-2.jpg)
Under the Kissing Bough excerpt
When Colonel Henry Fitzwilliam arrives at Rosings Park and reconnects with his cousin Anne’s lady companion, Ophelia Hampton, he can hardly believe she is the same person as the unprepossessing eight-year-old he teased as a teenager. Now, despite himself, he is enchanted by the accomplished but penniless orphan. To his dismay, Sir Thomas Wainwright, a landholder in the district, has also shown a marked interest in the young woman. During a ball at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s house in Kent Ophelia disappears, and Fitzwilliam and his cousin Darcy must undertake a desperate race across country and against time through the depths of winter. But will they be able to keep her from being married over the anvil at Gretna Green?
Life had come full circle for Ophelia Hampton since her mother’s death. From five to twenty-five, she’d lived in the Westerbridge household. After several years helping first one cousin and then another with newborns, she had arrived at Rosings just after Easter to replace Mrs. Jenkinson as her cousin Anne de Bourgh’s companion. A year on, life had become routine, if not always pleasant.
As Anne’s companion, she had been given Mrs. Jenkinson’s room and practiced the piano there, although she was expected to play on the de Bourgh piano for company. She ate dinner with the family and guests, and was always present for morning calls and tea. Anne did not always want her to play or read or accompany her when she wished to take the air in her phaeton, which gave Ophelia a bit of time on her own.
The first time Sir Thomas Wainwright, Lady Catherine’s newest neighbor, had called, Wainwright had not stayed above a quarter of an hour on his first visit but divulged he was not married. His easy manner and the rich silks of his cravat and waistcoat, along with his gold pocket watch and fob, ensured a cordial welcome. Ophelia, however, had taken an instant dislike to him. Away from the piano bench, she sat quiet in a corner, only rising to pour tea, and tried—without success—to avoid his covert glances in her direction. Each knowing appraisal, as if he knew some secret about her, sent prickles around her neck and down her spine. Lady Catherine invited him to return to take tea at 4:00 p.m. two days later.
On that occasion, Sir Thomas, a self-made man who reaped a fortune importing saltpeter for the army, came bearing gifts—a fan for Lady Catherine and a Kashmiri shawl for Anne. When he had arrived with his offerings, Lady Catherine had looked askance as she received her gift. Anne had exclaimed with rapture at the intricate pattern of the finely woven garment and immediately asked Ophelia to arrange it around her.
Ophelia, having draped the fabric over Anne’s shoulders, went back to her own seat. Sir Thomas came over and handed her a Beethoven sonata. She looked over at Lady Catherine, whose face was expressionless. Not knowing what to do, Ophelia accepted the pages with trembling hands. Such a prodigiously expensive gift was unwelcome. What might Wainwright demand in return?
Lady Catherine leaned over and plucked the sheets from her. “Beethoven! I have been informed his music is unsuitable for a young girl.” She tried to return it to the giver.
“Almost thirty,” Ophelia contradicted, her voice soft. “Not so young.”
Lady Catherine gave her a warning glare but slammed the sheets onto the top of the piano when Wainwright waved them away.
Ophelia fancied anger in his piggy eyes that belied his jocular expression. “Come now, Lady Catherine. I assure you; this piece will cause no harm.”