An Enchanted Beginning Read online

  an

  enchanted

  beginning

  Alyssa Dean Copeland

  Copyright © 2018 by Alyssa Dean Copeland.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover design by The Killion Group

  Edited by John Klocek

  Book Layout ©2018 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Printed by CreateSpace

  An Enchanted Beginning / Alyssa Dean Copeland. – First Edition.

  ISBN—9781729015032

  For my cousin Carol.

  May you travel where your heart leads…

  I can express no kinder sign of love,

  than this kind kiss.

  ― William Shakespeare

  PROLOGUE

  July 1567 – England

  Loys de la Veue slammed the hilt of his sword into the base of a guard’s neck and let the man drop to the floor. Sweat trickled down his face. His breathing hampered. He froze at the sound of footsteps and low voices. Loys dragged the limp man behind half-a-dozen wooden barrels and laid him on the cold, stone floor. Three guards passed by, oblivious to the fate of their comrade.

  “Drinks at the Rose. What say you, Thomas?”

  “I have not the coin to spend on such pleasantries. Not with a babe on the way.”

  The third man laughed. “A round on me, then. To celebrate the capture of those traitorous rebels.”

  Loys held his breath as they passed and didn’t move until their voices drowned in the distance. The guard at his feet hadn’t moved. Slowly, Loys let out a breath, listening intently—no more guards approached.

  He darted across the corridor to a staircase. Pressing his back against the wall, he padded down the stone steps. The stench of urine filled the air. Loys covered his mouth and nose.

  A shadow in the torch light betrayed a guard at the bottom. Loys quietly lifted his sword, stepped behind the man, and struck him over the head, knocking him to the floor. Loys stood still. Hearing nothing, he bent down and removed the prison keys from the guard’s belt with a quick tug and rushed down the long, dark hallway in search of his friend.

  Loys heard a voice call out before he could see into the dark cell. “Frenchman! What are you doing here?”

  Loys fumbled with the keys. The lock turned with a loud clink. “What does it look like? We have work to do and no time to lounge.”

  Dominic Windham laughed. “We would not be lounging had you arrived sooner.” He called out to his men. “We depart this day.”

  A loud cheer echoed through the chambers. Loys hissed through his teeth. “Quiet. You will alert the guard.”

  The cell door gave a sharp screech as Dominic pulled it open. “Worry not, Frenchman. This time we will be prepared.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bethany Maycott tugged at a strand of delicate, silk thread. This would be the last cuff she would embroider for her father. Within a few days, she would take the long journey to France—and her place in a convent.

  Seanna, her younger sister, walked into the parlor holding a silver tray filled with tostee’s. “Bethany, you cannot sit there all day.”

  “There is not much else to do. Father should return shortly and we will discover if he has secured passage.” Bethany wished her sister would stop being cheerful. While her own fate was sealed, her sister was to marry James Bryant: a rogue of a man, but a husband, nonetheless. Here they sat in the parlor of James’s cottage in Bristol, waiting for their father to return from the docks. Had things been different, honey-and-ginger syrup poured on warm toast would have brightened her mood.

  Seanna sat in a cushioned chair across from her sister. “’Tis not fair. Father should not send you to a convent. We found you safe, untouched.”

  Bethany set her father’s shirt on her lap. “It is all right, Seanna. Father knows best.” Less than a fortnight ago, Seanna had rescued her from bandits holding her for ransom. Though they did no harm to her person, other than a few bruises, their father wished for the scandal her abduction caused to fade quickly.

  Jonas Maycott walked into the parlor, removed his woolen hat, and handed it to a seJuly 1567

  England

  rvant. “I have booked passage. We leave in four weeks’ time.”

  “A month? A full four weeks?” Seanna asked.

  “I could not find a ship sailing any sooner.”

  Seanna looked at Bethany. “Then we still have time.” She jumped up and raced over to a small wooden table near the window and began to shuffle through papers.

  “Time for what, Seanna?” their father asked.

  “To find a suitor for Bethany, of course.”

  Bethany curled her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold in the humid July heat. “Father has made his decision, Seanna. I am to be placed in a convent.” Through no fault of my own, she thought to herself.

  Jonas smiled. “You see, your sister has accepted her fate.”

  Seanna placed her hands on her hips. “Bethany has a dowry, does she not?”

  Jonas picked up a tostee and put it into his mouth, then licked the syrup from his fingers. “The price for a man to regain her honor would be absurd. And more than I could afford.”

  “Fine.” Seanna looked back down at the papers. “Then she can have mine.”

  “Yours?” he thundered.

  Bethany jerked her hand to her chest.

  There was laughter at the doorway. James Bryant stood there, exactly as she remembered the first time they’d met in the forest; only he was smiling. She didn’t like him.

  The arrogant man stepped into the room. “Do you mean to say that I am not to receive compensation for removing you from your father’s home?”

  Seanna rolled her eyes. “You know full well my father has set aside a dowry for each of us. At least I assume he has.”

  “Of course, I have,” Jonas answered.

  James snickered. “Then may I suggest a small wager of sorts, Lord Maycott?”

  “What do you mean a wager?”

  “If a suitor is found, then pay both dowries. If not, then Seanna’s dowry is forfeit—use it as you will.”

  For Bethany, this was too much. She jumped out of her chair. “No! I will go to the convent. I will make do. There is no reason…”

  “You would really marry me without a dowry?”

  “Of course, my lady. Either we wed, or your father will see my head at the gallows.” James winked.

  Jonas continued. “If there be a choice, I prefer Bethany be wed. But I would clarify stipulations. First, you must select someone with terms I can afford. Second, I must approve of him. I will not have my daughter escape scandal only to wed a scoundrel.”

  James rubbed his chin. “If I may, my lord, I also have a request. One which will assist in finding a proper suitor for your daughter. Send a letter to Lilly Thayer. Request her service as a chaperone.”

  “Me?” Jonas asked. “I do not know this woman.”

  “Mistress Thayer is a prominent member of society… and the aunt of Rachel Dohetry. I doubt she would respond kindly to me—but if you were to ask, she would like
ly comply.”

  Jonas stood still, silent, regarding James for a long, drawn-out breath.

  “Agreed. We will place this Lilly Thayer in charge of the girls for the next few weeks.”

  Seanna grabbed a piece of blank parchment and a quill from a small desk. “Then you must write her in haste—the Season is almost over!”

  Jonas nodded and walked toward the desk.

  Seanna clasped Bethany’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “We will find you an appropriate suitor you will see. I must locate a servant to deliver the message.” She hurried from the room.

  Their father sat down, his head bent over the parchment, while James leaned in, providing specifics.

  Bethany took a seat on the sofa and picked up her father’s shirt. It would do no good to protest. Her father’s mind had been made.

  It was just like her sister to take charge of a situation. But in Bethany’s experience, Seanna never made things better, only worse. Now she would have to face public ridicule rather than wait quietly for passage to France.

  Hours passed. Bethany pretended to thread a needle while her father paced in the parlor. He had the same look on his face when they were in the carriage the day of the attack—distant, preoccupied. She would rather have been sitting in her bedchamber, staring out the window, or even falling back asleep. But her own handmaiden had run off shortly after her abduction, and Ruth, her sister’s handmaiden, per Seanna’s instruction, wouldn’t allow it.

  Seanna sat at the table by the window responding to letters and invitations they’d received upon their arrival in Bristol.

  At least Master Bryant had graciously provided his absence. He made her uncomfortable, with his dark, mocking eyes. She wished Seanna would have found a man more suitable to marry. Though he was worthy of Seanna’s status, Bethany wasn’t certain he was worthy of Seanna’s love. What was it Seanna saw in the man? All she could see was a brash, forceful, overly confident bobolyne.

  Bethany looked out the window; a carriage was approaching. It stopped in front of the cottage and a woman immediately disembarked without assistance, turned, spoke to the coachman and turned back toward the cottage without breaking stride. The woman glanced at the doorway and said something to her coachman, flailing her arms.

  Bethany secured the needle in the fabric and placed the shirt into a sewing basket at her feet. Neither her sister nor her father noticed their guest.

  A moment later, the woman breezed into the parlor before she could be introduced. “Let me see these lovely ladies who are to be in my charge.” The woman gave a quick curtsey. “You must be the elder, Lady Bethany. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Bethany stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and placed her hands in front of her, then gave a quick nod. “Mistress Thayer, I presume.”

  “Please, you may call me Lilly. Everyone does. This lovely lady must be your sister, Lady Seanna?”

  Seanna stood and reached out her hand. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Lilly. We appreciate your accepting this position on such short notice.”

  Bethany clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open. Seanna wasn’t known to display such appropriate behavior. Bethany had tried on many an occasion to persuade Seanna to act in a manner more befitting her station—not to run amuck in her tatters, practice sword fighting with Father’s men, steal away with a pilfered fishing pole, or traipse around England, alone, with James, a man she hardly knew at the time. Yet, these past few weeks, Seanna had chosen to dress in gowns exclusively.

  “Of course, how could I not? Your father’s letter was rather convincing.” Lilly turned around and gave another curtsey. “Lord Maycott.”

  “Your reputation precedes you, Mistress Thayer. It is my hope you will see to my daughters during their stay in Bristol.”

  Lilly clapped her hands together and smiled. “Of course. We will have such a time.”

  A young girl set a tray on the table filled with four goblets, a decanter, and tarts. The servant filled the goblets with wine and curtsied.

  “Thank you. That will be all.” Seanna turned to their father and waved her hand at the sofa. “Please, join us.”

  Lord Maycott gave a curt bow. “I regret that I have business to attend.” He turned to Mistress Thayer. “I will leave my daughters to your charge.”

  Lilly sat down on the sofa. “We have much to accomplish in such a short time. The Season is almost over, but there is still time. Now tell me, do you have a suitable dress for a ball.”

  Seanna giggled. “We have several dresses. We had planned to attend the festivities several weeks ago, but were… detained.”

  Lilly smiled. “I have received word of your… detainment… however, we shall not think of past events; we have your future to look forward to. On the morrow there will be a nuncheon at my cottage. I shall introduce you to my nieces, though I believe you have already met the Lady Rachel. The Butler Ball will be in a few days’ time and I am certain you will receive many more invitations before the season is over. This day, I thought we could take a carriage ride to the merchant quarter, then a walk through the park.”

  Seanna perked up. “It sounds lovely, does it not, Bethany?”

  Bethany nodded and took a deep breath. A nuncheon, shopping, balls—she would rather hide behind closed doors than be an object of scrutiny. She reached for a tart and smiled. “Of course.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jonathan Butler fastened his doublet and raced down the granite staircase in his parents’ manor house. His father, waiting to introduce him to a wool merchant, awaited him at the tavern.

  Jonathan passed the doorman and reached for the handle when his mother called out, “Jonathan! Come here. I wish to speak with you.”

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

  Lady Butler stood in the parlor, directing the servants. “Use the batlet against this tapestry. I will not have my guests breathing dust.” She turned to her son. “And where are you headed? I need that boy to deliver these invitations. And make certain he wears the shoes we purchased for him or I will be the laughing stock of Bristol.”

  “That boy’s name is Avery.”

  “Of course, it is.” She shook the invitations at him.

  Jonathan sighed and took the letters. “I will see to it immediately.” He thumbed through them: Thayer, Parker, Earl Maycott. He paused at the next name. “James Bryant?”

  “Did you not hear? Master Bryant has returned to Bristol. He is housing Lord Maycott for a time. I hear the Lord has two beautiful daughters.”

  “You wish to invite Master Bryant because of Lord Maycott’s daughters?”

  “Why, yes.” She giggled. “With an earl in my home, the ball will be the talk of Seasons to come.”

  “And you wish to put James Bryant on display because he hasn’t been in Bristol in over three years.”

  “Everyone is curious.” She picked up another sheet of parchment.

  “This is the reason you send out ten more invitations?”

  “Twelve. They will surely attend.” Lady Butler pointed to a ceramic vase and spoke to a servant. “Be sure that sits next to the window, and the larger one on the floor next to the doorway. I want this room to smell like an orchard.”

  Jonathan inched toward the doorway.

  “Jonathan!” His mother called again.

  She always had one more thing to say. “Yes, Mother?”

  “You will attend, will you not?”

  “I have already promised I would make an appearance.”

  “I wish you to make more than an appearance. You always disappear before the ball is over. And do not forget, we have been invited to sup with the Wilmott’s in a few days’ time.”

  “These women and their mothers would open my mouth and inspect my teeth if given the chance.”

  “We should have arranged a marriage for you. Your father is a hopeless romantic, insisting you marry for love; I, on the other hand, would like some grandchildren before my demi
se.”

  “If past accounts be believed, father was not the only hopeless romantic….”

  Lady Butler blushed. “Yes, well. Marry or I shall find you a proper wife.”

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother. I promise to inspect the women as I do my horse.”

  She sighed and smacked him with the parchment in her hand. “Go now and speak with that stable boy of yours.”

  Jonathan picked up his pace as he rounded the manor to the stables. James Bryant had returned, but while away, he had inherited quite the reputation: abductor of Rachel Drovere and embezzler of her father—and though Rachel Drovere was unspoiled, and now married to Alexander Doherty, and though every shilling her father owned had soon been accounted for, and even though the blame fell squarely at the feet of his cousin, Viola, it was the haste and duration of his disappearance that allowed aspects of the rumor to persist.

  The initial rumor had incited Jonathan to take a greater interest in his father’s accounts. Though there was no indication of embezzlement, Jonathan found something much worse. His family was gravely in debt. His father, a proud man, had kept this a secret and let his mother live the expensive lifestyle to which she was accustomed. During the past three years, Jonathan worked closely with his father and paid off all their debts, much to his mother’s dismay. She could only hold a dinner party once a month, and host no more than one ball each Season. Her dresses were altered more than purchased, Jonathan let go of several servants, increasing the duties of the others, even pitching in himself. Now, a few years later, they were finally rebuilding their fortune.

  The stable hands were busy mucking out manure and laying fresh dirt in each stall. He looked around for the youngest, Avery. The boy walked around the structure barefoot, holding the reins of Jonathan’s most prized steed. When Avery saw Jonathan, his eyes lit up; he smiled, then bowed.

  “Avery, it is good you have my horse saddled. Lady Butler wishes you to deliver a few letters.” He took the reins. “Tell me, Avery, where are your shoes?”