Lord of the Manor
When the owner of ramshackle Blackcliff Hall arrives, the locals have high hopes that Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam will set things to rights. Especially Gwen Allbridge, the estate manager’s daughter who has single-handedly kept Blackcliff Hall going. Now she must convince Trevor to stay and make the hall—and the village depending on it—prosperous again.
The decaying estate is just another reminder to Trevor of his noble father’s rejection. Abandoning it for London could restore his cheer…but how can he disappoint Gwen? Her faith in him makes him yearn to live up to the ideals she holds dear. As disturbing, unexplained events encroach on the pair, Gwen’s steadfast courage will rise to meet Trevor’s newfound honor as they learn that there’s no dream like home.
“Just how badly,” Trevor said, “do you wish me to stay?”
“I’ve told you how important Blackcliff is to the village, sir.”
“Indeed. The last lifeblood it seems. You’ve gone to great lengths to prove to me how well I’ll like it here. Are you setting me a mystery to sweeten the pie?”
A mystery? Gwen had been right—some part of him relished this challenge with the statue.
“I have no part in this, Trevor. Or do you think I’m the one moving the statue?”
“The idea had crossed my mind.”
For some reason, the accusation hurt. “Do you truly think me so devious?”
“Not devious,” he replied. “But determined. You admit you’d do anything to make me stay,” he said.
“I admit I wanted you to stay,” Gwen replied, “but this presumptuous attitude is not endearing you to me, sir.”
“Forgive me, Gwen. I should know there’s no guile in you. You have been nothing but kindness itself to me since the day I arrived.”
Well, that was better. She could only hope that he truly had decided she was innocent. And that maybe, maybe, this puzzle would give him a reason to stay for a while longer.
REGINA SCOTT
started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she had learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian and Portuguese.
She and her husband of more than twenty years reside in southeast Washington state. Regina Scott is a decent fencer, owns a historical costume collection that takes up over a third of her large closet and she is an active member of the Church of the Nazarene. Her friends and church family know that if you want something organized, you call Regina. You can find her online blogging at www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com. Learn more about her at www.reginascott.com.
An Honorable Gentleman
Regina Scott
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.
—Jeremiah 29:11
To Nonie, who never fails to encourage me; to Linda, who never fails to enlighten; and most of all to my heavenly Father, who never fails to inspire.
Contents
Chapter One
Blackcliff Hall, Cumberland, England, 1811
Someone else was in the house.
Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam stopped in the center of the bedchamber he had been considering making his own and listened, head cocked. Blackcliff Hall muttered the usual creaks and groans of a house built nearly two hundred years ago and left for the past two months to itself. He’d already determined the cavernous place to be empty of servants save for an elderly fellow who’d taken his horse at the stables. And servants were generally silent in any regard.
From downstairs came the sound of a door closing. Trevor’s head snapped up. He slipped across the Oriental carpet and flattened himself against the heavy oak paneling of the wall. Over the past few years he’d made enemies helping his father and aristocratic friends solve personal problems like blackmail and bribery. Any one of a number of vengeful men could have followed him as he made his way north and east into Cumberland. Any one of them could be searching for him even now.
But if it was a choice of hunt or be hunted, he’d far prefer to hunt.
He glanced out the door, but nothing moved along the wide, oak-paneled corridor that crossed the chamber floor of the gray stone manor house. He knew the main stairs squeaked; he’d frowned at the noise on