Ambersley (Lords of London, Book 1)

Ambersley (Lords of London, Book 1) Chapter One

Author's Note:  Ambersley is currently available for puchase on Barnes & Noble and on Amazon. It's a full-length Regency-set historical novel (109,000 words).  It was a B&N Top 100 book in September and an Amazon Top 100 book in October, hitting #1 in both Historical Romance and Historical Fiction.  I'm so pleased to introduce the story to readers here!

Also note: this excerpt is rated PG.  The full book would qualify for an R rating (in the latter chapters).

PART I: JOHNNY

CHAPTER ONE

Ambersley, June 1801

He’d simply done what any good man would do.

Thomas Bendicks repeated that to himself as he carried the small child along the forest path. Overhead, birdsong heralded the approaching dawn. He swore silently, afraid the bright light of day would bring regrets. Best not to think too closely upon the previous night’s tragic events or the possible repercussions of his actions.

He adjusted his burden to gently shoulder his way into the cottage. “Martha?” She would know what to do next.

His wife bent over the stove in the dim light. “Is that you, dear? Go out and wash up. Eat something, then you can sleep your fill. You must be tired after last night.”  She turned toward the door and promptly dropped the loaf of bread she carried. “Tom, what’s that you’ve got?”

He craned his neck and managed to whisper past the child’s chokehold. “I found her just this side of the stream. I heard whimpering and there she was, all curled up under a rhododendron. When I pulled her out, she climbed into my arms. Now she won’t let go.” Awe tinged his voice, for he still couldn’t believe this little being had trusted him. She clung to him like a vine to a sturdy oak.

He lowered himself into a chair as Martha approached to peer at the child. The little girl could be no more than four years old. Cuts and scrapes reddened her chubby arms and legs beneath the torn and filthy nightdress. Sooty smudges marred a pale round face framed by a disheveled mass of long dark curls knotted with brambles. Her blue-green eyes overflowed with unspoken terror.

“Tom, why did you bring her here? You know she must be His Grace’s daughter. Everyone will be searching for her.”

He pulled the child from his shoulder and adjusted her across his lap. She nuzzled her head against his chest and closed her eyes, one tiny hand clutching his sweat-stained shirt. The smell of ash bound them as one.

“I was almost home when I found her.” A poor excuse, he knew. “Besides, it’s a right mess up at the Hall—the fire destroyed half the roof, the west wing is gutted, and I hear most of the inside is damaged.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The duke and duchess are dead, as is half the house staff.”

Martha’s eyes filled with tears, and she swept away the moisture with hasty fingers.

“I was told the child was dead, too,” Tom continued. “Some daft story about her ghost sailing through the smoke last night. Nobody seems to know who’s in charge or what to do next.” His arm tightened about the child. “Look at her. She’s so scared, I thought it better to bring her here for a day or two. I don’t think she should see the Hall like it is now.”

The little girl had fallen asleep against his chest. Gingerly, Martha reached over to smooth a stray curl from her face, bracing against old memories that swamped her. Poor little orphan, what was to become of her now? The title and the property would go to some male relative. Maybe he’d have a family—that would be best. It might be days before he arrived, and meanwhile...