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Boldwood Books - Lizzie Lane

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188 pages

English

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A young girl's tragic loss will shape her dreams and her future…

1930 - Douro Valley, Portugal
Twelve-year-old Catherine is watching the Rabalo race in Porto when the sound of a shot being fired changes her life forever.
Her beloved mother, mistress for some years to Walter Shellard, a Bristol based wine and port merchant has received distressing news that her lover, Walter, has married a wealthy heiress. In her anguish she takes her own life, leaving poor Catherine alone and heartbroken.
Angry and grieving, Catherine is sent to live under the guardianship of her eccentric Aunt Lopa in a small farmhouse high above the rich vineyards of the Douro valley. Here, she learns to adapt to her new life and her strange aunt but still blames her father, a man she barely knows, for her mother’s tragic death.
Coming of age, beautiful Catherine is summoned to Bristol by her estranged father who presumes she’ll be as malleable as most other women.
But Catherine is her father’s daughter, as strong as he is and still thirsting for revenge.
A compelling family saga of loss and love perfect for fans of Fiona Valpy and Dinah Jefferies
Previously published as 'House in the Hills' by Erica Brown

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Publié par	Boldwood Books
Date de parution	31 mars 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781837518067
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0900€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER

LIZZIE LANE
CONTENTS

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

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

More from Lizzie Lane

About the Author

Sixpence Stories

About Boldwood Books
1

William Shellard raised his glass. ‘To my brother, Walter. And Ellen, his lovely bride. To the bride and groom!’
Four hundred guests rose to their feet and responded. ‘To the bride and groom!’
The mirrors in the banqueting suite of the Royal Hotel reflected the gathering of well-heeled men and women. Silk dresses made a hushing sound as the ladies sat back down, gathering their skirts beneath them. Once they were seated, a hum of conversation resumed against a background of tinkling glassware.
Walter Shellard inclined his head towards his younger brother in a barely perceptible manner: a mark of approval. His smile was unusually wide. William gave him a brief nod in response, noting that his brother’s smile was of the kind he used on having made yet another enormous amount of money. In a way, he had.
His bride Ellen was all pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. William raised his glass to her and smiled. She smiled back. In fact he was sure she hadn’t stopped smiling all day.
She’s happy and amazingly innocent, thought William and wondered how long it would last.
The assemblage was a who’s who of the British Isles elite; there were bankers from London, landowners from Lincolnshire, shipping magnates from Liverpool and titled lairds from Scotland. All had gathered to celebrate the wedding of Walter Shellard of the famed Shellard Wine and Port Company, and Ellen Parker, daughter of an equally wealthy man. She was also his second wife.
The wedding guests chatted, laughed, made subtle comments and some not so subtle, remarking on the enormous success of the old and much-respected company. Walter, they all agreed, had injected the firm with a dynamic modernism. Unlike some companies that had failed to adapt to the new world following the Armistice in 1918, Shellards – more specifically Walter – had grasped new opportunities with open arms. The new bride had bagged herself a winner!
Ellen Parker, who had now become Ellen Shellard, glowed with happiness. She was twenty-eight years old and considered herself lucky. The battles of the Somme and Ypres and all those others of the Great War had taken the flower of British manhood. Marriageable women far outnumbered marriageable men, though it was not out of a sense of time running out that she’d married a man almost twice her age. Walter was successful, wealthy and still a fine-looking man. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance and although she would have delayed marrying, her parents urged her to accept when he offered.
‘Better than being an old maid,’ her mother had said through rigidly smiling lips. ‘And there are going to be plenty of them, my darling.’
Ellen had taken the hint and so far there were no regrets.
This was a grand day, as grand as their surroundings. The Royal Hotel was a splendid building that boasted playing host to heads of state and kings of England. Wood panelling and brass banisters graced its thickly carpeted stairs. Gilt-edged mirrors lent light to its sumptuous, red-carpeted state rooms. This room, named the Rose of Denmark after Queen Alexandra, consort of King Edward VII, was by far the most luxurious.
Ellen Parker had been swept off her feet by Walter Shellard. She didn’t mind admitting it.
‘I couldn’t resist,’ she’d exclaimed to anyone who’d pointed out that he was approaching fifty.
There was general agreement that she’d made a good match. She was from a wealthy family with a bottling plant and banking interests, and Walter Shellard was one of the wealthiest wine producers in the city of Bristol, if not the whole of the British Isles. On top of that, he’d bought into shipping and transport interests. Despite the age difference, it was a good match. The courtship had been short: four months from start to finish.
‘I love you,’ said a radiant and romantically inclined Ellen and kissed her husband on the lips.
A muted cheer ran among the guests. Walter Shellard touched his wife’s cheek. ‘You’re very pink, my love.’
‘It’s the champagne,’ she murmured, and tried not to feel disappointed that he hadn’t reciprocated and told her that he loved her. But in time he would, she told herself and for the moment believed it.
The band they’d hired for the occasion began to play ‘Let me Call You Sweetheart’, Ellen’s choice.
The guests began to clap. All eyes were turned towards the top table where the bride had half risen and the bridegroom had not.
‘Walter. They’re waiting for us to dance,’ said Ellen, imploring him with her eyes to get up and do what was required of him.
She tried not to get upset at the sight of that strained, impatient look she was only just beginning to get used to. Strangely enough, she couldn’t remember him ever looking like that in their courtship. It’s the strain of the wedding, she told herself. There’d been so much to organize, and then there were the rehearsals. At her mother’s insistence she’d had six bridesmaids. They were all dressed in deep turquoise and wore little caps of crocheted silk and carried bunches of violets. She herself wore a straight dress of shantung silk with an overdress of Nottingham lace. Her veil fell flat and long from a circlet of white roses interspersed with lilies of the valley. Here and there was the odd violet to match those her bridesmaids were carrying.
Walter hated dancing, but counselled himself that this would be the first and the last time he would have to put himself out. On this occasion, they were the centre of attention so dereliction of duty would be inexcusable. But he didn’t like having to do things he disliked. It felt as though he were being ordered, and Walter George Sebastian Shellard did not take orders; he only gave them.
He smiled at her as he began to rise. ‘Best not keep them waiting,’ he said, taking hold of her hand.
They waltzed to the music, circling the floor three or four times before others joined them.
Comments about how handsome they looked together abounded. One or two dancing matrons wiped a stray tear from a misted eye.
‘So romantic.’
‘Made for each other.’
Her eyes were still sparkling and her cheeks were pastel pink when Ellen Shellard made her way to the powder room, beset on all sides by yet more congratulations.
‘Welcome to the Shellard family.’
The husky voice belonged to Diana, William’s wife. She was waving her champagne glass around like a flag. Her face was far more flushed than Ellen’s and she owed her sparkling eyes to champagne rather than excitement.
Ellen thanked her and they shook hands. So formal, thought Ellen, but that was the way it was. No one in the family demonstrated any great degree of affection in public. Ellen had told herself it was because no one knew her that well yet.
‘It’s early days,’ retorted Ellen, disarmed by Diana’s sickly sweet smile and wondering what thoughts lay behind it.
‘Of course,’ said Diana, her smile turning from sweet to salacious. ‘And there’s tonight of course when all will be revealed.’ Her thickly made-up lashes fluttered into a wink that was as salacious as her smile.
Ellen felt her cheeks burning. ‘Well… yes…’
Diana flashed her ever-so-white teeth, took her cigarette from her mouth and leaned close so that her full red lips brushed Ellen’s ear. ‘And that will be only his body, darling. This family is riddled with secrets.’
‘One of them drinks too much,’ said Ellen, throwing Diana an accusing look.
Ellen had always prided herself on being able to get on with anybody, but she wasn’t quite sure of Diana, her brother-in-law’s wife. She could never tell when she was telling the truth and when she was lying. On top of that, it wasn’t the first time she’d seen her drunk. Her Methodist father had instilled in Ellen his own dislike for drink, and although they both sipped on special occasions, such as her wedding, Ellen found people who drank too much quite objectionable.
Diana didn’t appear to notice her comment about drinking. Her gaze had already moved on, her hazel eyes fixed on the two brothers. Ellen followed her gaze.
William Shellard was eyeing his drink, swirling the amber liquid around his glass. Walter was talking avidly, his drink gripped in his right hand, his words falling into the ears of Seth Armitage who was standing between the two brothers.
‘Look at them,’ said Diana, a hint of a smile twitching her crimson mouth. ‘My dear husband’s afraid of his brother. Did you know that?’
Ellen was taken off guard. This was not the sort of blatant truth she expected to hear on her wedding day. She dithered. ‘Well, I don’t really…’
‘It’s quite true,’ Diana interjected. ‘William’s a darling; good at what he does within Shellard Wines – though not ruthless like his brother.’
Diana’s velvet-brown eyes narrowed as she scrutinized her brother-in-law. ‘What Walter wants, Walter gets and woe betide anyone who gets in his way.’
‘You make him sound totally without scruples.’
Diana turned to her. Her eyes glittered with a look Ellen could not quite fathom. Her mouth and her jaw tightened before she spoke.
‘If you think you married Prince Charming, darling, you really are a sleeping beauty. I suggest you wake up before a hundred days are up, let alone a hundred years.’

* * *
Although Walter Shellard continued to talk business with Seth Armitage, his Financial Directo