The Lost Bride

THE LOST BRIDE A SPIRITED SPINSTERS NOVELLA ROBYN CHALMERS Copyright © 2021 by Robyn Enlund ISBN 978-0-6451218-5-8 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Art by EDH Professionals & Carpe Librum Book Design * * * Join me on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/robyn_chalmers_author/ * * * Find me on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/authorrobynchalmers/ CONTENTS Chapter 1 In Which The Harsh Light of Day Doesn't Change the Facts Chapter 2 In Which Sneaking Around is Unladylike but Necessary Chapter 3 In Which Winter Becomes Her Chapter 4 In Which Lord Huntley Is Just Another Stupidly Stubborn Man Chapter 5 In Which A Kilt is Not Deemed Necessary Even if Our Hero has the Legs for it Chapter 6 In Which Mr. Crawford Makes Good on his Threats Chapter 7 In Which a Septuagenarian Shows Her Mettle About the Author CHAPTER 1 IN WHICH THE HARSH LIGHT OF DAY DOESN'T CHANGE THE FACTS The morning was frigid, the kind where no fire took the chill off the air and the only warm place to be was bed. But the very polite knocking on the bedroom door would not stop, no matter how tightly Marcus Ambrose, Viscount Huntley, pulled the feather pillow over his head. He knew it was his brother Evander because the brute had been employing that rap since they were children. “Go away.” “Not until you tell me everything.” Evander should, by rights, be enjoying his first day of marital bliss. Instead, he was tapping on the door in his usual relentless way. Courteous, but relentless, summed up his brother. “Can’t we do this later?” “Later I will be on the road to the Bolthole. Now is the time. Come to the library.” The Bolthole was a picturesque house their family owned, perched on the edge of Lake Windermere and the site of many happy summers. And now, apparently, honeymoons. Marcus hauled himself out of bed with a groan. “I’ll be down soon.” Wrotham House, with its huge rooms, would need an inferno to warm this morning. He shivered into his dressing gown, pushed his feet into his slippers, and hoped there would be coffee. As he went down the stairs, a clock in the distance chimed six. They were awake far earlier than the kitchen staff would expect, but when he opened the door to the library, there was a tray waiting with coffee, crumpets, and a small pot of honey. His brother looked up from the book in his lap. He wore travel gear, his top boots gleaming, but his cravat already crushed. “Ah, there you are.” As though he’d been waiting for hours. “Don’t you have better places to be? Like, I don’t know, in bed with your new wife?” The sky outside the library window was still dark, but he could feel the chill coming off it. The day would be cold. Evander smiled. “Too much to do. We are leaving on our honeymoon this morning. We’ve been sternly told to make our way to Windermere and leave the children behind.” He finished this with a smile. He hadn’t been so happy in years. Of course, there was talk of the speed of the nuptials. That Evander had compromised Sarah and made the marriage necessary. This was especially scandalous since he was a vicar and should be far above such things. But nothing could be further from the truth. And Sarah was already good for him. His brother literally glowed with happiness. “So, tell me about her.” Evander said. He meant Marcus’s wife. The one his brother had only just found out about. “You woke me up for this?” The truth was, Marcus didn’t know if she still wanted to be his wife, or if her father had already found a way around the law to nullify the marriage. It was hard to tell. The last thing Mr. Crawford had said was ‘you will have the papers to void this marriage directly.’ Amusement touched Evander’s expression. “You’re more honest when you’re half asleep.” Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself to wake up. “Her name is Penelope. She is the eldest daughter of Jonathon Crawford. We eloped, and there was an uproar.” Evander’s eyes widened as he picked up his crumpet. “Ah, now it makes sense. I thought you weren’t quite yourself when you returned from Scotland. But eloped...” He had spent the last part of spring and the entire summer in the community Crawford had created on the banks of the Clyde River. His father, the Earl of Wrotham, had not only wanted to invest in the cotton mills, but also to learn about the way Crawford was revolutionizing the textile industry by treating his workers with dignity and respect. Marcus had fallen in love with Scotland, with its majestic waterfalls and lush forests. But greater than all of that was Penny. Her laugh, her brightness, the way she teased him in a way people rarely teased the heir to an earldom. “The news of Father’s deterioration could not have come at a more delicate time, although Jonathan Crawford was about to chase me across the border, in any case. And Penny did not want to accompany me. So I left her behind.” He paused and took a breath. “I should not have done that.” The intervening months had seen Father limping from one crisis to another until they went to London only a few weeks back to make sure his affairs were in order. There had been no time for a quick jaunt back up to Scotland, because there was no such thing as a quick jaunt to Scotland. Every night since he’d lain awake, dreaming himself back to that summer. Only an idiot would lose a wife that wonderful. The selfish brute in him wished he’d