Proper Secrets
Authors: Rachel Francis
Proper Secrets
Rachel Francis
Rachel Francis
ISBN
978-0-9858346-4-7
Cover art:
Design by Rachel Francis with stock photos provided by Big Stock contributors Hanna Hrakovich, Bragin Alexey, and Tamara Kushniruk.
Font:
Copyright (c) 2010, 2011 Georg Duffner (http://www.georgduffner.at)
Copyright
©
2013
by Rachel Francis, All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reprinted, copied, reproduced, or otherwise tampered with electronically or in print except with express permission in writing of the publisher.
A reviewer may quote brief sections for showcase purposes in a review.
A.K.A. This my work.
Please treat it, and by extension me, with respect.
This book is fictional.
Everything in it is from my brain or used fictitiously and is not meant to offend or imitate any copyrighted materials, places, practices, creeds or persons, living or dead.
If there is anything I know, it’s that historical fiction readers do not like having the facts tampered with.
This is the chief reason why I decided not to write a historically accurate Regency romance.
The book you are reading now is set in an alternate Europe, and none of it is to be taken as more than fiction.
I love history--it was my major in college, and when I see it misrepresented, I cringe and fume for days.
It would break my heart for such an error to spring out of my book.
On that note, I did write this with modern readers in mind.
Language has changed, and I am hard-wired to write a certain way, being both of the late 1900’s and American.
I cannot replicate Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters, and hope that my personal style can be enjoyed for what it is, as character-driven fiction.
In the appendix, I’ve included some helpful information about the world I’ve created.
Endland is the country in which the story takes place, and I didn’t plan on it sounding quite so much like England, but it stuck.
It is the country at the “end” of the continent, and shares a land border with Sypass.
These two countries have been engaged in a border war for decades.
If you read no more of the background I’ve provided, this information will get you through the novel.
If, however, you wish to know more about the history and customs of Endland before joining Miss Worthing on her quest for truth, a map and other reference can be found in the aforementioned appendix.
Happy Reading,
Rachel
When First We Met
To keep a secret is to sacrifice another’s journey for truth, a horrific offense against the chief occupation of any sensible person.
It is foolhardy to assume that obstructing the natural instinct to acquire information
by actively concealing details bearing consequences, makes one caring or helpful.
To be clear, some things should not be known, just as some actions should not be taken.
This is the line between curiosity and insanity, or moral weakness.
The Worthings were a family of knowledge-seekers.
No tome passed through the bookseller’s without ending up in their library, no craft too lowly for them to master. Their relative state of wealth may have been their only defense against the snickering hyenas of high society that would not bend to light their own candle.
Mr. Worthing would not be convinced that his children should cloister themselves instead of contributing to the household.
It flew in the face of what was proper, and yet, not a word could be said against the manners of the Worthing siblings, as well bred and clever as they were.
With Mrs. Worthing’s repeated episodes of enduring illness, even more fell on the shoulders of the eldest daughter, Emily.
Whilst the firstborn son Peter could assist his father with business, she took to running the house in her mother’s stead.
“Bridget, I’ll tie my bonnet up in knots the first time you are not the last to be ready for an outing,” said Emily.
A peek into her sister’s room found her dressed, but with hair still flowing down her back.
Bridget wrinkled her nose and swept the locks up into a flawless bun, complete with dangling ringlets.
“Your patience for me is endless, I know,” said Bridget, pinning her work in place.
“If it were, we might never leave Charlton for the world beyond,” laughed Emily.
She continued on down the hall, knocking at her mother’s door.
“Come in,” called Mrs. Worthing.
“Mama, do you need anything from town?”
Propped up in her bed clothes, Elizabeth Worthing, matron of Charlton, tilted her head to think.
“Some pretty ribbon that matches my blue gown, for the ball.”
“Wide, lace?
Or thin and straight?”
“Thin and lacy, if you please.
Oh, and remind your father to have the stand cleared for the musicians before Saturday,” said Mrs. Worthing.
Emily nodded her understanding and sought Mr. Worthing in his study off the massive Charlton Library.
His study smelled of books and fresh air, owing to his habit of propping the window open at the slightest hint of a breeze.
After reminding him as her mother asked, Emily said, “Bridget and I are going to town.
Is there anything you require from the shops?”
“After the frills that might attract a suitor, are you?
I require nothing, thank you, save a small present for your mother.
A necklace or whatnot to accompany her dress.
Worries of appearing ill have wrecked her nerves, and no energy need be spent on that rather than meeting with friends,” said Mr. Worthing.
He teased her with twinkling eyes, a feature he’d given all his children.
“In the same breath you dote on my mother to distract me from your assumptions.
Very well, sir, I shall find Mama a special trinket, and forgive you for guessing wrongly at my intentions,” said Emily with a smile.
“Hide it all you like, my dear.
I will not be fooled!” Mr. Worthing called after her as he went back to his writing.
“Bridget, can we go at last?” Emily inquired from the top of the stair.
Swirling her skirts, Bridget posed.
“I am ready,” she said, sighing like a maid in love.
“Oh, saucy girl!
How will I ever be at ease with you in polite society?”
They grinned at each other.
“You shall suffer it, as I suffer your badgering,” said Bridget.
Emily descended the stairs, unaffected by criticism.
“You will understand one day, when you are responsible for more than yourself.”
Their good-natured banter kept them company all the way to Tripton, the bustling country community to which Charlton lay closest.
It was a town built around the harvest of the neighboring estates, owing much of its prosperity to the good fortune of Mr. Worthing.
The music of the morning played at once, transforming natural birdsong into rattling carriage wheels and good-natured shouts of greeting.
“Muster your strength, Bridget, we have not the time to visit the bookseller today,” said Emily.
Spotting them through the window, the bookseller himself rushed outside.
“Miss Worthing, Miss Bridget, any suggestions for a good book?
Several customers have been asking your opinion on the latest volumes,” said Mr. Brandichant.
“Through the Towering Forest was quite good, don’t you agree, Bridget?” said Emily.
“Yes, yes, eerily fantastic.
The Dark One, too.”
“Thank you Misses!” he said.
They nodded and bravely walked on, away from the literature shop.
“How much pocket money do you think we’ve given Mr. Brandichant over the years?” inquired Bridget.
Fresh dye and fabric dust blew past them into the street from the clothing store, their first stop.
Emily ran her hand over the bolts of soft wool and cotton on her path to the ribbons.
A gown in progress lay over a form in the corner, half the trim hanging under the bust, yet to be affixed to the empire waist.
“Our pocket money is nothing to Papa’s monthly requisitions.
He could keep several wordsmiths fed and clothed with his appetite.
Mama requested thin lace, matching her blue gown, help me,” said Emily.
They picked through the finery until Mrs. Johnston, the proprietor, sidled over to gossip.
“Good day to you Miss Worthing, have you heard that someone has taken up residence at Reddester?”
Emily dropped the spool she admired, hastily stooping to retrieve it.
“I had not, Mrs. Johnston.
Is it true?”
“I have seen the lady of the house myself.
Very fine, Miss Wingrave,” said Mrs. Johnston.
“Miss?
She is not married?” asked Bridget.
“No, ma’am.
She will keep house for her brother, Mr. Wingrave.
Have you not visited them?” said Mrs. Johnston.
“No, we have not.
I wonder if Papa knows of them?
We have been extraordinarily busy planning the ball,” said Emily.
Mrs. Johnston leaned in close.
“I feel you will be very pleased with the showing at your ball.
I’ve been selling the finest of my wares in preparation, ma’am,” she whispered.
Miss Worthing smiled at the genuine enjoyment Mrs. Johnston had from her occupation.
Her passion created some of the most elegant dresses Emily had seen anywhere, awash in the social escapades of her customers.
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnston,” said Emily.
With a grin, the woman scuttled away to greet newly-arrived ladies.
“That is news, indeed.
How out of sorts our information gathering is,” said Bridget, “Ah!
Here, this will do nicely.”
She held up a length of ribbon, perfectly suited to the task.
“Excellent choice.
I agree, we have not been as social in the last fortnight as is expected.
Of course, in the several fortnights preceding this one nothing of import occurred,” said Emily.
Bridget chuckled under her breath.
The sisters completed their errands with enthusiasm, happy to be out of doors after a bout of bad weather.
When Emily stopped to look for a present for Mrs. Worthing, Bridget admired the jewelry, but peered at her sister.
“You hardly ever shop here,” she said.
“Papa wants a necklace for Mama,” said Emily.
He had given her the money for nearly any piece Mrs. Worthing could desire, so she applied it with good taste.
