tight smile. “Thank you for stating the bleeding obvious. I really appreciate it.”
Deri chuckled. “Oh, come now. We both know that the wilds of Carno are not for everyone. It takes a rare man to appreciate the foreboding mountains and almost constant rain.”
“Not helping,” replied Rhys.
Deri set down his glass of whisky and rose from his chair by the fire. “Perhaps you need to place an advertisement in the London papers seeking a valet who likes wintery climes. One who doesn’t mind a spot of weather. Did I mention that it rains here a lot?”
They were in Wales—of course it rained. It wasn’t his fault that potential valets couldn’t see the rugged beauty of a Welsh winter. People could say what they liked, but this place was in his blood. Rhys Morgan was a son of the land of Saint David.
Gallai fod yn oer ond dwi'n caru'r wlad hon.
Rhys scrubbed at the rough beard on his chin. The prospect of wielding the cutthroat razor once more made him shudder. Under his two-week old growth were a disappointing number of self-inflicted nicks and cuts. “It’s not my fault if these soft Englishmen cannot handle a spot of weather. It doesn’t rain here every day.”
Deri put an arm around his shoulder and softly chuckled. “Carno average annual rainfall—fifty-five inches. You do know this was the place were Noah practiced building his ark before the great flood? And considering the current length of your beard, you could easily pass for him.”
Rhys grimaced. Carno Castle had been built in the thirteenth century right in the middle of an area hotly contested by several would-be kings. Many a bloody battle had been fought over the imposing Norman fortress. It was said that the castle’s outer walls, which had once been twelve feet thick, had not been built to withstand invaders—rather they had been designed to keep out the bitter Welsh wind.
“All jests aside, what are you going to do?” asked Deri.
Now there is the question I have been asking myself just about every waking moment for the past few weeks. What am I going to do?
“Well, I could put another advertisement in The Times and see if I can get someone new. Though The Cambrian in Swansea might at least get me a valet from Wales—someone who will stay for more than a few months,” he replied.
Deri huffed. “I meant about Kington House. I would have thought a near-bankrupt estate would be higher on your list of priorities than getting that fur removed from your face.”
Kington House. Now there was a whole other hairy problem. What was he to do with the sudden and unexpected inheritance which had recently landed in his lap? His father’s second cousin, somewhat removed, had passed away a few months ago, leaving Rhys as the new owner of an estate just over the border in Herefordshire, England.