“I admit I had an ulterior motive for wanting to share your terrace,” Devlin said. “You say you will never marry; I should like to know why.”
“I am quite content to live out my days surrounded by family and friends. It provides me independence, as well,” Nicole answered.
It seemed a well-rehearsed answer. Perhaps, like him, she had deeper reasons that she did not wish to share. “But suppose you fell in love with a man who would allow you the freedom you desire?”
“I can just as easily turn the question back on you. Would finding a woman who would not curb your independence change your mind?”
“I have assumed that meeting such a woman is unlikely. However, I cannot say with certainty what would transpire should such a woman exist and should we care for each other.”
“That is where we differ, Devlin.” The sadness in her voice was audible; she seemed tired and quite unguarded with him. “I believe I would remain adamant.”
Instinctively he knew the conversation was closed.
About the Author
MARY MOORE has been an avid student of the Regency era since the 1970s and is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers’ historic fiction community as well as a member of the Faith, Hope and Love and Beau Monde chapters of the RWA. She has been writing historical fiction for over fifteen years. Mary had to put her writing on hold due to some health issues, including a bout with breast cancer. She is now even more excited about her writing as she incorporates her struggles throughout her books, dedicated to encouraging others in the Lord and using her talent to His glory. A native of the Washington, D.C., area, Mary and her husband now live in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of southwest Virginia, with their black Lab, Darcy. When not writing, Mary enjoys time with her husband, watching romantic movies, reading and weekend getaways. Mary would love to hear from you. You can reach her by visiting her website, http://marymooreauthor.vpweb.com.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed the story of Devlin and Nicole. They have become personal friends of mine, and characters who I hope have spoken to you and inspired you.
As you may have surmised, one of my favorite passages in Scripture is Jeremiah 29:11-12. I have relied on its strength through some of my own struggles, and I wanted it to permeate the story, especially in regards to Nicole. She began to claim verse 11 after the accident that left her virtually blind, but without the context of the verses that followed, she saw only a glimpse of God’s goodness. Verse 11 told her that He had a plan for her life and she held on to it like a lifeline. But she was convinced that God had only one plan. Oddly enough, it wasn’t until Devlin’s own revelation that she received the full blessing of verse 12—not only a plan, but a future filled with hope. I know I want God planning my future!
There were so many precious insights God gave me as I wrote this story, and I pray that you found something to touch your heart, as well. If so, I pray that God receives all of the glory. I hope, too, that you began a love for the Regency era that will last a lifetime.
Thank you for taking the time to read The Aristocrat’s Lady. I would love to hear from you. Visit my website at marymooreauthor.vpweb.com and drop me a note.
God bless you,
Mary Moore
The Aristocrat’s Lady
Mary Moore
To:
Jesus Christ,
May God Get The Glory
and
To Craig
My husband and my best friend
“… Love is not love which alters when it alternation finds, … No! It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken …”
William Shakespeare
“For I know the plans that I have for you,”
declares the Lord, “plans for welfare and
not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.”
—Jeremiah 29:11 (NAS)
Chapter One
Lady Nicole Beaumont sighed as she walked along the terrace of the Elizabethan mansion. The air was surprisingly cool and lightly blowing over the palatial gardens behind the house. It was an immediate remedy to the stifling heat of the ballroom behind her. Tracing her hand along the marble railing, she reached the landing that led down into the meticulously patterned walkways. However, Nicole did not descend. She only listened to the sounds coming from the lake, the focal point of the famed park. She could hear the soft gliding of ducks as they floated across the smooth water. She smiled when she perceived one quacking truant dip its head into the cool pool only to bring it up again in a flurry of feathers.
The smell of roses was strong where she stood, and it took Nicole’s thoughts back to her own home in Gloucester. Roses had always been her favorite—she grew the most beautiful and unusual varieties.
She sighed again as she stood against the sculpted balustrade. London had been so much worse than she had imagined. Why had she allowed her mother to convince her it would be good for her to visit Town during the Season? Everything was at a faster pace, and her problems seemed magnified in the unending bustle of the city. Her incapacities only reminded her of her endless limitations.
This night she was attending a ball at the home of Lord and Lady Swathmore. It was their “country” home, though less than five miles outside of London. Nicole’s mother had been overjoyed at the invitation. Nicole had come to hate such fetes, but at least at Swathmore Hall there was an escape to fresh air. The past week had been spent in an endless round of soirees and balls in the sweltering heat of London, where the grand houses were bunched against each other like fancy flint boxes stacked in a row.
On this terrace Nicole could imagine she was back at home, and thought of the peace God had finally given her. She could, for a few moments, pretend the accident had never happened. The night air made her think of evening rides on Solomon. She could not ride very often, and never without her faithful servant, Toby, alongside. But she had to consider the good: now that the rides were more sedate, she could spend her time in prayer and contemplation. It had taken too long to be thankful for that, but she looked for those boons from life now.
Town had not brought Nicole the pleasure her mother had hoped for. Her disability overrode any enjoyment anticipated.
She castigated herself at the thought. Nicole had never truly imagined the trip would provide her much pleasure. Even her dismay at facing the height of the Season had been easy to set aside when she thought of the time she might devote to charitable endeavors that must abound. What she found had shaken her faith in her fellow man. The richest and most lavish city in Europe cared nothing for the poor among them. She had met people who did not give as much as a farthing to help others, while spending hundreds of pounds on a coat cut from the cloth of the famous Weston. Her altruistic intentions met with nothing but disdain. She sent up a silent prayer asking God for the direction He now so often showed her.
Suddenly, Nicole became aware that she was not alone. It came as quite a shock to realize she was so consumed by her own thoughts that she had no notion of the additional presence. She always tried to be very sensitive to her surroundings. Concentrating in earnest, she determined that her silent companion was a man. She could smell the pungent aroma of his cigar mixed with a cologne unfamiliar