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Uncial Press - Lesley-Anne McLeod

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120 pages

English

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CLEMMIE'S MAJOR is a lot more handsome now, but behind the spiffy new cover is the same memorable story.Clementina, eldest daughter of the Marquess of Cheriton, has always been able to solve her family's little problems and discontents. Now the widowed Countess of Carmelth, Clemmie finds herself facing problems she cannot solve alone. Someone is trying to harm her young son, and her brother is missing in action following the Battle of Waterloo. Major Gideon Rhyle may be able to help, but his assistance becomes another problem. For Clemmie falls in love with him and he, wounded and facing an uncertain future, is thoroughly ineligible for marriage.

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Historical romance

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Publié par	Uncial Press
Date de parution	31 mai 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781601741684
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0318€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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CLEMMIE'S MAJOR
A Regency Romance

By
Lesley-Anne McLeod

Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon 2013

This is a re-issue of the 2007 Uncial Press edition, with minor corrections anda new cover.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places andevents described herein are products of the author's imagination orare used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Anyresemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons,living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Clemmie's Major Copyright © 2007 by Lesley-Anne McLeod
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-168-4
Cover art and design by Kat Bens
Previously published by Awe-Struck E-Books
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, thereproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in anyform by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known orhereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission ofthe author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT,Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
CHAPTER ONE
Major Gideon Rhyle, late of the 11th Light Dragoons, shifteduncomfortably on one of the rough benches set in the yard of aprosperous coaching inn situated in the old town of Guildford.
His shallow-crowned beaver hat rested beside him, as did astout, simple crutch. His gray eyes narrowed against the glare ofmidday in August as he gratefully received the heat of themidsummer sun on his aching body. His great height and massiveframe, at the best of times, made four hours spent in a stagecoach anordeal. This was not the best of times.
He idly considered the tankard of ale in his hand, then liftedhis gaze to survey the innyard. It was a busy place, as were all theinns of Guildford; their position on the Portsmouth Road bestowedon them popularity and renown. He took pleasure in observing theordinary details of daily life that he had missed in the past fiveyears--the ostler with a straw between his teeth, washing mud from acoach; an immaculate postilion checking his saddle; the serving maidwith a soiled apron talking at the kitchen door with a laundry maidwho had slipped off her clogs for a moment. A scent of roasting meatwafted from that open door, mingling with the warm odour ofhorses, leather and hay and, more faintly, the scents of the sea andthe harbour at low tide.
With a rumble of iron-rimmed wheels, a substantial crestedcoach drawn by a quartet of matched bays swung into the innyard. Itslowed as the ostler leapt forward, and the coachman drew hishorses to a halt. A groom jumped from his perch, waved the ostleraside, and let down the coach's step.
A plump young maid, plainly gowned and bonneted, steppedto the ground. She turned and swung out a little boy of about fiveyears. He was possessed of wayward auburn curls and was pullingfretfully at his dark blue skeleton suit. A lady--a tall, shapely youngwoman with a calm, comely face--followed the boy. She accepted thegroom's hand with a pleasant smile and a word of thanks. She wasgowned simply and sombrely; her traveling costume was a fine darkgrey silk, and a black straw bonnet revealed only a single auburncurl. She bent to hear something the child said, smiled and took hishand.
The party advanced to the inn's main door to Rhyle's left,away from the yard he faced. Hastily setting his tankard aside, hestraightened. He seized his heavy crutch in one large, well-shapedhand and, leaning on it heavily, rose. Once upright he paused,breathing heavily against the pain that spread from his thigh,upward to his hip and down as far as his ankle. With hiswell-favoured face set unconsciously in lines of suffering, he took half adozen halting steps toward the old oak door, and bowed politely tothe party.
The maid shot him a saucy, curious look, which he did notreturn. The child skipped up to him interestedly. "Are you a giant,sir?" he piped, tipping back his curly head the better to observeRhyle's face above him.
"Christopher!" The lady, who had not appeared at first to seeRhyle at all, now surveyed him with a mingling of doubt, compassionand admiration as she admonished the child.
The little boy responded immediately to the reproof in hertone. "I beg pardon, sir, but you are very tall." He held out his smallhand with touching confidence.
Rhyle smothered a grin, and gripped the little fingers gentlybut firmly. They exchanged a brief handshake, man and boy. "Hespeaks nothing but the truth," Rhyle said, lifting his grey gaze to thelady's face. "Surely he cannot be faulted for it."
He scarcely understood the urge that had moved him tostand and all but intercept the small group. The woman and childwere undoubtedly mother and son. Though his father must haveshaped the child's face, he shared hazel eyes with his mother--setwidely beneath generous brows--and their small straight noses wereidentical.
"I thank you for your forbearance, sir," she said in a soft, lowvoice. She met his gaze directly, with gratitude in her look. "He isever an honest, inquisitive child."
Speechless, the major bowed once more.
She hesitated, then turned away to speak with her servants."Take Christopher within, Jenny." She summoned the groom whowas assisting his coachman. "Marshall, examine the carriagecarefully, if you please. I would have no more mishaps like that ofyesterday."
"A mishap?" Rhyle was filled with sudden concern, thoughhe was well aware he had no right to it. He glanced at the groom,who swung away immediately to obey his mistress.
"A cracked pole...a disaster averted." The lady seemedsurprised by her own explanation, and with a polite, discouragingsmile at Rhyle, she hurried with her maid and child into the inn.
Gideon Rhyle watched them disappear, and limped back topick up his hat, leaning heavily on his crutch. He knew now very wellwhat had moved him to accost the party. He had once dreamt therewas just such a woman in the world for him; a woman he couldcherish and with whom he would create a home, and raise a family.His action had been a momentary fulfillment of the fantasy.
Reality reestablished, he recalled that in the last year or two,the vision had faded. Now, suffering the aftereffects of battle and thedisillusion of injury, he was done with dreams. He donned his hat.His stagecoach's horses were being harnessed.
The crested coach was unhitched and turned. The lady, itwas plain from the painted indicator on the door, was the wife of anearl. Of course, he had recognized her position; her carriage, clothesand composure proclaimed it, despite the lack of height in hermanner. He considered with anxiety the difficulty of the cracked polethey had encountered the previous day, then shook his head over theillogical concern. It was another man's privilege to be worried overit.
The coachman of the stage appeared with his guard, and thesignal was given that the coach would soon depart. Rhyle took atentative, awkward step accepting yet more pain from themovement, and then limped slowly to the door of the stagecoach.With the guard's help, he settled reluctantly within, the countess'coach removed from his view. He wished that her lovely face mightbe so easily expunged from his memory.
* * * *
It was only one day later that Clementina, Countess ofCarmelth, said to her little son, "We are nearly arrived, my love; doyou see, the signposts bespeak Brighton, rather than London now."Though their traveling coach was the latest in design and possessedof every comfort, she would be glad to quit it when they achievedtheir destination. Even the modern springs incorporated into thecoach's construction had not been able to ameliorate the rough roadsearlier in the day. The turnpike that they now traversed wasblessedly smooth.
"I am tired of journeying, Mama," he said. Moodily, theyoung earl kicked the blue plush of the opposite seat.
"You did not sleep well last night." She considered his smallface lovingly, then drew him to sit upon her lap with scant regard forthe silk of her gown.
"I kept thinking of Sponge," he admitted, resting his curlyhead upon her bosom. Lady Carmelth smiled over his head at thenursemaid, Jenny. Sponge was the liver-spotted spaniel puppy, therunt of his litter, which her son had adopted.
"Sponge will be fine. Did not Jenks promise to care for him,Master Kit?" the younger girl assured him.
"Besides we must have made this journey, my darling," LadyCarmelth reminded her son. "Grandmama and Grandpapa have notseen us for ever so long. With Aunt Eleonora to be wed, and AuntFelicity a toast of London society, we had to seize this opportunity tovisit." She sighed.
She had had no real wish to travel into Sussex to WheelingHall, where her family was staying at the home of Eleonora'sbetrothed, Robert, Viscount Damerham. She had rather have visitedthem at home in Suffolk where they might be private.
But her family was a busy one, eminent in the ton ,active in government, and now, of all times, they needed to betogether. Her older brother Nicholas, her father's heir, was missingfollowing the action in Belgium at Waterloo.
She had been apart from all her family's activity these fiveyears. At eighteen, she had wed the youthful Earl of Carmelth, andwas bereaved while with child, a year later. When she had only justemerged from her confinement and her mourning, the grandfather ofher late husband had died and she had been plunged into blackagain. Her mother-in-law's death but eight months previous hadprolonged the family's suffering, and it required that she remain atCarmelth with the only survivor of her husband's family, hisgrandmother, the Dowager Countess of Carmelth.
Her own family, whom she had desperately missed duringthe early months of her marriage, became secondary to her new life.Her son was the centre of her existence, and the family seat of hisearldom was his world. It was out of duty to her son's estate and tothe dowager countess that Clementina had remained at Carmelth inGloucestershire the better part of five years.
Her family had of course paid