Slightly Married by Mary Balogh (English) Paperback Book

Description: Slightly Married by Mary Balogh In a new novel featuring the Bedwyn family, marriage-shy Colonel Lord Aidan Bedwyn journeys to Ringwood Manor to honor a dying soldiers request to protect his sister, Eve, from scheming relatives and comes face to face with a headstrong, fiercely independent, passionate young woman who will turn hi FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description In a new novel featuring the Bedwyn family, marriage-shy Colonel Lord Aidan Bedwyn journeys to Ringwood Manor to honor a dying soldiers request to protect his sister, Eve, from scheming relatives and comes face to face with a headstrong, fiercely independent, passionate young woman who will turn hi Author Biography Mary Balogh has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than thirty of which have been New York Times bestsellers. They include the Bedwyn saga, the Simply quartet, the Huxtable quintet, the seven-part Survivors Club series, and the Westcott series. Excerpt from Book Chapter One England - 1814 There was a shady dell slicing through the woods on the western side of the park at Ringwood Manor in Oxfordshire. The water of the brook gurgling over its rocky bed joined up eventually with a larger river that formed the boundary of the park and flowed through the nearby village of Heybridge. The dell was always secluded and lovely. However, on this particular morning in May it was breathtakingly beautiful. The bluebells, which did not usually bloom until June, had been seduced by a mild spring into making an early appearance. The azaleas were in flower too, so that the sloping banks were carpeted in blue and pink. Bright sunbeams slanted through the dark-leafed branches of tall cypress trees and dappled the ground with brightness and shadow while sparkling off the bubbling water of the brook. Eve Morris was knee-deep in bluebells. She had decided that it was too glorious a morning to be spent in any of the usual activities about the house and farm or in the village. The bluebells were in bloom for such a short time, and picking them for the house had always been one of her favorite springtime activities. She was not alone. She had persuaded Thelma Rice, the governess, to cancel classes for a few hours and bring her two pupils and her infant son out flower picking. Even Aunt Mari had come despite her arthritic knees and frequent shortness of breath. Indeed, it had been her idea to turn the occasion into an impromptu picnic. She was sitting now on the sturdy chair Charlie had carried down for her, her knitting needles clicking steadily, a large basket of food and drink at her side. Eve straightened up to stretch her back. A pile of long-stemmed flowers lay along the basket over her arm. With her free hand she pressed her ancient, floppy straw hat more firmly onto her head, even though the wide gray ribbon attached to its crown and brim was securely fastened beneath her chin. The ribbon matched her dress, a simply styled, high-waisted, short-sleeved cotton garment ideal for a morning in the country when no company was expected. She savored a conscious feeling of well-being. All of the summer stretched ahead, a summer unmarred by anxiety for the first time in many years. Well, almost unmarred. There was, of course, the continuing question of what was keeping John away. He had expected to be home by March, or April at the latest. But he would come as soon as he was able. Of that she was certain. In the meantime, she viewed her surroundings and her companions with placid contentment. Aunt Mari was not watching her busy hands. Instead she watched the children, an affectionate smile on her lined and wrinkled face. Eve felt a rush of tenderness for her. She had spent forty years hauling carts of coal along passageways deep in a coal mine until Papa had granted her a small pension after the death of her husband, Papas uncle. Eve had persuaded her to come to Ringwood to live a little over a year ago, when Papa was very ill. Seven-year-old Davy was picking earnestly, a frown on his thin face, as if he had been set a task of grave importance. Close behind him, as usual, five-year-old Becky, his sister, picked with more obvious enjoyment and less concentration, humming tunelessly as she did so. She looked like a child who felt secure in her surroundings. If only Davy could learn to relax like that, to lose the strained, serious look that made him appear too old for his years. But it would come, Eve told herself, if she would just be patient. Neither child was her own, though they had lived with her for the past seven months. They had no one else. Muffin was down by the brook, three of his paws braced precariously on three different rocks, the fourth tucked under his belly, his nose half an inch above the shallow water. He was not drinking. He fancied himself as a prize fisher-dog though he had never caught even as much as a tadpole. Silly dog! Young Benjamin Rice toddled up to his mother, a cluster of azalea and bluebell heads clutched tightly in one outstretched fist. Thelma bent to take them in her cupped hands as if they were some rare and precious treasure--as of course they were. Eve felt a moments envy of that mother love, but she shook it off as unworthy of her. She was one of the most fortunate of mortals. She lived in this idyllic place, and she was surrounded by people with whom she shared a reciprocal love, the loneliness of her girlhood a thing of the distant past. In a weeks time she would be able to leave off her half-mourning on the first anniversary of Papas death and wear colors again. She could scarcely wait. Soon--any day now--John would be back, and she could admit to the world at long last that she was in love, love, love. She could have twirled about at the thought, like an exuberant girl, but she contented herself with a smile instead. And then there was the other prospect to complete her happiness. Percy would be coming home. He had written in his last letter that he would take leave as soon as he was able, and now surely he must be able. A little over a week ago she had heard the glorious news that Napoleon Bonaparte had surrendered to the Allied forces in France and that the long wars were over at last. James Robson, Eves neighbor, had come in person to Ringwood as soon as he heard himself, knowing what the news would mean to her--the end to years of anxiety for Percys safety. Eve stooped to pick more bluebells. She wanted to be able to set a filled vase in every room of the house. They would all celebrate springtime and victory and security and an end to mourning with color and fragrance. If only John would come. "Whos ready for something to eat, then?" Aunt Mari called a few minutes later in her thick Welsh accent. "Im exhausted just watching all of you." "I am," Becky cried, skipping happily toward the basket and setting her flowers down at Aunt Maris side. "I am starved." Davy straightened up but stood uncertainly where he was, as if he half suspected that the offer would be snatched away if he moved. Muffin came bobbing up from the brook, his one and a half ears cocked, woofing as he came. "You must be famished too, Davy." Eve strode toward him, set her free arm about his thin shoulders, and swept him along with her. "What an excellent worker you are. You have picked more than anyone else." "Thank you, Aunt Eve," he said gravely. He still spoke her name awkwardly as if he thought it an impertinence to use so familiar a form of address. He and Becky were not related to her, except by a very tenuous link through marriage, but how could she have two young children growing up in her home and addressing her as Miss Morris? Or Aunt Mari as Mrs. Pritchard? Thelma was laughing. Flowers along one arm, Benjamin on the other, she was unable to prevent him from pushing her bonnet backward off her head. Aunt Mari had the basket open and was taking out freshly baked bread rolls, which had been carefully wrapped in a tea towel. The yeasty smell of them and of fried chicken made Eve realize how hungry she was. She knelt on the blanket Davy and Becky had spread on the grass and took charge of the large bottle of lemonade. The ten minutes or so of near silence that followed were testament to both their hard work and the culinary skills of Mrs. Rowe, Eves cook. Why did food always taste so much more appetizing out-of-doors? Eve wondered, wiping her greasy fingertips on a linen napkin after devouring a second piece of chicken. "I suppose," Aunt Mari said, "wed better pack up and take all these flowers back to the house before they wilt. If someone would just hand me my cane as soon as I have my wool and needles in this bag, I could haul these old bones upright." "Oh, must we?" Eve asked with a sigh as Davy scrambled to offer the cane. But at that moment someone called her name. "Miss Morris," the voice called with breathless urgency. "Miss Morris." "We are still here, Charlie." She swiveled around to watch a large, fresh-faced young man come lumbering over the top of the bank from the direction of the house and crash downward toward them in his usual ungainly manner. "Take your time or you will slip and hurt yourself." She had hired him several months ago, even though Ringwood had not needed any more servants, to do odd jobs about the house and stable and park. No one else had wanted to offer Charlie employment after the death of his father, the village blacksmith, because he was generally described as a half-wit. Even his father had constantly berated him as a useless lump. Eve had never known anyone more eager to work and to please. "Miss Morris." He was gasping and ruddy-cheeked by the time he came close enough to deliver his message. Whenever Charlie was sent on an errand, he behaved as if he had been sent to announce the end of the world or something of similarly dire import. "I am sent. By Mrs. Fuller. To fetch you back to the house." He fought for air between each short sentence. "Did she say why, Charlie?" Eve got unhurriedly to her feet and shook out her skirt. "We are all on our way home anyway." "Someones come," Charlie said. He stood very still then, his large feet planted wide, his brow creased in deep furrows of concentration, and tried to bring something else to mind. "I cant remember his name." Eve felt a lurching of excitement in the pit of her stomach. John? But she had been disappointed so many times in the last two months that it was best not to consider the possibility. Indeed, she was even beginning to wonder if he was coming at all, if he had ever int Details ISBN0440241049 Author Mary Balogh Short Title SLIGHTLY MARRIED Pages 368 Language English ISBN-10 0440241049 ISBN-13 9780440241041 Media Book DEWEY FIC Year 2003 Imprint Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States Residence Saskatchewan, -CN Format Paperback DOI 10.1604/9780440241041 AU Release Date 2003-04-01 NZ Release Date 2003-04-01 US Release Date 2003-04-01 UK Release Date 2003-04-01 Publisher Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group Inc Series Bedwyn Saga Publication Date 2003-04-01 Series Number 1 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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