To Protect and to Cherish Read online

  To my little sister, Marnie.

  Thanks for all your encouragement,

  Your never-ending supply of great ideas,

  And for making me laugh.

  CHAPTER 1

  Jillian Trent looked toward her uncle’s house. It was large and impressive, but so cold – so frightening. She knew she dared not remain out of doors much longer. He was certain to send someone to look for her or, worse, come find her himself.

  She walked erect toward the garden door.

  “Miss,” the young maid standing near the gate, called to her, “the master is looking for you.”

  Jillian closed her eyes momentarily, “Thank you, Nora.”

  “He’s in the green room, he is.”

  Jillian was about to go there, but Nora spoke again, “He’s got another suitor for you.”

  Jillian’s throat constricted, “I’ll go right away,” she glanced down, “Have I any dirt or grass on my person?”

  Nora looked hard, “None today, Miss,” she offered a small smile of encouragement.

  “Thank you, Nora.”

  Jillian ran a hand over her hair to ensure none of her black tresses had escaped the pins Erin had carefully placed that morning. Since her nineteenth birthday a few months prior, her uncle had been pushing men at her left and right. Not a single one of them was known to her before the meeting, and, as difficult as it was to live with her uncle, it was preferable to yoking herself to a man for the rest of her life.

  Jillian was not categorically opposed to marriage, but she knew her own union was not to be one of affection or even mutual respect. Horace Trent was unconcerned about those things; his sole concern was his own financial well-being. Furthermore, it was unlikely any man having dealings with her uncle would be a man of scruples.

  Jillian stopped long enough to take a calming breath and then knocked on the door.

  “Jillian,” her uncle barked, “that you?”

  She entered the darkly furnished room, grateful her uncle had allowed the staff to open the drapes today.

  “Hello, Uncle Horace. I was told you wished to see me.”

  “Jillian Trent, this is Edmund Jervis. Jervis, my niece, Miss Trent.”

  Mr. Jervis rose and bowed.

  Jillian dropped a proper curtsey, “Mr. Jervis, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “You are as lovely as your uncle claimed,” he bent over her hand.

  Jervis was not bad looking and he seemed as proper as any gentleman could be, but as he rose from touching her fingers to his lips, she recognized the leer in his eye.

  “Mr. Jervis,” she took a seat as far from him as possible, “where is your family from?”

  “Near Bath,” he took a chair nearer hers. “My grandfather was the Earl of Marton, but that title passed on to my cousin, alas.”

  She pressed her lips together, “I am certain your cousin appreciates it.”

  He laughed as though she had made a very funny joke, “I daresay he does.”

  “And your own father is. . .?”

  “An attorney,” he shrugged, “but he has fared quite well. He has recently bought an estate.”

  Jillian knew her uncle would have preferred a man with a title, but a man of wealth was nearly as good.

  “And have you elder brothers?”

  The man was beginning to frown, “Yes. One.”

  She smiled. Of course, the men could discuss among themselves whether a gentleman was financially suitable for Jillian, but she was supposed to pretend she was flattered by any man’s attentions to her.

  “Your uncle tells me you play the pianoforte.”

  “I do,” she lifted a hand, “but I have recently injured my hand, so have been unable to practice as of late.”

  “That is too bad,” he showed some genuine interest. “How was it done?”

  Jillian wished she could tell this man – or anyone – how it really happened, but she would certainly earn another beating for telling the man her uncle had done it to her.

  “I fell on it,” this wasn’t completely a lie, but it did not implicate anyone.

  “I hope you heal soon,” his eyes were no longer focused on her face, but the region just below her neck.

  It would do no good to complain to her uncle about the behavior. His own leering had been a source of exasperation from the time Jillian had turned thirteen. He would have her wearing low-cut gowns if there was some way to tell the dressmaker to do so without making himself look bad. As it was, he frequently told her to remove a length of lace or a collar because, in his words, it did not conform to current fashion.

  She turned slightly away from the visitor, “Are you not married, Mr. Jervis?”

  He squirmed a bit, “Sadly, I lost my wife to a fever two years ago.”

  Jillian perked up. Here was something she could work with, “I am sorry for your loss. Did you have children?”

  He nodded and glanced nervously toward Horace, “Three sons.”

  “Ah,” she smiled, “how nice for you to have them. I am certain they are a comfort to you.”

  “Well,” Jervis wasn’t sure whether to expound on the virtues of his sons or to remain silent, “they are . . . good boys.”

  Jillian sighed, “It is always a trial for children to lose their mother.”

  He seemed to accept her sympathy, “Well, the poor chaps have something to be thankful for anyway. Their grandfather has left all his estate to them.”

  This was better than she hoped, “You mean your father has forgotten his own sons?”

  “No,” he laughed, “my dear wife’s father. We live on the great estate that formerly belonged to him.”

  Horace seemed uncomfortable.

  Jillian cleared her throat, “So you have no fortune of your own?”

  Jervis shook his head, “But I do not fear being able to provide for my wife – should I marry again. I have the estate and an allowance.”

  Horace’s face turned pink.

  “It would be nice, of course,” he looked slyly to her, “if my bride was a woman of some means.”

  The pink turned to red.

  “I imagine it would, sir, but you must be careful to choose a wife who will be an attentive mother to your boys.”

  Jervis nodded as though she had imparted great wisdom, “I agree. It is also imperative she get along with my deceased wife’s mother.”

  “Oh?” Jillian could hardly contain her delight at exposing the man to her uncle.

  “Yes, for Mrs. Rudolph lives with us and is in charge of the family finances. She would be quite difficult on the point if she did not approve of the lady who replaced her dead daughter.”

  Jillian glanced at Horace’s purple complexion.

  “I wish you luck, Mr. Jervis, in finding that perfect mate,” she rose.

  He rose as well, “But, Miss Trent, I believe you may be that woman.”

  Jillian stepped out of her uncle’s way.

  “You presume too much, sir,” he bellowed at the guest. “I certainly will not consent to my niece marrying a man such as you.”

  “Such as me?” Jervis staggered backward, “but I thought – ”

  “Get out!” Horace pointed to the door.

  The younger man’s simpering and explaining allowed Jillian to escape the room. She moved gracefully until she was out of sight, and then raced up to her room.

  Her uncle did not call for her the rest of the night. She spent the respite in prayer – asking for forgiveness that she hoped Horace would die of apoplexy after that last suitor. Erin was kind enough to bring a tray to the young lady’s room, so Jillian could avoid meeting up with her disappointed uncle.

  “Did he eat in his rooms?”

  “Na
y, Miss. He refused supper at all.”

  Jillian took a bite of her chicken, “Then he is very upset.”

  “Quite, Miss.”

  Jillian looked up at her friend, “What shall I do? He is intent on marrying me off to the highest bidder.”

  Erin knew there was more to worry about than that, but she did not mention it. Horace Trent had been watching his niece more and more lately. It could not be long until he decided he needed to sample what he was attempting to sell to so many gentlemen.

  “Miss,” she sat down and whispered, “I know you are not being accustomed to working in the manner of my kind, but I fear for your safety.”

  Jillian’s eyes widened, “I would gladly work, Erin, but I do not know how to do anything. I have not had any experience in cleaning or cooking. The little sewing I can do is for decorative purposes only.”

  Erin glanced behind herself, “But you are quick with a needle, Miss. You could learn to sew a fine gown.”

  Jillian was amazed at what she was hearing, “Do you think it possible?”

  Erin nodded, “And we could teach you other things you need to learn – such as a little housekeeping and some cooking.”

  “Where would I go?” she couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation.

  “My brother, Patrick, has a tailor shop. He’s up in Southam. He wrote to me mum that he would gladly take on a woman who could do some of the sewing for him – that he would be pleased to open a part of the shop for the ladies.”

  Jillian put down her fork, “Is he looking for a wife?”

  “Nay,” Erin laughed, “he is married already, and his wife is a lovely thing.”

  Jillian didn’t even try to hide her relief at that, “Southam is very far away.”

  “Aye. Nearly a hundred miles, I think.”

  Jillian ate another bite, chewing slowly.

  “You should think about it.”

  Jillian did think of it. For three days, she could concentrate on little else. She even attempted a bit of mending Erin brought to her.

  Then her uncle called her to his study, “I have a gentleman caller coming this afternoon. I want you to put on something attractive,” he closed the door behind her and stood close enough that she could smell the brandy on his breath.

  Jillian stepped back, “I’ll go get ready immediately.”

  His laugh sounded sinister, “I don’t think so. Your suitor won’t be here for hours. You and I need to have a little discussion first,” he slid a hand around her waist.

  She swallowed hard, heart pounding.

  “You’ve been a trifle unfriendly to the men I’ve found for you. You seem to think you have all the time in the world to find a husband, but I’m running out of patience.”

  Jillian didn’t like the low tone of his voice.

  “I’m gonna teach you a thing or two about pleasing a man. Then you won’t be so picky.”

  Jillian slid out from under his grasp and backed away from him, “No man will want a woman who has been tainted,” she reminded him.

  He was undaunted, “Who would tell him? Certainly not you – not if you know what’s good for you.”

  Jillian was backed against a wall.

  Please, Lord, she prayed as she watched the man approach, please don’t let him get me.

  She reached behind herself and felt the costly vase that had been her mother’s. Her hand wrapped around it.

  Horace lunged toward her and she lifted the vase up, quickly slamming it down on her uncle’s head.

  A look of surprise passed over his face before he dropped to his knees. He toppled toward Jillian’s legs, the gash in his head already bleeding.

  The woman covered her mouth with her hands, not knowing what to do. She moved away from him, allowing his face to hit the floor.

  Surely she had not killed him. No, she could see his rather irregular breaths moving his chest up and down. Her relief at that was followed by abject terror.

  She hurried from the room, crying out for the housekeeper.

  Mrs. Kern was nearby, fearing the worst. She had seen the master sequester himself in the study with his niece. Now the child was crying out. The old woman hurried down the corridor.

  “Miss Trent,” she pulled the girl into her arms, “it will be fine. You are going to be fine.”

  “No,” the young lady was shaking her head, her eyes nearly bursting from their sockets, “I think he may die.”

  Mrs. Kern pushed past the lady and entered the study. She bit back a scream.

  The butler had heard the commotion and so came to inspect.

  “What happened?”

  Mrs. Kern knew the next moments were critical, “The Miss went in to speak to her uncle and he was lying on the floor.”

  Mr. Lowell looked at the terrified young woman and then back to the older one whose look was daring him to disagree with her.

  He set his jaw and nodded, “I’ll send for the doctor.”

  Mrs. Kern did not bother attending to the injured man, “Let’s get you to your room, Miss. It seems you have had a bit of a shock.”

  Erin was waiting for her, “Why, Miss, you’re as white as a sheet.”

  Mrs. Kern led Jillian to the bed, tucked her in, and then pulled Erin aside to whisper to her.

  “But this mustn’t be shared with others, girl. Only you and I know.”

  The doctor came to see the injured man.

  “He must have been quite drunk to have hit his head so hard,” Mr. Mitchell commented, looking to the butler and the housekeeper.

  Mr. Lowell didn’t bat an eye, “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  “It wasn’t unusual for him to have a little something after he broke the fast,” Mrs. Kern offered.

  The butler appeared to disapprove that comment.

  “He’s going to be fine,” the doctor finally rose from his patient’s side, “he may not come to for a while, but he should be just fine.”

  The butler nodded, but the housekeeper looked more nervous than ever.

  “I think you said his niece found him. Is she well? I would think the sight would overwhelm her.”

  “She is lying down, Mr. Mitchell. It gave her a dreadful scare.”

  He went to the door, “I would like to see her before I leave.”

  Mrs. Kern nodded, “I will see if she is awake.”

  Jillian was awake but was afraid to see the doctor, “What if he realizes what I have done?” the girl was beginning to shake again, “he may tell the constable.”

  “It would seem more suspicious if you did not see him,” Mrs.Kern helped her clean up her face.

  The doctor rose when Miss Trent entered the room, “You appear to be well,” he scrutinized her. “How is your hand?”

  “Better,” she held it up, “I have no swelling now.”

  “Did you . . . were you injured when you found your uncle?”

  She faltered a moment before accepting the truth. He knew.

  “I am uninjured, sir. I thank you for asking.”

  He nodded.

  She wondered if he was going to say more. She began to rise and utter her thanks, but he stopped her.

  “I will be going to Banbury tomorrow – visiting my daughter who was lately married.”

  She frowned at the change in topic.

  “My wife and I have missed her company. She was such a pleasure to have on long trips. I do not know how we shall endure the trip without her.”

  Jillian tried to think of something to say.

  Mrs. Kern jumped in, “Perhaps you could find another young lady to keep you and the missus company for your journey.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed with a smile.

  Mrs. Kern pondered that a moment, “I believe Banbury is in the north. Is it near Southam?”

  “I believe so,” he smiled and rose. “I believe it is very near.”

  CHAPTER 2

  It did not take Jillian long to discover what Mr. Mitchell and Mrs. Kern were up to. The following day, Erin w
aved to her former mistress and friend as that lady rode off with Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell in a carriage bound for Banbury.

  She found the doctor and his wife to be pleasant enough company, but she was so engrossed in her own pain and fear, it was difficult to hold much of a conversation. With every mile that passed, Jillian became more and more worried that the letter with which Erin had armed her would not be enough to secure a position with Patrick O’Toole.

  “You are afraid,” Mrs. Mitchell observed as they prepared to leave the inn the second morning of their journey.

  “I am trying to trust that God has a plan for me,” she began, “but I admit I have not the skills for the position they hope. There truly is no reason for Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole to take me in.”

  “Erin was quite adamant that you find a way to get to her brother. I think she will have conveyed that eagerness in her letter.”

  Jillian had nothing to worry about. Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole welcomed her with open arms. Marianne was delighted to have another woman around as she generally encountered only her husband, her four sons, and her husband’s male clientele.

  “I canna’ tell you what a blessing you are to me, Miss,” Marianne said as they sat sewing together. “I love me boys, but they dinna care about conversation – they talk in grunts and shrugs.”

  “It is I who am blessed, Marianne, but I do wish you would refrain from calling me ‘miss.’ I am a guest in your home, your hired hand.”

  “I’m sorry, Jillian,” Marianne tried out the name again, “but you look too much the lady for anyone to believe you’re one of us.”

  Jillian’s brows drew together, “Whatever can you mean? I am wearing one of your old gowns, you have helped me to arrange my hair to a more suitable style.”

  Marianne laughed, “Begging your pardon Mi – Jillian, but the dress is not altering your way of standing or of turning your head. Even if you could fool us with the way you look, your way of speaking would give you away.”

  Jillian could not determine how to respond.

  “You dinna need to fear this, Jillian,” Marianne’s hand was soft on the younger woman’s arm. “You are too far north for anyone to find you here.”

  Jillian hoped this was the case.

  “Though you are a gentlewoman, you have the talent of a seasoned dressmaker. That collar is lovely.”