The Sea Rose

The Sea Rose LORDS AND LADIES OF THE SEA BOOK ONE MARIELLA HUNT WWW.MARIELLAHUNT.COM Copyright © 2022 by Mariella Hunt 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. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination. Cover design by Mariella Hunt Interior Design by M. H. Woodscourt www.mariellahunt.com ISBN (Paperback): 9798362105778 To Mom, Dad, and my brother— This book is for you. And to my readers in the Vella community— My heartfelt thanks. Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 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 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 About the Author One When a song was beautiful, the notes on its sheet of music hummed with life. Lord Peter West sat at the piano, seeking refuge in his late father’s favorite sonata. He played a chord, allowing its hum to fill the music room. The sound soaked through to his strangled soul. Peter heard the buzz of servants at work. He noticed changes—a dusted shelf, rearranged pottery, signs of rooms well-tended. The servants, though meant to be silent, contributed to the orchestra of the Everly estate. He could not tune them out. Peter wished his father’s spirit would make a sound, instead—wished he could ask if he had made the correct decision and hear a whispered yes or no. However, David West, Earl of Everly, was dead—had died, leaving Peter alone to face a daunting future. Though Peter never entertained thoughts of marrying for love, he didn’t imagine that an impending engagement would bring such dread. Gazing at the piano, he searched the reflection for a message. He sought reassurance that, one day, life would be more than a matter of duty. Everly was large. If he never found love for Lady Meredith, they could have their own rooms. He needn’t see her every day. Life could continue as it had always been; only his bachelor status would have changed. “Peter!” His sister, Sybil, pulled him from his reverie, her voice ringing down the corridor. She stepped into the music room, more grace and cheer in her step than he could muster. “We’re about to leave. The carriage is ready.” Peter reached for the piano lid, lowering it to cover the keys. He let out a breath and said, “Very well. I will meet you shortly.” Sybil stood at the arched doorway. Rarely did she leave the mansion without dressing well, but for this ball, she had outdone herself. Her auburn hair was braided and adorned with silver combs; she wore a gown of soft peach, as welcoming as her personality. “I wish you would smile,” Sybil told him, stepping nearer. “Surely you are experiencing nerves.” Peter stood, sliding the piano bench into place. Sybil must be right. He would survive the evening and sleep into the afternoon. A few weeks later, he would be married. Then, he could retreat to his library and pore over Father’s books. Or he could sit in the shadows of bookshelves and allow himself to finish grieving. Again, Sybil read his thoughts. “Father’s here,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, “I am certain of it! I would have liked to have him at my wedding, too, one day.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I do not allow myself to believe his love has vanished.” Peter smiled. It was difficult to ignore his sister’s optimism. “No,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “His love will not have vanished. I believe that all will be well, Sybil. I might need time to adjust to the world as it is. There is an emptiness where he ought to be.” Sybil nodded. “Such is grief,” she said. Hoping to end the conversation on that note, Peter forced spring into his step. As the heir, he could not afford to be choosy. This wedding would unite two strong families, which would benefit the estate. Sybil’s marriage would be an occasion for joy. He would make sure that, when she married, it was to a man who made her happy. If the glow ever faded from her expression, he would know it was the wrong person. His little sister would never feel trapped as he did now. They stepped into the warm June afternoon. He glanced over his shoulder at the impressive height of Everly Mansion, carved of white stone and punctuated with Greek columns. It was his father’s pride and joy. Peter would make this sacrifice to maintain the legacy Lord David West so carefully cultivated. Mother waited in the carriage, having shed her black mourning clothes for the lavender of half-mourning. With tense gloved hands, she clutched a jeweled reticule. She appraised Peter as he took the seat next to Sybil. “At last,” she said. “You can’t afford to be the only person late to the ball.” “The guests have been waiting three months,” Peter said, unapologetic. “They can wait another hour.” Sybil giggled, stifling the sound with the back of her hand. Peter smirked and turned to the window as the carriage began to move. The grassy fields rolled on, the pond in front of their home sparkled blue in the sunlight. These things would not change, even with a loveless marriage. If he could only get through the social events and ceremony, he would return to the peace of his yard. The thought consoled him during the ride. He hoped he could keep such poise when faced with guests and dancing. * * * Though