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The Balfour Series: Books 1 - 4
The Balfour Series: Books 1 - 4 Read online
Copyright © 2019 by Blue Pines Romance.
All Rights Reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
The Heiress’s Secret Love
Story Description
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
The Hotelier’s Bride
Story Description
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
The Mysterious Death of the Duke
Story Description
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Her Scandalously Entangled Heart
Story Description
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
The Balfour Series
Books 1 - 4
Amanda Davis
The Heiress’s Secret Love
The Balfour Hotel Book 1
A forced betrothal, a missing chambermaid, and two unlikely allies whose lives merge in a forbidden entanglement of the heart.
Emmaline is to be married to a heartless brute of a man—sold off like a pig at auction, nothing more than a pawn to secure her father’s business dealings.
When the handsome Elias Compton arrives at the hotel under the guise of seeking employment, she is instantly smitten.
Elias has come to The Balfour Hotel undercover. His real mission is to search for a missing woman who was last seen working as a chambermaid at the hotel.
Has she met with foul play?
Does the fiancé of the beautiful Emmaline Balfour have anything to do with her disappearance?
One thing is for certain; there are some sinister goings on at the hotel
As Emmaline and Elias join forces to find the whereabouts of the missing chambermaid, they soon become entangled in affairs of the heart.
Prologue
Sweeping winds flowed from either side of the Thames, leaving Christiana cold and wary as she peered about. There was a foreboding in the air, one which she could not easily identify but which fell heavily over her thinly cloaked shoulders. She wished she had thought to dress more warmly but she had not expected to be out for so long.
What has become of him? She wondered, looking about the banks of the river before rubbing her worn mittens to create a small friction through the wool. It was high time she knit new ones. The winter cold seeped into her bones like clever little knives, knowing precisely which entry to seek.
If all goes well enough, I will have someone else to knit me mittens, she thought. Perhaps I will have an abigail to knit my outer clothes and another for my articles.
It was likely the reason she had not done so herself already; Christiana was clinging to the hope that her future would be much brighter than her present appeared in those moments.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard the ringing of church bells, indicating that the hour of six had arrived, yet she remained in wait.
Has he not taken me seriously? She wondered, a fusion of panic and ire sparking within, the emotions warming away the chill of the eve. I hope he is not so bold as to leave me here, not when so much is at risk.
There was no way for her to know, not when she had stood at the location for over an hour.
I must return to the hotel, she thought, gathering her cloak and spinning downwind. It was a relief to remove the sting from her face, and idly she wondered why she had not done so sooner, but Christiana had never been known for her wits. With stinging eyes, she blinked away tears and made her way toward the street holding her skirts firmly within her grip as she moved.
The rain began then, an icy pelt which began to pound upon her without mercy and Christiana slipped against the slick rocks as she attempted her climb upward.
My word, she thought furiously, fighting to regain her footing. What else could go awry?
It was the wrong question to ask the heavens for as the words passed through her mind, a clap of thunder caused her to startle and gasp for air. She paused a moment, only to catch her breath, and looked behind her once more. The wind assaulted her face. Her cheeks stung as her cerulean eyes took notice of a form drawing near.
Pivoting fully, her heart in her throat, she raised a gloved hand to wave but through the now-driving rain, she was suddenly unsure if the figure approaching was the one she had been waiting upon.
She opened her mouth to call out but the name was lost against another rumble of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the winter sky, creating a streak of white light upon the newcomer’s face yet she could barely make it out.
Christiana froze, her jaw slack with fear as her bowels seemed to turn to water.
It is not him, she realized. Yet the man stalked closer, his hat pulled down to shield his face as though he did not wish to be detected. There was no godly reason for any soul to be down by the river banks at that hour on a winter’s night, not for good cause. It was why Christiana had chosen it, after all.
Nothing good can come of me being here, she thought desperately, whirling back to climb over the rocks again. She did not give herself time nor grace as she scrambled to climb to the top of the bank but she quickly realized that her movements were to no avail. She continued sliding back down the sleek sides of the wide boulders.
Fear threatened to swallow her whole but Christiana knew she must not be caught by the man who drew closer with every slip she made.
He sent this one here, Christiana thought mournfully. I should never have put him in such a position. How much did he pay this one? Is it enough?
It was unfathomable to believe, but as she fell for the final time, her drenched clothes collapsing around her, Christiana began to sob.
The man was at her side now, the brim of his top hat still shadowing his face but Christiana knew precisely who he was and why he had come.
“Please!” she moaned, holding her hands up as if to ward the inevitable away. “Please, no matter how much he paid you to do this, it is not enough
. Think about our history together!”
“Good evening, Christiana,” he said pleasantly but the gleam in his eye contradicted his genial tone and there was little doubt what he had come to do. Slowly, she looked to him, his even voice unnerving her more than his presence and the mounting storm combined.
“Why?” she cried. “Why would he do this?”
He shrugged in the most casual way.
“You are becoming a nuisance, Christiana. You cannot fault him for wishing to see the end of this.”
She closed her eyes again and hung her head, knowing that she was helpless.
“Do whatever you must,” she sighed with resignation although her heart continued to pound with intense ferocity.
“This is not my decision to make, you understand,” he told her quietly. “It stands solely with you.”
The words confused Christiana more deeply than she was already and she stared at him imploringly, her blue eyes wide.
“I-I do not understand,” she murmured. “What is your intention, then?”
He sighed heavily and reached for her hand to help her to her feet but Christiana did not accept his assistance even though the rain crept down the folds of her cloak and slithered against her frozen skin.
“If you come with me, your fate will be revealed,” he told her, refusing to withdraw his hand. “You need not make this more difficult than it already is, Christiana. Please, do as I say.”
She maintained her crouched position, lowering her head like she hoped he would simply disappear but she was not so naïve to believe in such a miracle.
“Christiana.” His tone was no longer amiable. “You will come with me, one way or another.”
From deep within her, she felt a yearning for survival creep to the surface waiting to erupt. She lifted her head and stared at him defiantly, their eyes clashing in the darkness. Foolishly, he seemed to think he had won and a slow smile formed on his lips.
“Come along now,” he insisted, looking about for the first time, apparently concerned that they might be seen. “We have not much time.”
Christiana shook her sopping head of dark hair.
“I will go nowhere with you,” she hissed. “Do what you must but I refuse to make this easy for you!”
Without warning, she threw her head back and released a scream to match the howling wind swirling about them and watched as his face turned black with anger.
“As you wish,” he countered, he raised his hand as if to strike her and suddenly Christiana’s world went black.
1
It was the usual bustle of early morning with one extra charge to the already busy atmosphere; a slew of potential chambermaids and bellboys flocked to the service entrance to be gauged for competency.
A rush of subdued but excited chatter filled Emmeline’s ears as she wandered through the vast kitchen. Her golden-green eyes studied the influx of bodies impassively but inside, she shared in their budding anticipation.
The winter brought much strife with it to Luton and a need to staff the prestigious Balfour Hotel to capacity. With the cold came the need to keep the fireplaces lit, the blankets washed and the guests required more to remain in comfort than during the summer months.
It was one of Emmeline’s favorite times of the year, the eager, fresh faces determined to make a good impression as they stood as polished and poised as could be given their limited means. They traveled from all across the country simply for an interview in the prestigious hotel but if they were hired, it was well worth the trials.
The Balfour Hotel was known across England as a fair employer, feeding and lodging their employees while paying them a decent wage. Their policies were unheard of in such a climate and yet it had always been as such.
It is also why we are presented with the best servants by the flock.
“Miss Balfour, may I fetch something for you?” Antoinette asked, her brow furrowing. Emmeline’s presence seemed to daunt her on such a hectic morning.
“No, madam. I have simply come to examine the new prospects,” Emmeline replied sweetly, turning her eyes toward the harried housekeeper. “You need not mind me.”
Antoinette managed a smile but Emmeline could see that she would much prefer if the proprietor’s daughter stayed clear away from the hiring process. It mattered little to Emmeline, however. It was a near tradition for her after all her years at the hotel. For as long as she could recall, she had risen early on the mornings of the hire to dress with special care and greet the newcomers.
It was a difficult concept for anyone else in the hotel to accept but Emmeline had always regarded the servants as more than merely employees, despite her parents’ constant disapproval.
“They are not your equals, Emmy,” her father, Charlton, often told her. “They are here to serve the hotel and the Balfours.”
Emmeline would always nod agreeably, knowing that arguing with a man like Charlton Balfour was an exercise in futility. In her heart, however, the staff was much more than that to her.
After all, she had been raised among them and their children since the time of her birth, one and twenty years earlier.
Although Xavier was her blood brother, the children of the servants had become just as much her siblings as if they had been borne of the same parents. Even Xavier who had also run amok with the servant’s children, was not as endeared to the servants as she found herself to be.
“Miss Balfour, may I assist you in some way?”
The maître d’ stood before her and Emmeline realized she had lost herself in thought as bodies continued to flow about her in a sea of skirts and waistcoats, each one perfectly groomed with clean hands and nails and well-brushed hair. It made Emmeline proud to gaze upon them.
“No, Honor. I am well, thank you,” she told him. “Please, go about your business as though I am not here.”
“Very well, Miss.”
He bowed slightly, his shiny head of blonde hair reflecting in the freshly polished pots hanging above the stove. Honor was young for the position, a man of only three and thirty but he had inherited the title of waiter overseer from his father who had served the hotel for two generations.
And yet he still refers to me as “Miss Balfour.”
There was no cause for Honor or Antoinette to speak to her formally and no matter how often Emmeline gently asked them to call her by her Christian name, they did not oblige her request. She knew they feared the repercussions of being caught far more than they longed to accommodate her.
Perhaps one day, she thought, sighing as she moved out of the way to watch as the staff lined to be examined.
Emmeline stood near the wood stove and, in her fine dress of white lace and blue that swept about her mutton boots, she was careful not to block the outpouring of heat. The rain had finally ended but the day was still very cold at such an hour, not that Emmeline expected it to warm much more than it had. The sun struggled to shine through the thickness of heavy grey clouds above.
She wrapped her wool shawl about her shoulders, her back to the cold wall and listened as the interview commenced.
“Name?” Antoinette demanded, looking to her roster as she marched down the line of hopeful chambermaids.
“Name?” Honor asked the same as he, too, strolled about the waiting male staff.
“Jackson Benson.”
“Catherine Munch.”
“Joseph Calvin.”
“Veronica Summer.”
On and on the list went until all dozen men and women were accounted for, their names ticked off the list.
Emmeline studied each face, memorizing the features of the people who she might come to know but her attention was distracted as the service door opened and a lone man hurried inside.
“Forgive me,” he called, raising his hands as though he surrendered himself in battle. “My coach was terribly detained. Am I too late?”
The anxiety upon his face was clear and his aquamarine eyes danced from Honor to Antoinette and back again as he attempted t
o seek absolution for the sin of tardiness.
“You are too late,” Antoinette snapped, turning away to address the maids again. “We do not tolerate tardiness at the Balfour Hotel. We serve royalty, gentlemen of status. You may see yourself out the same way you came and be discrete about it.”
Emmeline’s heart caught in her throat as she saw the look of panic in his eyes.
“Please!” he protested. “The fault was not mine. I left Peterborough last night and have traveled straight through. I beg of you, do not dismiss me form this opportunity before you have given me a chance to prove my worth!”
Antoinette spun to glare at him, her mouth parting to speak, but before she could utter a word, Honor interjected.
“I will handle this, Mrs. Baxter. What is your name, boy?”
Antoinette whirled around to gape at Honor, her face displaying without hindrance, the contempt she felt. Emmeline stifled a sigh.
It had not been an easy transition for the older housekeeper to accept her younger counterpart. Honor’s father and Antoinette had had a bond for decades, one which she undoubtedly still longed for. Honor was much more progressive in his treatment of the staff, something which the housekeeper found distasteful.