Christine Merrill - The Truth About Lady Felkirk

‘He is waking! Someone get his Grace and her Ladyship immediately.’

He opened his eyes at last and tried to sit up, but the room was still a blur and his back did not want to support him.

Who the devil was her Ladyship ?

Something smelled wonderful. No. It was someone. Roses and cinnamon, close at his side. Muslin leaning against his bare arm and warm, silky skin touching his shoulder, then smoothing the hair on his brow. His senses were returning to him in a series of pleasant surprises.

‘Is someone going to explain to me what has happened, or will you leave me to guess? Did I take ill in the night?’

‘We heard nothing from you for months. When Justine brought you home you were in no state to say anything. There had been an accident.’

‘Who is this Justine?’

‘It seems there is much you have lost, and much that must be explained to you. But first and foremost you must know this. The woman before you now is Lady Felkirk.’

He paused again.

‘William, may I introduce to you your wife, Justine?’

AUTHOR NOTE Author Note Title Page Dedication About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Copyright

My first career, long before I settled into life as a writer, was in theatrical costuming. During the theatre season I spent eight hours a day, six days a week, sewing for others. In my spare time I sewed for myself. Over the years I have tried the majority of fibre arts. I taught myself to knit in high school. It took me two or three tries to learn tatting. It took fifty years and the advent of internet instructional videos for me to learn to crochet.

The one thing I've never tried, and never will, is bobbin lace. I have watched it being done and I know I am far too impatient to manage even a simple project. And, considering the mess my newest cat has made of the knitting basket, I can only imagine what he would do if given a pillow trailing a lot of threads, with bobbins just waiting to be batted.

How fortunate that I have Justine to work through any of my subconscious lace-making urges.

Happy reading.

The Truth About Lady Felkirk

Christine Merrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Jim: after thirty years, you must be near to sainthood.

CHRISTINE MERRILLlives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Contents

Cover

Excerpt ‘He is waking! Someone get his Grace and her Ladyship immediately.’ He opened his eyes at last and tried to sit up, but the room was still a blur and his back did not want to support him. Who the devil was her Ladyship ? Something smelled wonderful. No. It was someone. Roses and cinnamon, close at his side. Muslin leaning against his bare arm and warm, silky skin touching his shoulder, then smoothing the hair on his brow. His senses were returning to him in a series of pleasant surprises. ‘Is someone going to explain to me what has happened, or will you leave me to guess? Did I take ill in the night?’ ‘We heard nothing from you for months. When Justine brought you home you were in no state to say anything. There had been an accident.’ ‘Who is this Justine?’ ‘It seems there is much you have lost, and much that must be explained to you. But first and foremost you must know this. The woman before you now is Lady Felkirk.’ He paused again. ‘William, may I introduce to you your wife, Justine?’

Author Note AUTHOR NOTE Author Note Title Page Dedication About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Copyright My first career, long before I settled into life as a writer, was in theatrical costuming. During the theatre season I spent eight hours a day, six days a week, sewing for others. In my spare time I sewed for myself. Over the years I have tried the majority of fibre arts. I taught myself to knit in high school. It took me two or three tries to learn tatting. It took fifty years and the advent of internet instructional videos for me to learn to crochet. The one thing I've never tried, and never will, is bobbin lace. I have watched it being done and I know I am far too impatient to manage even a simple project. And, considering the mess my newest cat has made of the knitting basket, I can only imagine what he would do if given a pillow trailing a lot of threads, with bobbins just waiting to be batted. How fortunate that I have Justine to work through any of my subconscious lace-making urges. Happy reading.

Title Page The Truth About Lady Felkirk Christine Merrill www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication To Jim: after thirty years, you must be near to sainthood.

About the Author CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Copyright

Chapter One

Everything hurt.

William Felkirk did not bother to open his eyes, but lay still and examined the thought. It was an exaggeration. Everything ached. Only his head truly hurt. A slow, thumping throb came from the back of it, punctuating each new idea.

He swallowed with effort. There was no saliva to soothe the process. How much had he been drinking, to get to this state? He could not seem to remember. The party at Adam’s house, which had been a celebration of his nephew’s christening, was far too sedate for him to have ended like this. But he could not recall having gone anywhere after. And since he was in Wales, where would he have gone?