ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) by Jane Prescott Page A
Authors: Jane Prescott
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companionably as they all piled into the carriage together.
“Where is she coming out of, the stables?” joked Rafe, and the three of them chortled companionably. The lady in question did indeed have something vaguely horse-like about her face, but her mother was not about to let a little toothiness stand in the way of pushing her daughter’s not insubstantial dowry under the nose of every eligible bachelor in town. Henry had no doubt that despite their teasing, one of his friends would surely take the lady under consideration tonight, considering the extent of their own gambling debts. It was not long before the carriage rumbled into view of the great mansion and trio of men tumbled out.
The dance room was abuzz. It had been many years since Henry had seen most of the crowd before him, and many came by to offer him their condolences on the death of his father, the late Lord Princely. “A king amongst men!” one particularly hysterical neighbor had wept. “An absolute KING!” Which was all well and good, but Henry did wish the woman would control herself; he had no desire to be reminded of what had consumed the last year of his life at such a gay event.
His eyes swept over the crowd and settled on a familiar face. “Is that Haversham?” he asked Rafe.
His friend looked in the general direction. “Yes. I hear he’s been wasting his fortune away at the races, and now he’s dangerously close to the poorhouse. He better hope those dreamy blue eyes of his snag some wealthy heiress soon, or the only way he’ll be able to bet on a horse is if its meat is in his soup or not.”
From the looks of it, Lord Devon Haversham would have no trouble at all snaring himself a wealthy wife, but for his sake, Henry hoped that she would hold tight to the purse strings, or Devon would find himself ruining not one, but two fortunes. The handsome young man with his full head of wavy black hair and charmingly tied cravat was deep in an intimate conversation with a dreamy-eyed blonde who clung to his well-muscled arm and hung on his every word. Henry could tell immediately that she was a dangerous type. Her naiveté and loveliness would blind most men to an incessant neediness and wild flights of imagination; just look at the gaze she had trained on Devon now! Still, there was something about her that stirred his memory delicately. He nudged Jack, who was busy acquainting himself with Fitzy St. Hubert, horse like teeth notwithstanding.
“Who is that lady?”
Jack peeked over and his face softened. “Ah,” he said lazily, his voice stretching out as if he was eating a particularly tasty candy, “That is Isadora Givens, the youngest daughter of the late Lord Givens. Your childhood neighbors, I believe.”
Henry’s memory poked at him. “Isadora! What happened to her father?”
Jack shook his head ruefully. “Darndest thing. He was never quite right after Lady Givens passed, and he became as obsessed with the horse races as Haversham. The story goes that he had a small fortune riding on Flibbertigibbet, this yearling from Marlborough, and at the last minute, the jockey wouldn’t ride because. So Givens decides to ride instead of him.”
“No.”
Jack nodded. “So obviously, the horse gets all nervous and throws Givens, breaking his back and leaving both of his daughters completely parentless.”
Henry’s memory kicked at him again, this time at a place much closer to the surface. He had quite a few memories of the other Givens girl, and unconsciously, his eyes began to seek out a red mop of hair amongst the dancing crowd, although he knew that the lady in question would have undoubtedly look much
“Where is she coming out of, the stables?” joked Rafe, and the three of them chortled companionably. The lady in question did indeed have something vaguely horse-like about her face, but her mother was not about to let a little toothiness stand in the way of pushing her daughter’s not insubstantial dowry under the nose of every eligible bachelor in town. Henry had no doubt that despite their teasing, one of his friends would surely take the lady under consideration tonight, considering the extent of their own gambling debts. It was not long before the carriage rumbled into view of the great mansion and trio of men tumbled out.
The dance room was abuzz. It had been many years since Henry had seen most of the crowd before him, and many came by to offer him their condolences on the death of his father, the late Lord Princely. “A king amongst men!” one particularly hysterical neighbor had wept. “An absolute KING!” Which was all well and good, but Henry did wish the woman would control herself; he had no desire to be reminded of what had consumed the last year of his life at such a gay event.
His eyes swept over the crowd and settled on a familiar face. “Is that Haversham?” he asked Rafe.
His friend looked in the general direction. “Yes. I hear he’s been wasting his fortune away at the races, and now he’s dangerously close to the poorhouse. He better hope those dreamy blue eyes of his snag some wealthy heiress soon, or the only way he’ll be able to bet on a horse is if its meat is in his soup or not.”
From the looks of it, Lord Devon Haversham would have no trouble at all snaring himself a wealthy wife, but for his sake, Henry hoped that she would hold tight to the purse strings, or Devon would find himself ruining not one, but two fortunes. The handsome young man with his full head of wavy black hair and charmingly tied cravat was deep in an intimate conversation with a dreamy-eyed blonde who clung to his well-muscled arm and hung on his every word. Henry could tell immediately that she was a dangerous type. Her naiveté and loveliness would blind most men to an incessant neediness and wild flights of imagination; just look at the gaze she had trained on Devon now! Still, there was something about her that stirred his memory delicately. He nudged Jack, who was busy acquainting himself with Fitzy St. Hubert, horse like teeth notwithstanding.
“Who is that lady?”
Jack peeked over and his face softened. “Ah,” he said lazily, his voice stretching out as if he was eating a particularly tasty candy, “That is Isadora Givens, the youngest daughter of the late Lord Givens. Your childhood neighbors, I believe.”
Henry’s memory poked at him. “Isadora! What happened to her father?”
Jack shook his head ruefully. “Darndest thing. He was never quite right after Lady Givens passed, and he became as obsessed with the horse races as Haversham. The story goes that he had a small fortune riding on Flibbertigibbet, this yearling from Marlborough, and at the last minute, the jockey wouldn’t ride because. So Givens decides to ride instead of him.”
“No.”
Jack nodded. “So obviously, the horse gets all nervous and throws Givens, breaking his back and leaving both of his daughters completely parentless.”
Henry’s memory kicked at him again, this time at a place much closer to the surface. He had quite a few memories of the other Givens girl, and unconsciously, his eyes began to seek out a red mop of hair amongst the dancing crowd, although he knew that the lady in question would have undoubtedly look much
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