Paint and Nectar (Heirloom Secrets Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Ashley Clark

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199 pages

English

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In 1929, a spark forms between Eliza, a talented watercolorist, and William, a charming young man with a secret that could ruin her career. Their families forbid their romance because of a long-standing feud over missing heirloom silver. Still, Eliza and William's passion grows despite the barriers, causing William to deeply regret the secret he's keeping . . . but setting things right will come at a cost.In present-day Charleston, a mysterious benefactor gifts Lucy Legare an old house, along with all the secrets it holds--including enigmatic letters about an antique silver heirloom. Declan Pinckney, whom Lucy's been avoiding since their disastrous first date, is set on buying her house for his family's development company. As Lucy uncovers secrets about the house, its garden, and the silver, she becomes more determined than ever to preserve the historic Charleston property, not only for history's sake but also for her own."Clark makes a moving debut . . . . Those who enjoy inspirational time-slip stories will want to check this out."--Publishers Weekly on The Dress Shop on King Street

Sujets

Christianity

Historical fiction

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	11 mai 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493431489
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0384€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Endorsements
Praise for Paint and Nectar
“With textured and captivating characterization, Ashley Clark sweeps us into an intriguing tale sure to entrance! Readers will be enchanted by Ashley’s authentic portrayal of Charleston and its rich history and beautiful charm. A Southern fiction gem!”
—Amanda Dykes, author of Yours Is the Night and the 2020 Christy Book of the Year
“Ashley Clark solidifies herself as a compelling voice in Southern fiction, with a promise to find stories between every brick and blossom. Paint and Nectar is infused with the history and romance of feuding families, seamlessly spanning generations through a love of art, architecture, and the city of Charleston, which beats as the heart between them.”
—Allison Pittman, The Lady in Residence
“Ashley Clark has painted a story more vivid than any watercolor. Her characters are like sweet friends, real and imperfect and dearly loved. Paint and Nectar is as enchanting and charming as Charleston itself. What a delightful read—not to be missed!”
—Liz Johnson, bestselling author of The Red Door Inn
Praise for The Dress Shop on King Street
“ The Dress Shop on King Street by Ashley Clark is so much more than your typical romance. It’s a rich, complex, and uplifting story of family lost and found that I won’t soon forget. If you loved Before We Were Yours , you will love The Dress Shop on King Street as much as I did. Highly recommended!”
—Colleen Coble, USA Today bestselling author of the Lavender Tide series and One Little Lie
“ The Dress Shop on King Street is a novel that will sweetly tug you into a story line that flows seamlessly between two times, only to intertwine in beautiful ways. Page by page, secret by secret, moment by moment, a story is woven of love lost and found, and hopes and dreams restored. And each page was a gift I did not want to walk away from. Enter these pages only if you want to feel Millie and Harper’s stories deeply, and in the process, be reminded of how gentle God is as He guides us through dreams lost and found. You might just fall in love with a new-to-you author’s writing. I know I have.”
—Cara Putman, bestselling and award-winning author of Delayed Justice and Shadowed by Grace
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2021 by Ashley Clark
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3148-9
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearance of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the authors’ imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Kathleen Lynch / Black Kat Design
Cover photograph of woman by Malgorzata Maj / Arcangel
Author is represented by Spencerhill Associates
Dedication
In memory of my Grandpaw Jim, who loved bluebirds and gardens. And from whom I got my knack for embellishment.
And to my other grandparents—Dolores, Melody, and Ernie—for giving me the gift of family and all it means.
I am grateful for the heritage of faith the four of you have given me.
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
Sneak Peek of Book Three in the Series
A Note on Historical Accuracy
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Book Club Questions
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Epigraph
The question is not what you look at, but what you see.
—Henry David Thoreau
Prologue
December 1861 Longitude Lane, Charleston, South Carolina
Not a day went by she didn’t think about her daughter.
Where she may be, if she was safe . . . who’d bought her.
At first, Rose didn’t sleep at all. Then she wasn’t fit for work so they sold her too. That’s how she ended up working as a house slave for Clara.
Clara was a girl herself back then.
Clara wasn’t a girl no more. Rose had a plan, see. She’d been a real hard worker and real kind, too, with the hope of getting information about her daughter. Rose always’d known Clara wasn’t too keen on slavery like her daddy was, but she never expected this. Never expected Clara was capable of what she’d just done.
They had to be careful. For Rose herself, for Ashley, and also for Clara. She didn’t want Clara getting in trouble, and if Clara’s father caught them . . .
But he wouldn’t, so long as they stayed focused.
Rose reminded herself of yesterday’s nightmare. How her jaw hurt real bad from clenching it in the night. Started off beautiful—Ashley skipping around in innocence, just a grinnin’ at her mama— and then those men snatched her and took her away. And Rose felt she was gonna be sick when she peeled herself out of bed this mornin’. Was like she’d lived the nightmare in real life all over again.
She needed to get to her daughter. She may’ve already taken too long.
Everything hinged on Clara’s help.
Missus Clara cradled the silver spoon in the palms of her hands now. The sky above them darkened with clouds, and the ground below them shook with the thunder of cannons. Rose and Clara huddled together near the carriage house at the end of the garden, a shovel in Rose’s grasp.
Clara looked at her with fiery eyes, and the message passed clearly between them.
It has to be now.
“He’s coming,” Clara said. She closed her hands around the spoon. “I can’t believe Father promised him my heirloom silver as a gift.” She raised her chin and held on to Rose’s gaze, a move that caught Rose by surprise every time. She wasn’t used to white folks looking directly at her like that. “Dowries aren’t even fashionable any longer. Suppose he bargained for one in exchange for taking this troublemaker off Father’s hands.” Clara shook her head, a humorless chuckle escaping her mouth. “Oh, Rose, I’m afraid.” She fussed with her lacy gloves. “I shouldn’t admit that. But can we really do this? Bury the silver before they find it? Leave everything behind?”
Yes. No hesitatin’—yes.
“Missus, you stronger than you know, and braver too. God’ll give you the strength to do the right thing. Now you want me to get started diggin’ before the rain comes?”
“Yes.” Clara placed a hand to the well-defined waistline her corset provided and drew in a deep breath. She glanced up to the heavens. “But you’d better make it fast. I fear we don’t have much time before he arrives.”
ONE
1929 Longitude Lane, Charleston, South Carolina
William wasn’t born a thief. Never had been the type to pocket a trinket from the market or get a rush from taking something that didn’t belong to him.
But was imitation really stealing?
Scratch that. He needn’t think too long for the answer, or guilt might overshadow his resolve. His sister needed him, and he didn’t have any room for thinking beyond that right now.
Anyhow, because of all this, the average person might wonder how he ended up in this room with this man. Well, the thought of it never even occurred to him until recently. His mother would have a conniption if she knew everything he’d gotten himself into.
But his mother was the reason for this. She’d sent his sister away. Wouldn’t acknowledge Hannah was in the family way, wouldn’t even talk about the baby except to say there were places for handling these things discreetly. William’s sister would go to no such place, and that led him to his current circumstances.
Namely how William was in this room, with this man.
Suffice to say, what William lacked in criminal experience, he made up for in artistic skill. He could paint a nearly identical Rembrandt and no one would be the wiser. He had diligently studied to play the piano like Gershwin. He would also like to think he had some people skills. Unfortunately, none of these things mattered to his mother, and they mattered even less to his father.
The arts were a feminine study, his father repeatedly insisted, and according to him, the family business was where William belonged. But William had no interest in securing and growing the family fortune.
Therefore, William was plumb out of options.
As he stepped deeper into the famed Mr. Cadigan’s study, he felt an odd wave of calm wash over him. He took in the room full of silver, the paintings poised along the furniture and walls, as if they were people in a train terminal, waiting for their next destination. He recognized a good many of the pieces from the newspapers.
Cadigan would, of course, ship these treasures out of Charleston at the first opportunity. No one would be the wiser in Boston or New York. Buyers would assume the southern gems had come from looted houses during the Civil War—not that they were recent acquisitions.
“Pinckney, you understand why you’re here?” Cadigan tapped his cigarette twice against the ashtray as a wild curl of smoke snaked upward from his nostrils. The study was dim, with only two Tiffany-style lamps to illuminate the wrinkled face of Mr. Cadigan and the moon-shaped scar above his lip. A souvenir of a recent job gone wrong. At least that’s the story he told.
“Yes, sir.” William crossed his arms over his chest. For the first time since approaching the house, his heart began to beat faster. The reality sank in. William only hoped his stance was strong enough to