HOW EXCITED WE ARE TODAY, TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, REBECCA TAYLOR TO THE BLOG. REBECCA IS SHARING A PROLOGUE AND CHAPT FROM HER NOVEL, 'THE SECRETS OF HARCOURT HALL' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

My Lord, 

Please excuse the formal tone of my address, but despite our previous closeness, I could not feel more like strangers at this moment.

I could reconcile myself to the idea that we were simply not meant to be, and that your parents had arranged a much more advantageous marriage than I could ever have provided. However, what I cannot overcome is that as the months since our parting increase, so does the inevitability that our history will be revealed. I tell you this not to threaten you, but simply to inform you that I cannot conceal what passed between us for much longer; my body betrays me, as only a woman’s can.

I will await a reply from you, although I do not hold out much hope, so I will continue to make preparations to return to you, if only to protect myself from complete and utter ruin.

Look for my coming.

Yours sincerely,

 F

December 1884

The woman pulled her old coat around her and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt as she stepped out of the shop door and into the bitter cold. These were her best clothes, but they were long past being new, and everything from her coat to her blue day dress, and down to her boots, was worn and had patches where they had been repaired time and time again. She tried to smile, but this was her third rejection today, and being turned down by yet another business stung her pride.

Her thoughts turned to the baby she was carrying, and she knew that once the business owners saw how heavy she was with child, there was next to no chance that they would employ her. An unmarried mother to be, just would not send the right message to their customers. The girl would keep trying, though, regardless of the improbability of her success. She had to; time was running out.

The money her mother had given her had all but been spent. When she had first arrived in the town, she had taken a job at the Modiste and with a little budgeting, she could make ends meet; she had even put a little aside. But as her belly had swollen and her condition had become apparent, the work dried up. There had been the odd job here and there that she could do, washing and mending clothes and helping her landlady with small tasks, but it was not enough. So, more desperate than ever, the young woman had set out to see if any of the proprietors in the area would take pity on her and offer her work, any work.

There was very little light left this evening. Her feet were tired, her back ached, and her stomach rumbled, so she decided she would take a break. The little money she had on her would just about pay for a small meal, and it would stop her from collapsing from exhaustion, so she made her way to a nearby inn. This was a fairly respectable establishment with a clientele that consisted of, for the most part, businessmen and workers, and the woman weighed up the risks and decided she would be relatively safe here. As for her reputation, she no longer worried about being a woman unchaperoned. She heard their whispers, caught their hurried glances filled with either disdain or pity, and she had long since chosen to ignore them.

In the corner of the public house, the woman ate the last of her meagre meal and considered what to do next. Her thoughts turned to the money that she had hidden in her modest lodgings; she had the ring too, but she could not bring herself to part with it, not that it had brought her anything but trouble. Without alternative employment, the savings were not enough for the train ticket that she so desperately needed.

Under her coat, her hand rested on her stomach; if there was no ticket, then there was no way of getting to him so he could at least help with this. Her letters had not worked, so she had no other choice but to bring the issue to his door.

At a table across from her, two men were preparing to leave. Both of them looked well off; their jackets were a modern, fashionable cut, and their meals were large and had the most pleasant aroma, unlike her own. The girl would not have paid them any more attention if she had not noticed that one of them had left his pocketbook on the table next to his plate. Curious to see if he or anyone else had been witness to his error, she watched intently, but the pair departed minutes later, pocketbook still on the table. Still, she waited; surely the man would return at any moment and correct his mistake, but that never happened, and the more time that passed, the more the woman convinced herself that this was a sign. She got up and slowly walked by where the men had been sitting, and without hesitation, she slipped an uneaten piece of bread into her coat pocket and her prize into the other. If the gentleman returned that evening or the next day, she would be long gone.

Ten days later, the young woman alighted the train at the nearest town to her destination, her savings and the profit from her ill-gotten gains had been exhausted, and she would have to walk the rest of the way, but she found that she no longer cared. The singular goal was to reach Harcourt Hall and reunite father and child once they were born, and she would achieve it, even if it killed her.

 A wedding, or so they say, should be the start of a whole new chapter in a person’s life, but for Lucy it brought only uncertainty and dread. 

In seven days’ time, Miss Lucy Hayle, daughter of a baron, was to marry Lord Carfax, Duke of Bedford. But it was not, as one might have hoped, the result of some grand love affair, a lightning bolt from the sky, or even a sensible match between two like-minded people. Instead, it was a practical arrangement between parents for a bride and groom who had never set eyes on each other to distract society from a scandal within the Carfax household. Lucy had hardly been in a position to protest, after all, as her mother, who could hardly contain her glee, had told her, there was very little chance of her making such a splendid match otherwise.

As the carriage clattered over the bridge and the sprawling Harcourt estate loomed into view, the bride-to-be wondered how someone found themselves having to wed a complete stranger, and what it said about the woman who would agree to this. Lucy knew that her mother had been corresponding with the dowager duchess, and then, about a month ago, a lawyer had arrived with the necessary paperwork that would allow two people, who had never met, to marry. Lucy’s family had all but retired from society several years ago, and far away in their manor house in South Yorkshire, Lucy had not been privy to the gossip and scandals of London. She guessed this was why Lady Carfax had chosen her, just noble enough for a duke, but unaware of the reason for the stigma now surrounding the Duke of Bedford.

The question of what could be such a stain on a duke’s reputation had not escaped Lucy; she was only human after all. As she rearranged the sleeve of her dress, Lucy ran through the multitude of scenarios she had concocted. Perhaps he was horribly disfigured, or cruel, although this did not seem enough to deter some mothers she had come across, who saw their daughter married to a Duke, as a prize, no matter the circumstances.

Next to her, Lucy’s lady’s maid Ellen was fast asleep; she’d claimed to know nothing of note when Lucy had asked her what had befallen the Carfax family, but Lucy suspected that Ellen knew more than she was letting on; the servants always did. Her mother had not been very forthcoming either, but she had gained some comfort from the fact that her mother would not send her off like a lamb to slaughter, or so she thought. Could it be that Lord Carfax was not his father’s son? This would certainly call into question the legitimacy of his dukedom and make him a less-than-ideal marriage prospect. Lucy seemed to recall that when she had still been immersed in society, there had been some talk of a Carfax bride, but she must have been mistaken. Either that or the duke had a previous spouse lurking in the attic at Harcourt Hall. Whatever the reason for the subterfuge, Lucy supposed she would find out soon enough, and any stain on the Carfax family name would also be hers to bear soon enough, until death do they part.

The setting sun caused an eruption of brilliant orange flames that danced across the sky and seemed to threaten to engulf the carriage. Lucy shifted in her seat and moved away from her window, bumping into the sleeping Ellen. The fiery image made Lucy uneasy. She imagined she could feel the heat on her skin, and her breathing felt laboured as if she had inhaled thick black smoke. Then, just as the rising sense of panic set in, Lucy heard Ellen’s voice.

“Miss Hayle?” Her hands firmly gripped Lucy’s shoulders. “Lucy! It’s all in your head,” she said.

And just like that, the flames had retreated, and Lucy’s lungs filled with clean air. For a moment, Lucy could have sworn she was back there, lost amidst the smoke, and then a sharp knock at the carriage door roused her from her torment.

“Are you ready, Miss Hayle? said Ellen as she smoothed out Lucy’s skirts and attempted to fix a loose curl on her head. “We’re here!”

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Author Rebecca Taylor

AUTHOR BIO

Rebecca lives in Yorkshire with her husband and two daughters. She has worked as an EFL tutor, Cover Supervisor and Teacher, and holds a degree in Ancient History and a PGCE in Secondary History. She has been writing stories and poetry since childhood, but it was only in 2023 that she published her first book, The Silly Gorilla. Since then, Rebecca has written twenty-four other children’s books. Her adult novels, The Secrets of Harcourt Hall and The Harcourt Legacy, have been read and enjoyed worldwide; the third in the series is due out later this year.

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COMING SOON: On Monday, 15th June, our wonderful team member, Lorraine Carey, is sharing Chapter 2 from her novel, 'Night Mistress of Paradise Palms'.