Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine
Read Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine Online
Authors: T. Davis Bunn
Tags: #Historical, #Romance, #Acadians—Fiction, #Scandals—Fiction, #Americans—England—Fiction, #London (England)—Fiction
The
Innocent Libertine
H
EIRS OF
A
CADIA
- T
WO
-
T. DAVIS BUNN
&
ISABELA BUNN
The
Innocent Libertine
© 2004 T. Davis Bunn and Isabella Bunn
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a Division of
Baker Book House Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Ebook edition created 2013
Ebook corrections 03.26.2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.
ISBN 978-1-5855-8568-7
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover design by UDG Designworks, Inc.
This book is dedicated to
Susan & Ken Wales
Our gifted and exuberant friends
T. DAVIS BUNN is an award-winning author whose growing list of novels demonstrates the scope and diversity of his writing talent.
ISABELLA BUNN has been a vital part of his writing success; her research and attention to detail have left their imprint on nearly every story. Their life abroad has provided much inspiration and information for plots and settings. They live near Oxford, England.
By T. Davis Bunn
The Gift
The Messenger
The Music Box
One Shenandoah Winter
The Quilt
Tidings of Comfort & Joy
Another Homecoming
*
Tomorrow’s Dream
*
The Dream Voyagers
Drummer in the Dark
The Great Divide
The Presence
Princess Bella and the Red Velvet Hat
Return to Harmony
*
Riders of the Pale Horse
To the Ends of the Earth
Winner Take All
S
ONG OF
A
CADIA
*
The Meeting Place The Birthright
The Sacred Shore The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
H
EIRS OF
A
CADIA
†
The Solitary Envoy
The Innocent Libertine
*
with Janette Oke
†
with Isabella Bunn
Contents
Book Three/HEIRS OF ACADIA: The Noble Fugitive
Abigail Aldridge tried to ignore the thrill she felt stepping off Shaftesbury Avenue and entering the forbidden world of Soho. Three paces were enough to cast her into another realm. The rutted cobblestones led her into a place deep in shadows and adventure. Here even the laughter was different.
Abigail stepped carefully over a water-filled trench, her skirts held in one hand. Thankfully the rain had finally ceased. But the sky overhead remained blanketed by clouds turned orange in London’s evening lights. Though it was early July of 1824, they had scarcely known any summer at all. Abigail could see her breath as she walked. There were even reports of snow covering the Scottish dales. From the countryside came accounts of yet more ruined crops, the third such season in a row. The previous year the harvests had been particularly disastrous, bringing much of rural England to the brink of starvation. A pair of fancy ladies approached with arms linked, dancing their way around a puddle. They giggled meaningfully and spoke a man’s name with the derisive calm of women who knew things Abigail dared not even consider.
The two deserved the title of fancy, for they both wore dresses with far more frills than Abigail’s. But their petticoats were bedraggled, and the silk trimmings were stained and frayed. Abigail had selected her plainest gown for this outing. Her abundant red hair was primly tied back in a new ribbon, and her face and hands were scrubbed clean. Unlike the pair who now were directly in front of her.
They drew up sharp on catching sight of Abigail. One of them said, “Here now, what’s this? Down for a bit of slumming, are we?”
The two could not have been older than Abigail’s own eighteen years. Yet their eyes were as ancient and world-weary as the crumbling buildings to either side of where they stood.
“I-I’m here meeting a friend, actually,” Abigail murmured.
“Oh, a friend, is it?” The one who spoke was the shorter of the pair, with pale locks spilling out from beneath a frowsy hat. “That what we’re calling ’em these days, a friend?”
“Bet she don’t have a clue how to keep her friend happy.” The second woman smiled to reveal several missing teeth. “We could show you a thing or two, couldn’t we, darlin’. Oh my, yes.”
Abigail smelled the gin on their breaths as they giggled. Added to this was the odor emanating from their clothing— old perfume and smoke and something rank. “D-do either of you ladies know the saving grace of Jesus Christ?”
The two of them seemed to find that hilarious. The smaller woman took in the street with a grand sweep of her arm. “Don’t recall seeing him ’round these parts before.”
The other agreed. “If you’ve spied ’im in Soho, missy, best you believe ’e’s got ’imself good and lost.”
“But He is everywhere,” Abigail declared earnestly, “and always.”
“Abigail!” Another young woman ran breathlessly toward them. “I feared I had lost you entirely! Why did you not wait for me to arrive?”
The two ladies realized their game with Abigail was over. The smaller woman’s face hardened. “Take your manners and your religious chatter and get back where you belong, missy. There’s danger stalking these roads. Perils the likes of which you can’t imagine.”
The newcomer waited until the pair had departed to say, “I fear they are correct, Abigail. We do not belong here.”
“If we do not try, how are they to hear the Word?” Abigail tugged her friend Nora’s arm. “Remember, the harvest is great and the workers few.”
“But—”
“Come!”
Abigail was well aware that Nora would have much preferred to remain safe in the West End. Nora had been Abigail’s friend since their school days. A quiet girl by nature, she was a perfect daughter and the light of her mother’s life. Nora was in love with a young man earning his charter in accountancy, and her face bloomed every time his name was mentioned. She loved him so much she almost wept with joy whenever she spoke of their coming wedding. Everyone said she would make a splendid wife and mother.
Abigail, however, had never loved any young man as Nora did this one. She could not imagine what it might be like. The only time she ever gave such feelings a second thought was when she listened to Nora prattle on. To give up her independence was unthinkable. She was not jealous of Nora. How could she be, when she had no interest in living a life tied to some man’s interests and future? But Abigail prided herself on her honesty. Abigail was forced to admit that she was a bit jealous of this young man for stealing away her best friend.
“Do hurry on, Nora,” she said as she moved forward.
“Oh, all right.” Nora took hold of her skirt with one hand and the printed pamphlets with the other. “I suppose it would be too much to ask you to hold to the main roads for a change.”
“You know where we’re going. We’ve had this planned for days and days.”
“
You’ve
had it planned.”
Abigail did not respond because there was nothing to say. In the past, Nora had willingly gone along with all of Abigail’s plans. That was how their relationship had always been. Abigail was the person with ideas, Nora with the steadfast support. Abigail was impetuous and eager and bursting with a great desire to improve her world. Nora was calm and unwavering in her friendship. Even Abigail’s mother, who worried constantly about her willful daughter, always said that Nora would keep them out of harm’s way.
Only now there was a change in the wind. Nora’s husband-to-be, Tyler Brock, did not approve of Abigail Aldridge.
Abigail’s father ran a trading concern that was a major client of Tyler’s accountancy firm. Samuel Aldridge initially had been brought to England as deputy minister plenipotentiary for the United States. But when his stint with the government was concluded, Samuel had remained on to open a British arm of his family’s highly successful trading empire. Since her arrival here as a young child, Abigail had traveled back to the United States only once, four summers past. England was where she had spent most of her life. If she stopped to think about it, Abigail Aldridge would have had difficulty determining which was more of a true homeland. Then again, Abigail rarely stopped and thought deeply on much of anything. Abigail was one for action and forward motion, with loyal Nora by her side.
Only Tyler was quietly intent upon changing all this.
Tyler was never direct in his criticisms. He was a cautious man with an accountant’s way of examining things, picking them apart with delicate precision and wearing a body down with his unending questions. Abigail found Tyler to be a most trying sort of person. She tolerated him only because Nora was so deeply in love. At first she had expected this particular romance to follow the path laid down by all of Nora’s earlier infatuations. First there was a great flame of dreaming and yearning and sighing and talking. Then came niggling doubts which mounted until the romance died. Poof. Like a candle snuffed. There one moment, mere smoke and forgotten brilliance the next. Only this particular romance had remained and even strengthened. Now Nora approached her long-sought goal of marriage and a family. With Tyler Brock, of all people.
Tyler had the irritating habit of asking Abigail questions she could not answer. For instance, were he here now, he would be inquiring in that mild voice of his about why she insisted upon walking down a dark street in the middle of London’s dangerous Soho district. Was it truly because she wished to offer salvation to those shunned by society? Or was it perhaps something else entirely? Could she be after a glimpse of what was forbidden to her, except under this guise? Yes, most certainly, William Wilberforce urged them all to embrace those crushed by modern society. But were there not other ways she could serve, places where she might be included in an established group and thus kept safe? Why must she insist upon taking Nora down. . . . Oh, it really was entirely too much.
“Oh, I don’t like the looks of this alley,” Nora whispered. “Let’s turn back, Abigail. Please.”
Nora had recently begun expressing a mind of her own. Only they weren’t her opinions, they were Tyler’s. The accountant might as well have been there with them now, needling Abigail with his questions, driving his ink-stained wedge between her and her very best friend. “All right, Nora. Come along. There. We’re back on the main road again. Do you feel better?”
“No, actually, I really would prefer it if we returned to—”
