Athena blushed. She knew that Will liked her in anything, and best when she wore nothing at all, but the admiration in his gaze was silent proof that he would never be ashamed to have her on his arm.
He came forward and gave her a light kiss before he produced a velvet-covered box. “We visited a jewelry store because Kiri ordered me to buy you garnets. I hope you like garnets? They’ll look good with that gown.”
Athena opened the box and gasped at the splendor of the intricate necklace and earrings. “These are beautiful!”
No one had ever given her jewelry before. She tilted her head up and gave Will a kiss that was a good deal more than casual. “You are the best of husbands. Will you fasten the necklace for me?”
“With pleasure.” Will moved behind her and fastened the catch while she removed the simple gold hoops from her ears, then inserted the lovely dangly garnet earrings. Sliding his hands to her shoulders, he gazed into the mirror as she studied her reflection. “My friends will be dazzled by my good fortune.”
“I’ll settle for their not being shocked by your error of judgment,” Athena said wryly. “And now into battle, my comrades!”
Laughing, Kiri led the way downstairs to where Mackenzie was greeting guests. Introductions were made over sherry glasses, and Will’s friends were as welcoming as he’d promised. She knew that not everyone would approve of her heritage, but good friends like these would be enough.
All were profoundly happy to have Will home and safe, and they greeted Athena with enthusiasm. Kiri’s brother, Ashton, shared her exotic, mixed-blood good looks, but his wife, Mariah, was a warm and charming English blonde. Lord Kirkland was dark and contained, but clearly delighted to greet Will, and his blond wife had a quiet warmth that made Athena want to purr like a cat.
Last to arrive were the Randalls. He was a tall blond man who matched Will in military bearing, while his wife was a petite brunette who made Athena think of Sofia, though she was older and she radiated calm serenity rather than Sofia’s bright charm. With the couple was a handsome dark-haired man who looked like he might be Mrs. Randall’s brother.
Mackenzie escorted the newcomers over. Randall caught Will’s hand in a hard grip, saying, “There were times I thought we’d never both leave the Peninsula alive!”
“I thought the same,” Will said with a laugh. “And quite recently, too!”
As the two men drifted off to talk privately, Mackenzie added, “Athena, this is Lady Julia Randall and her brother.”
Another highborn lady, and this one was staring at Athena with disquieting intensity. Perhaps not all of Will’s friends would approve of her?
Lady Julia said, tension vibrating in her voice, “Forgive me, Lady Masterson, but was your father the Duke of Castleton?”
Athena flinched back, shocked. How could this woman possibly know . . . ?
Understanding came in an instant. Lady Julia and her brother looked like Athena. The shape of the features, the coloring, were reflections of what Athena saw in the mirror every morning. She swallowed hard, then nodded numbly. “I was never, ever supposed to tell anyone of the connection.”
“How very like him!” Lady Julia said with exasperation as she reached out to clasp Athena’s hand. “I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve always wanted a sister, and from what Will wrote about you, you’ve led a fascinating life.”
Athena’s eyes filled with tears. “You don’t despise me?” she whispered.
“Why on earth would we want to do that?” her brother said as he offered his hand. “It’s more likely that you would want to give us the cut. My father died several months ago and he was a most difficult man. I’m Castleton now and I learned of the existence of a half sister when I met with my father’s lawyers.” The new duke shook his head. “He treated you abominably! I hope you won’t hold his behavior against Julia and me.”
Dazed, Athena said, “I shall forgive the sins of your father if you’ll do the same for the sins of my mother. I’m sure she was no blameless innocent in their affair.”
“Then we are free to become friends.” He gave her a warm smile very like his sister’s. “I’m quite fond of the sister I knew about, so I welcome having another one.”
“I never had a brother, but I seem to be acquiring several, your grace!” She nodded toward Mackenzie, who was watching with quiet satisfaction.
“Please call me Anthony,” her brother said. “Since you’re family.”
“You’re being so kind!” Athena lost the battle with her tears and gratefully accepted the handkerchief Mackenzie handed her.
“That’s because we take after our mother, who was a very kind woman,” Julia said with a laugh. “You must resemble your mother also, since Will never would have married a woman who had a temperament like that of my late father.” She touched Athena’s hand. “I must talk to Kiri because I want to see the baby, but may Anthony and I call again tomorrow? We have so much to learn about each other!”
Athena whispered, “I look forward to your call. I hope I don’t prove disappointing on further acquaintance.”
“You won’t,” Anthony said confidently before he followed his sister and brother-in-law across the room.
Will materialized beside her and slipped his arm around her waist. “Am I permitted to say ‘I told you so’ about your welcome by my friends?”
She laughed. “You’re permitted. I never could have imagined that my father’s other children would actually welcome me! How did that come to pass?”
“Justin saw the resemblance, and from what we knew of the late Castleton, the story was a good fit,” Will explained. “I wrote Randall and asked him to discuss your possible relationship with Julia. She and her brother had already learned that they had a half sister, so they were delighted to locate you. Neither of them has much reason to be fond of their father, and I’ve noticed that difficult parents tend to make the children draw closer together.”
“How very wise you are.” She tilted her head against his, sure that his friends would forgive the impropriety of the gesture on the grounds that she and Will were newlyweds. “Wise and kind and handsome and very, very patient! Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”
Will caught his breath. “No, I don’t believe you have.”
Startled, she looked into his eyes and realized that in her fear and defensiveness, she’d never actually said that she loved him. “I’m sorry it has taken me so long to find the words, beloved,” she whispered. “I love you, body and soul, now and forever, till death do us part. And may that be at least fifty years in the future!”
Will gave her a smile that took her breath away. “Welcome home, my darling little owl. Finally you are where you belong.”
And with a flagrant lack of propriety, he kissed her.
Author’s Note
Several years ago, I cruised the Douro River in Northern Portugal from Porto on the Atlantic Coast to the border with Spain, plus an excursion to Salamanca, the great Spanish university town. I saw the terraced vineyards stepping down the steep hills to the river, and was walloped with the impact of concentrated port wine scents when we visited a wine shipper warehouse in Gaia, on the opposite bank of the Douro River from Porto.
This part of the country was heavily involved in the Peninsular Wars, with French, Portuguese, British, and Spanish troops engaging. I learned of the bridge of boats catastrophe when the French invaded Porto, and I stood in the picturesque ruins of Castelo Rodrigo, a medieval hill fortress that has been restored as a market for arts and crafts. The guide on our cruise knew I was a historical writer, and she pointed down the hill and said, “That building is a convent. Wellington used it as a hospital for his men after the battle.” Is it any wonder that I’ve wanted to set a story in that part of the world?
The hero had to be Will Masterson, who was in my Lost Lords series from the beginning, but as a serving officer in the Peninsula, he was usually off stage and he only made appearances in Loving a Lost Lord and his half brother’s book,
Nowhere Near Respectable.
But in April 1814, Napoleon abdicated and the long wars were over. (Or so everyone thought. The emperor’s escape from Elba and his hundred days of ruling France, culminating in the Battle of Waterloo, were in the future.) Will was ready to go home, and I was ready to complicate his life enormously.
The very small kingdom of San Gabriel is fictional, and I deliberately gave it language and characteristics from both Portugal and Spain. Interestingly, there was a real microstate called Couto Misto on the border between those two countries, and it lasted until the Treaty of Lisbon in 1864 divided the land between Spain and Portugal.
I couldn’t use Couto Misto because it had its own history, and also because it was on the northern border of Portugal while I needed a setting on the eastern border. But I did borrow the country’s myth of the fugitive pregnant princess (Saint) Ilduara Eriz, who found refuge in Couto Misto and gave birth to (Saint) Rudesind Guterrie. What a great backstory for my fictional San Gabriel!
None of the events in Once a Soldier happened. But perhaps they could have.
If you’ve enjoyed this first novel in Mary Jo Putney’s Rogues Redeemed series, be sure to watch for ONCE A REBEL, coming next October!
The enigmatic Gordon, known as the Westerfield Academy’s only failure, has traveled long and twisted paths before reaching a measure of respectability. Then a perilous mission into the heart of Britain’s war with the fledgling United States brings him face to face with all the dangers—and hopes—of his past.
You are cordially invited—to fall in love at
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Christmas 1815. Upstairs and downstairs, Holbourne Abbey is abuzz with preparations for a grand ball to celebrate the year’s most festive—and romantic—holiday. For at the top of each guest’s wish list is a last chance to find true love before the New Year . . .
A chance meeting beneath the mistletoe, a stolen glance across the dance floor—amid the sumptuous delicacies, glittering decorations, and swell of the orchestra, every duchess and debutante, lord and lackey has a hopeful heart. There’s the headstrong heiress who must win back her beloved by midnight—or be wed to another . . . the spinster whose fateful choice to relinquish love may hold one more surprise for her . . . a widow yearning to glimpse her long-lost love for even one sweet, fleeting interlude . . . a charming rake who finds far more than he bargained for. And many other dazzling, romantic tales in this star-studded collection from the
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Prologue
Harlowe Place
Hertfordshire, England
November 1737
The skies wept with autumn rain, perfect for burying the dead. Gwyneth Owens was grateful that custom banned females from the graveside, for she would have been unable to maintain her composure as her father was laid beneath the damp sod.
As always, she sought refuge in Lord Brecon’s library. Her father, Robert Owens, had been his lordship’s librarian for almost thirty years, and Gwynne had grown up among these treasured volumes.
Lightly she skimmed her fingertips over tooled leather and stamped gold titles in the travel memoir section. Her father had always said that a well-furnished mind was proof against loneliness. She hoped he was right, for she needed that comfort now.
As she moved along the south wall, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. She turned away, avoiding the sight of her too tall figure and garish, unfashionable hair. Such a pity that she had inherited neither her father’s power nor her mother’s beauty.
Perhaps riding breakneck across Harlowe’s hills would relieve her restless tension, but that wasn’t possible since soon she would be summoned downstairs to act as chief mourner at the solemn gathering that would be held in her father’s honor. Needing to be active, she unlocked the adjacent gallery, which contained the private library as well as her father’s office.
A faint, almost indiscernible frisson of energy flickered over her skin when she stepped inside. The long, high-ceilinged chamber contained Britain’s finest collection of books and manuscripts about magic. The volumes also represented the history and wisdom of the ancient Guardian families of the British Isles.
The Guardians, her father’s clan. Human but gifted with magical powers, they had lived clandestinely among mundanes since time immemorial. Gwynne had been raised as a Guardian by virtue of her father’s blood though she had no power of her own. She was grateful to be part of the Families since women had a degree of equality unheard of among mundanes. That custom had evolved early since in the realms of magic, females could wield powers that matched or surpassed those of men.
Guardians took their name from the oath all swore to use their power to protect and serve their fellow man as best they could. Because of that mission, Guardians revered history in the hopes that it would prevent them from repeating earlier mistakes.
Occasionally it did.
As Keeper of the Lore, the Earl of Brecon was responsible for these precious books and manuscripts. At the age of six, Gwynne had started to assist her father in maintaining the books. She had started with dusting, handling the volumes as carefully as if they were fine porcelain. Later she had copied crumbling texts onto new parchment and learned the secrets of preservation.
She scanned the shelves with regret, knowing she would miss the books fiercely if she left the estate. Given the importance of the collection, a new librarian would be engaged soon, so she must prepare for the change by removing her father’s personal possessions.
At least she would not be turned penniless into the world—the Guardians took care of their own. A position of some sort would be found for Robert Owens’s unimpressive daughter. With luck, that position would be at Harlowe, the only home she had ever known. More than that, she scarcely dared hope for.
With a soft feline sound, her plump tabby, Athena, jumped onto the desk and curled into a ball. Comforted by the cat’s presence, Gwynne settled at her father’s desk and began searching the drawers for personal items. Keeping busy was essential if she was to prevent herself from mourning the past or brooding about her future.
She blinked back tears when she discovered her mother’s locket in the small central drawer. Inside the oval case were miniatures of her parents painted at the time of their betrothal. They looked young and very much in love. Her father must have kept the locket here so he could study the picture of his wife and dream of happier times.
A reserved, scholarly man, Robert Owens had lived a quiet life at Harlowe Place. His one act of rebellion had been to marry Anna Wells against the wishes of both families. Her family had disowned her. The Owenses had accepted the match, though reluctantly. Guardians were encouraged to marry other Guardians, and Anna had been a mundane. Though beautiful and sweet natured, she had no magic in her soul.
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But the marriage had been a happy one, and Anna’s death of a fever two years before had devastated her small family. Now Robert was gone as well, and Gwynne was alone. A pity she had no brother or sister to mourn with her.
The last drawer was almost empty when the door opened. The tapping of a cane told her that Emery, Lord Brecon was approaching. She rose at the sight of his spare, splendidly garbed figure. Tall and distinguished, he had hair so thick and naturally white there was no need for powder. The earl was the center around which Harlowe revolved. His courtesy and learning were legenday, and he had always been kind to a little girl who loved books.
Seeing her, he said quietly, “It is done, my dear.”
“My parents are together now, and at peace.” As Gwynne spoke, the truth of her words resonated inside her. Occasionally she had such flashes of absolute knowledge, her only trace of Guardian power. It was not the same as calling the winds or scrying the future or healing the sick.
“We are both expected in the blue drawing room, but I hope you don’t mind if I rest here for a few minutes before we go down. A bitter wind was blowing.”Wearily the earl settled into the leather wing chair by the coal fire.
“I’m glad for the rain. A beautiful day would have been wrong for a funeral.”
“There are no good days for funerals.” His gaze touched the willow basket that she had filled with her father’s eclectic mix of notes and objects. “You’ve been diligent, I see. The library will be the poorer when you leave.”
So she was to be sent away. The shock of that made her dare to make a request that was her only chance to achieve her secret dream. “I have always loved working in the library. Indeed, my lord, I . . . I have hoped that you might engage me to act as librarian in my father’s place. Though I have not his formal education, he tutored me well. I have worked with the books my whole life. My father said that no one was better at preservation, and I write a fine clear hand when copying fragile manuscripts. Or if not as the chief librarian, perhaps I might continue here as an assistant?”