The Whispers on the Moors Collection Read online

  The Heiress of Winterwood © 2013 by Sarah Ladd

  The Headmistress of Rosemere © 2013 by Sarah Ladd

  A Lady at Willowgrove Hall © 2014 by Sarah Ladd

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

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

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  The Heiress of Winterwood EPub Edition ISBN: 978-1-4016-8838-7

  The Headmistress of Rosemere EPub Edition ISBN: 978-1-4016-8839-4

  A Lady at Willowgrove Hall EPub Edition ISBN: 978-0-7180-3552-5

  ECollection Edition ISBN 978-0-7180-3552-5

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  CIP data is available

  CONTENTS

  The Heiress of Winterwood

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  The Headmistress of Rosemere

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  A Lady at Willowgrove Hall

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  Reading Group Guides

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Heiress of Winterwood

  For my husband, Scott. Your quiet strength

  and unconditional love inspire me daily.

  Thank you for believing in me.

  PROLOGUE

  DARBURY, ENGLAND, FEBRUARY 1814

  Katherine was going to die. And Amelia could do nothing to prevent it.

  Amelia Barrett dabbed at her dearest friend’s brow with a damp cloth. A single tear, hot as fire, slipped unchecked down her cheek. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs. Fatigue pleaded with her to sit and rest. But she dared not stop.

  Beyond Winterwood Manor’s stone walls, icy rain pelted the earth, driven hard by the gusts from the moors. Not so very long ago, that wind had hummed soothing lullabies. Now, in dawn’s gray light, its mournful wail whispered chilling omens.

  From a distant chamber a wee infant’s cry echoed through Winterwood’s ancient halls. The babe, at least, would recover from the horror of the past three days. Katherine, however, would be fortunate to see another sunset.

  Amelia rubbed her palms against her forehead, longing to erase the memory of a childbirth gone terribly amiss. Hours of anxiety had rolled into days of dread, and now her unconscious friend’s breathing waned. Each shallow pant hinted another might not come.

  The fire’s dancing light cast shadows across Katherine’s ashen cheeks. Perspiration trickled down her neck. Fiery locks clung to her damp forehead. Amelia immersed a cloth in a basin and drizzled cool water over her friend’s fevered skin. At the touch, Katherine’s eyelids fluttered. Amelia snatched back her hand with renewed optimism and fell to her knees next to the bed.

  “Katherine!” Amelia clutched her friend’s arm. “Katherine, do you hear me?”

  A groan escaped Katherine’s parched lips, followed by a shallow cough. “Where is the letter?” Her voice sounded dry. Raspy.

  Eyes wide, Amelia nodded toward the letter on the writing table. “It’s here.”

  “Promise you will give it to him.”

  “Of course.”

  “My baby.” Katherine’s weak whisper broke as a sob caught in her throat. “Please do not leave her. You will soon be all she has.”

  Deadening pain surged through Amelia’s core, constricting her lungs. She squeezed her fingers around Katherine’s clammy hand. “You have my word.”

  Katherine released a slow breath and closed her eyes.

  The air thinned. The suffocating weight of death crept into the room. It lingered in the shadows, loitering like an unwelcome guest. Watching. Waiting.

  Amelia’s hands shook. She released Katherine’s hand and curled her own into tight fists to prevent them from trembling. How could God let this happen? How dare he take away yet another person she loved? If she thought a prayer might help, she’d cry out in desperation. But she’d seen death’s shadow too many times. Prayer had not saved the life of any she had cared for. She had no illusion it would avail this time.

  She swallowed the dry lump in her throat and began to recite. Katherine would find comfort in her words, even if she did not. “The Lord is my shepherd,” she began. “I shall not want.”

  Eyes still closed, Katherine’s cracked lips mouthed a slow, faltering response. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still—”

  Katherine’s voice stopped. Her labored breaths dissolved into shallow gasps until she breathed no more.

  Amelia stared unblinking at the lifeless body before her. Her limbs tingled, then numbed. Disbelief rendered her motionless. No tears remained for her to cry.

  The infant’s wail pierced the eerie silence and snapped her from her trance. With deliberate, reverent movements, Amelia pressed her lips to Katherine’s forehead, then drew the linen sheet over her friend’s pallid face.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days
of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

  DARBURY, ENGLAND, NOVEMBER 1814

  Amelia knew what she needed to do. In fact, she’d known ever since Captain Graham Sterling returned to Eastmore Hall.

  Her plan would work. It must work. She had addressed every detail and anticipated every objection. Now nothing remained but to convince the captain.

  Her only regret was sharing her intentions with her younger cousin Helena.

  “This is madness. Absolute madness!” Helena’s russet curls bounced in animated vigor with every syllable. “Whatever would possess you to even consider such a thing, let alone see it through?” She tossed her embroidery on the small side table and jumped up from the settee. “Captain Sterling will think you are a lunatic, and then where will you be?” Helena waved her hand in the air to silence Amelia’s protest. “I will tell you where you will be. You will be without a husband, without money, and without prospects. That is where you will be.”

  “Oh hush. You are overreacting.” Amelia shifted the sleeping baby in her arms. “You will wake Lucy with all of your carrying on. The last thing we want is for her to be out of sorts when she finally meets her papa.”

  Helena huffed. “Don’t you dare change the subject, Amelia Barrett. The child is fine. It’s you who is clearly daft. How could you even consider proposing to a man—and a veritable stranger at that? It’s just not done.”

  Amelia lowered Lucy into a small cradle. “Captain Sterling is not a stranger. Well, not really. And as I told you before, I am resolved. Let us speak of it no more. Now, will you kindly hand me that coverlet?”

  Helena snatched the yellow knit blanket and tossed it in her cousin’s direction. “And what do you think Mr. Littleton will think about this, hmm? Five weeks, Amelia. Need I remind you that you are to marry in five weeks? Why, for you even to have a private meeting with another man, let alone—”

  “Shhh! There’s no need to get so excited.” Amelia averted her eyes as she coaxed the conversation back to the captain. “There is no impropriety in my meeting with Captain Sterling. He has every right to visit his daughter. After all, she’s nine months old, and he’s never even laid eyes on her. And my proposal to Captain Sterling will be a business proposition, nothing more. If he refuses it, no harm is done. Edward need never know.”

  “No harm? No harm!” Helena’s hazel eyes widened. “Do you not consider your reputation? I shudder to think what will happen when news of this reaches the gossipmongers. Edward could think—”

  “He could think a number of things, Helena, and will no doubt do so. But I cannot stand by and say nothing. Do nothing. For if I did, Captain Sterling could take Lucy away from us forever, and that I could not bear. Furthermore, I will not break my promise to Katherine.”

  A pretty pout darkened Helena’s fair features, and she tipped her small nose in the air.

  “You and Mrs. Sterling may have grown close, but you had not known her a year before she died. I sincerely doubt she would expect you to go to such drastic measures to keep a promise.” She leaned closer, not allowing Amelia to look away. “And need I mention that you have never even met this man, this captain? He could be a monster—a scoundrel who will take advantage of your giving nature. Why subject yourself to such a fate and risk your fortune when you already have secured such a fine match in Edward Littleton?”

  Helena’s warning resonated with Amelia. Had not those concerns crossed her mind? The thought of being bound in matrimony to a cruel man sent a shiver through her. But had Katherine not praised the captain’s fine qualities? His gentleness? His upright character?

  Amelia set her lips in a firm line. This was a risk she was willing to take. “He cannot be that dreadful, Cousin, else Katherine would never have married him. Besides, he is a captain in His Majesty’s navy. You’ve heard the stories as well as I. He will be gone for months—nay, years—at a time, at least for as long as England is at war. No doubt we will live completely separate lives.”

  “But Mr. Littleton, Amelia. Consider Mr. Littleton.” Helena’s voice softened. “He loves you, I am certain. Why would you treat him so unkindly and risk a happy marriage for a child who is not even a blood relation?” Helena stepped toward Lucy, looked down at her, and smoothed the child’s blanket. “It pains me to speak to you so bluntly, Amelia, but I love you too much to watch you proceed in such a fashion without at least speaking my mind. You have far too wonderful a future ahead of you to risk it now.”

  Amelia opened her mouth to protest but then snapped it shut. She could not deny that her cousin’s point was valid. But how could she make Helena understand her dilemma? She would never have agreed to marry Edward Littleton had she not been genuinely fond of the man. Indeed, his handsome face and passionate nature still had the ability to stir her romantic sensibilities. But as their wedding drew closer, her hesitation mounted. His actions—including his refusal to allow Lucy to continue to reside at Winterwood after their wedding—had planted questions in her mind regarding his character and suitability as a husband. And the thought of her sweet Lucy being raised without a mother, as she had been, unnerved her.

  No, she was certain she was taking the right course, difficult though it may be. She simply had to steel herself for the awkwardness of the coming interview with the captain.

  A shout sounded outside the window, followed by the crunch of carriage wheels on the gravel front drive. The women locked gazes. Ready or not, the time had come.

  Amelia dashed across the room and grabbed her cousin’s hand. “Promise you will not say a word.”

  Helena offered a weak smile. “I do wish you would heed my words, Cousin, but since you are resolved, you have my word. Just, please, at least consider what I have said.” With a sweep of her primrose muslin skirt, she quitted the room.

  Amelia’s slippered feet made little sound as she stepped over the Italian rug to the window. She lifted the corner of the green velvet curtain in time to see the back of the barouche, shiny and slick from the morning’s rain, slow to a stop at Winterwood Manor’s front entrance.

  She smoothed a curl and forced a slow breath. Like it or not, her task was before her. She must not fail. She hurried to the teak writing desk and checked once again to ensure that Katherine’s letter was in its place.

  A knock echoed in the paneled room. The door unlatched and swung open, revealing James, the aging butler. “Captain Sterling to see you, miss.”

  “Will you show him in? And please send Sally in with some tea.”

  Amelia waited for the mahogany door to close before gathering the sleeping Lucy in her arms. Footsteps echoed on the hall’s planked floor. She straightened. James reappeared, but Amelia barely noticed. Her eyes fixed on the tall figure filling the door frame behind him.

  Captain Sterling stepped into the light. She had expected him to be fair like his brother or stout like his father had been. He was neither. Sable hair curled over the high collar of his charcoal tailcoat, and his sideburns framed high cheekbones. Stormy gray eyes peered from a fringe of black lashes and darted from Lucy, to her, then back to the baby. His freshly shaven skin, bronzed dark from the sun, gave evidence of months spent on board a ship. She had half expected him to be dressed in uniform, but his dress was that of a gentleman.

  At the sight of him, a nervous wave pulsed through Amelia’s veins. For weeks she had anticipated meeting this man. She had practiced what she would say and rehearsed it at length. But she had never expected to be affected so by startling smoky eyes. With a deep breath she pushed her anxiety at bay, stepped forward, and forced her best smile. “We meet at last! I am Amelia Barrett.”

  He bowed and their eyes met once more, but his interest was not in his hostess. His attention fixed on the child nestled in Amelia’s embrace. Amelia shifted to give the captain a better view, and at the movement, Lucy stirred and opened her eyes.

  Amelia stepped even closer and lifted Lucy into her father’s waiting arms. “Captain Sterling, I would like for
you to meet your daughter, Miss Lucille Katherine Sterling.”

  A tentative smile tugged the corners of his mouth. The captain accepted the child in his arms and cradled her against his chest. Father and daughter stared at one another for several moments, until Lucy lost interest in him and found the fabric-covered button adorning his tailcoat. He touched his fingertips to the copper curls that escaped her lace bonnet. “She has red hair.”

  She nodded. “Like her mother.”

  Lucy wiggled in her father’s arms and released a shrill cry. The captain stiffened. “Whatever is the matter?” He extended the small body away from him, at which point Lucy’s face scrunched and a wail escaped. His eyes widened in what could only be panic. “Why is she crying?”

  Amelia masked a smile. Had the man ever held a child? “She is just getting comfortable, I am sure. Here, allow me.”

  The captain, all too eager to hand over the crying child, deposited Lucy in Amelia’s arms and stepped back. She soothed Lucy until the child calmed. With a wave of her hand, she directed the captain to a wingback chair by the fire. “Please be seated.”

  Amelia placed Lucy in the cradle next to the captain’s chair and looked up as Sally, the downstairs maid, appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. Grateful for the distraction, she turned to direct the servant. But out of the corner of her eye she watched the captain lean over the arm of his chair and stare at his daughter.

  As Sally fussed over the refreshments, Amelia feigned interest but kept her peripheral gaze fixed on the father and daughter. For the first time, the captain smiled at the baby, who promptly rewarded him with a grin. He reached into the cradle and pulled out a small wooden horse. Lucy grabbed it and stared in wonder before banging it against a nearby flower stand. Amelia’s heart raced. The scene made her feel more like an intruder in her home than heiress to the estate. Desperate to keep her hands busy when she could find no words to speak, Amelia dismissed the maid and moved to stoke the dying fire.

  “I must correct you.”

  Amelia turned from the fireplace, poker still in hand. “Pardon me?”

  “You were mistaken when you said, ‘We meet at last.’ I doubt you remember, but we’ve met before.”

  The poker clattered as she returned it to the stand. “Have we?” Amelia pushed her hair from her flushed face and moved to pour him a cup of tea. The task should have been simple, but her hands trembled and the steaming liquid threatened to splash onto the saucer.