Secrets of the Heart Read online

  A feast for fans of historical romance, and a superb debut from Jillian Kent.

  —JAMES SCOTT BELL

  AUTHOR OF TRY DARKNESS AND PRESUMED GUILTY

  A compelling first novel by Jillian Kent, Secrets of the Heart transports the reader into the mores of nineteenth-century England where thoughtfully crafted, believable characters are daring and bold, determined to live their dreams.

  —MAE NUNN

  AUTHOR OF A TEXAS RANGER’S FAMILY,

  AMERICAN CHRISTIAN FICTION WRITER’S

  CAROL AWARD WINNER 2010

  An impressive debut for Regency romantic suspense author Jillian Kent. Fast-paced, engrossing, with thoroughly engaging characters. A compelling story of two British aristocrats who struggle against the social strictures of their class, all the while seeking their true calling—and true love. A rousing tale of romance and suspense set amidst the genteel—and some not so genteel—British upper crust.

  —KATHLEEN MORGAN

  AUTHOR OF A HEART DIVIDED

  Some books are meant to be savored. Jillian Kent’s Secrets of the Heart is one of those books. With fine writing, an admirable heroine, and vivid historical details, the novel was a joy to read. I, for one, will be anxious to read the next installment of the trilogy.

  —SHELLEY SHEPARD GRAY

  AUTHOR OF THE SEASONS OF SUGARCREEK SERIES

  In a breathless historical debut, Jillian Kent unveils secrets of the heart and soul in Regency England amid a lush tapestry of romance, intrigue, and suspense. With vibrant prose, rich historical threads, and well-woven mystery, Secrets of the Heart engages readers with a plot so unique and compelling, pages fly and sleep will be lost… and never more happily so.

  —JULIE LESSMAN

  AUTHOR OF THE DAUGHTERS OF BOSTON SERIES

  A positively brilliant debut novel by Jillian Kent! With a stirring romance, an evil villain, flawed but lovable characters, and enough intrigue and suspense to keep you turning pages long into the night, Secrets of the Heart sends you on an adventure you won’t soon forget.

  —MARYLU TYNDALL

  AUTHOR OF THE SURRENDER TO DESTINY SERIES

  In Secrets of the Heart Jillian Kent takes the reader on a fast-paced adventure through the Regency world of 1817 Yorkshire. From the aristocratic country houses of the ton to the horrific interior of a lunatic asylum, Kent gives a convincing portrait of the grieving process and a very sensitive look at mental illness. The story is enhanced by a lovable cast of secondary characters who befriend the heroine in the most unlikely places. Young Lady Madeline and doctorin-training Lord Ravensmoore overcome one obstacle after another before love can triumph. A charming and action-filled Regency romance by first-time author Jillian Kent.

  —RUTH AXTELL MORREN

  AUTHOR OF A BRIDE OF HONOR AND TO BE A MOTHER

  Secrets of the Heart is an amazing first book and certainly not to be Jillian Kent’s last. She brings the Regency era to life with its light and dark sides for an engrossing romance tinged with danger and suspense.

  —LINDA WINDSOR

  AUTHOR OF HEALER, THIEF, AND REBEL,

  THE BRIDES OF ALBA ARTHURIAN TRILOGY

  Most CHARISMA HOUSE BOOK GROUP products are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchase for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational needs. For details, write Charisma House Book Group, 600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746, or telephone (407) 333-0600.

  SECRETS OF THE HEART by Jillian Kent

  Published by Realms

  Charisma Media/Charisma House Book Group

  600 Rinehart Road

  Lake Mary, Florida 32746

  www.charismahouse.com

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  All Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  The characters portrayed in this book are fictitious unless they are historical figures explicitly named. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual people, whether living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by Rachel Lopez

  Design Director: Bill Johnson

  Copyright © 2011 by Jillian Kent

  All rights reserved

  Visit the author’s website at www.jilliankent.com.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kent, Jillian.

  Secrets of the heart / Jillian Kent.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-61638-185-1

  1. Aristocracy (Social class)–England–19th century–Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3611.E6737S43 2011

  813’.6–dc22

  2010053878

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61638-436-4

  First Edition

  11 12 13 14 15 — 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part Two

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  A Note From The Author

  This book is dedicated to everyone who has

  battled the twin demons of depression and doubt.

  He shall cover thee with his feathers,

  and under his wings shalt thou trust: his

  truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

  —PSALM 91:4

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DON’T EVER LET anyone tell you that something can’t be done. I’m happy to see this book born into the world. Writing a book and getting it published really is similar to having a baby. This book greets you because of many, many helping hands. I’m grateful to all the folks at Charisma Media and Realms. Debbie Marrie, my acquisitions editor, saw a glimmer of promise in this story, and Lori Vanden Bosch, my editor, helped me mold it into the story you are sure to enjoy. Many thanks to everyone at Realms who helped make my dream a reality.

  Every writer needs a mentor, so a huge thanks to James Scott Bell, mentor, teacher, and friend. I’m grateful to my awesome agent, Rachelle Gardner, who held out her hand and lifted me up when I really needed it. My thanks also go to years of studying the craft with members of the American Christian Fiction Writers and members of Romance Writers of America, including the hometown gang of the Ohio Valley RWA in Cincinnati, Ohio.

  There are always those who encourage you when you just don’t know what to do next, whether it’s a life situation or a writing dilemma. My friends Mae Nunn, Serena B. Miller, and Vicki Cato have seen me through those times, and for that I am forever grateful to these sisters in Christ and sisters of the pen, along with critique group buddies Ginny Powers, Catherine Hershberger, and Paulette Lotspeich.

  Last, but far from least, are my husband Randy Nutter, hero extraordinaire, who taught me how to laugh; my daughter Katie, who taught me the power of patience; and my daughter Meghan, who taught me the value of stepping out of my comfort zone. And then there’s my mother, Edit
h Baroudi, a nurse, who made sure I got an education. Thanks, Mom! And thanks to my aunt, Helen Johnson, who taught me how to ride a horse, win a blue ribbon, and sparked my imagination by reading Alfred Noyes’s poem “The Highwayman” to me all those years ago.

  PART ONE

  It is a sort of waking dream, which, though a person be otherwise in sound health, makes him feel symptoms of every disease; and, though innocent, yet fills his mind with the blackest horrors of guilt.

  —WILLIAM HEBERDEN,

  ENGLISH PHYSICIAN, 1710–1801

  PROLOGUE

  Yorkshire, England, 1817

  WHO’S THERE?” LADY Madeline Whittington reined her horse in and listened. She looked into the dense, wooded edge of the forest of Richfield, her family home. “Did you hear something, Shakespeare?” She petted her gelding’s neck.

  The horse’s ears pricked forward. She studied the fading sun. Darkness would close in soon. It would be unwise to tarry over long.

  The forest edges, thick with bare brambles now, would become heavy with foliage in the next few months. If she was fortunate, the blackberries would return. Last year’s winter had been harsh, and she’d had to go without that succulent treat.

  A shadow flitted from within, causing a branch to tremble.

  “Come out.” Madeline hardened her voice. “Come out at once.” Papa had taught her to be firm and bold when encountering the unknown, but also cautious. She reached for the revolver in her pocket wishing she hadn’t sent Donavan, their groomsman, on ahead. But she’d desperately wanted to ride alone for a few short minutes.

  Two huge brown eyes in a tear-streaked and muddy face peered between parted branches held back by long slim fingers. Blood trickled from scratches on the girl’s arms and hands.

  “Who are you? Why did you not answer me?”

  The eyes grew wider.

  Madeline’s heart softened along with her voice.

  “It’s safe. I won’t hurt you.” She tore a hunk of bread from a leather pouch strapped across her shoulder. “Are you hungry?” She offered a large portion. Crumbs fell.

  The girl took a step toward her and bit her lower lip. Bruises colored the young woman’s wrists and ankles, her only covering a torn chemise and ill-fitting shoes with no laces.

  “What’s your name? Can you understand me?”

  Brown Eyes held out a hand.

  “You are hungry. Of course you are. Come closer. I’m going to toss the bread to you. Is that all right?”

  The pitiful creature nodded and held out both hands.

  She understands me. Madeline aimed and carefully threw the bread.

  The silent stranger caught it and stuffed the bounty into her mouth so fast that Madeline feared the girl might choke.

  “Will you come with me?” Madeline held out her hand. “You may ride with me.”

  Brown Eyes stepped back.

  “Don’t go. It’s dangerous. You cannot stay here. I won’t hurt you.”

  The girl looked into the woods at the lowering sun and then at Madeline’s outstretched hand. Brown Eyes stepped backward. One step. Two steps.

  “Wait.” Madeline unbuttoned her cape. “Take this. It’s far too cold with only a chemise to cover you. You’ll freeze to death.” She threw the long, fur-lined wrap to Brown Eyes.

  The girl gathered the offering and backed into the forest, keeping her eyes locked on Madeline’s until she turned and ran.

  “No! Wait. Please wait.” Madeline searched for a way through the thicket. Not finding any, she pushed her mount farther north until she found an entry. How could she help this girl without scaring her out of her wits? She found the girl’s path. Darkness chased them.

  “Where are you?” Madeline shouted. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Shakespeare’s ears pricked forward, and she caught the sound of scurrying ahead and then spotted Brown Eyes. Low-hanging branches attacked Madeline, clawing her with their long-reaching arms as she herded the girl toward a nearby hunting cabin. Minutes later they broke through the trees and entered a clearing where the outline of a small cabin was silhouetted against the fast-approaching night sky.

  Pulling her mount to a stop, Madeline kicked her booted foot out of the stirrup and narrowly avoided catching her skirt on the pommel as she slid to the ground.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Madeline called. The girl hesitated and then ran again. Gathering up her skirt, Madeline chased after the girl, grabbing for the cape that trailed behind. She easily caught the girl, who fell to the ground in a heap and rolled into a ball with the cape wrapped around her.

  Madeline knelt beside her and spoke gently. “Please don’t run. I’m not going to take the cape from you. It’s yours. A gift.”

  Brown Eyes panted with fear.

  “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help.” Madeline patted the girl’s shoulder.

  She flinched.

  “I’m sorry you are afraid. I want you to stay here. See the cabin? You can stay here.”

  The girl peeked out from behind the cape, her ragged breathing easing from the chase through the woods. She looked at the cabin and then at Madeline.

  “I know you’ve suffered something horrid. Come. You’ll be safe here. Trust me.” Madeline stood and offered a hand up.

  Brown Eyes took her hand and followed her into the cabin.

  CHAPTER 1

  Each one sees what he carries in his heart.

  —JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

  HAVE YOU EVER made a mistake?” Madeline settled into her saddle, avoiding her friend’s probing gaze. Anxiety rippled through her as she stroked the neck of her large bay gelding while they waited for the hunting horn to sound.

  “Not to my recollection.” Lady Gilling gathered her reins. “I’m quite good at avoiding them.”

  “I shouldn’t have come.” Madeline’s gloved hands trembled. “I hate hunting.” She’d tried to avoid the ride today. She wanted to visit her brown-eyed fugitive, and she’d been unable to take food to the girl this morning because of the hunt. Mother had insisted she rejoin society this morning, and she’d enlisted her best friend Hally, Lady Gilling, to be certain that she rode today.

  “You used to love the hunt.” Hally circled her dappled gray mare around Madeline’s horse, inspecting Madeline as though she were about to enter the ballroom instead of the final hunt of the season.

  Madeline shook her head. “You’re wrong. I love riding, not hunting.”

  “Perhaps. However, at one and twenty, you are far too young to give up on this world. And even though I’m only two years your elder, I’ve had my sorrows too, and I have found ways to battle the pain. You must do the same.”

  “I’m sorry, Hally.” The heat of shame spiraled into her cheeks despite the sting of the cold, early spring air. She thought of her brother and sister who had died during the past two years and of Papa who had joined them last year. What could be worse—losing siblings and a parent or a beloved husband, as Hally had only two years ago?

  Madeline’s horse pranced in rhythm to her rising anxiety. “Easy, Shakespeare. Easy, boy.” She tried to focus on the gathering outside Lord Selby’s manor house where horses and riders crowded together in a flurry of anticipation. She took a deep breath to rein in her frustration and hoped her mount would settle down along with her. “Hally, you pick the most difficult of times to discuss such personal issues.”

  Hally edged her mount next to Madeline’s horse. “I do this because you have been in hiding ever since your father died. If you refuse to mix in polite society, they will refuse you.”

  “Have I become a ghost?” Mist floated over the fetlocks on her horse, a dreamlike ground covering that made it seem like they waited in the clouds. “Do you not see me?” She wanted to slip away from this show of rejoining society. She wanted to check on the girl. She wanted to leave. “Does society not see me here today?”

  “For the first time in a year at the hunt.” Hally reached over and pushed back the netted v
eil that covered Madeline’s face, tucking the material into her hat. “There, that’s much better. Now everyone can see you.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” She reached up to pull the veil back into place, but Hally stopped her.

  “Your mother worries, Maddie. Since your father died, you have refused to mingle, you have refused to travel, and until today you have refused to ride with the hunt. Your father would have scolded you for such behavior.”

  Madeline’s chin trembled. “That was cruel. I enjoyed the hunt because Papa loved it when I rode with him. He’s gone now. I don’t have to hunt to ride.”

  Hally lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. I know you miss him, but society’s prescribed period of mourning is quite enough. I’ve always believed six months far too long, and here you are six months after that. You need not suffer further isolation.” She leaned closer and whispered. “For heaven’s sake, Maddie, your mother is out of mourning.”

  “I’m afraid she thinks of allowing Lord Vale to court her.” There, she’d said it aloud. “May God forgive her. She dishonors Papa’s memory.”

  “So that is what worries you. Your mother is interested in a man.”

  “He’s not just a man, Hally. He’s Lord Vale, and there’s much speculation about his actions and investments. Yet here I am, pretending all is well.” Madeline lifted her chin and watched her breath dissipate like puffs of smoke on the wind.