Bound with Love

Riptide Publishing

PO Box 6652

Hillsborough, NJ 08844

www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

Bound with Love

Copyright © 2015 by Megan Mulry

Smashwords Edition

Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

Editors: Sarah Frantz Lyons, Delphine Dryden

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

Photography: Jenn LeBlanc/Illustrated Romance

Any people featured on the cover are models and used for illustrative purposes only.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-263-9

First edition

June, 2015

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A perfect life—until one letter threatens to unravel it all.

Lady Vanessa Cambury, Marchioness of Camburton, adores her life of bucolic contentment with her partner, acclaimed portrait painter Nora White. Together, they have raised two children from Vanessa’s first marriage and built a home filled with purpose, ease, happiness, and passion—always passion.

But when Nora receives word that the child she lost twenty years ago is alive and in England, ancient heartache threatens to destroy their idyll.

To salvage their love, they must come to a deeper understanding of who they are—in the world, and to one another. Nora must learn to overcome the dark shadows of her past. Vanessa must learn to put others’ needs before her own. And Nora’s stubborn daughter must find it in her heart to forgive the mother she thought abandoned her. This unconventional family must rely on the powerful links of love and mercy to bind them back together.

About Bound with Love

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Author's Note

Acknowledgments

Also by Megan Mulry

About the Author

More like this

Camburton Castle, Derbyshire – July 1810

The Dowager Duchess of Mandeville would like to commission a portrait of her son with his new wife and baby. Vanessa’s voice held its usual businesslike tone as she read through their correspondence, but this particular bit of news was laced with a touch of humor.

Nora smiled as she loaded her paintbrush with the rich blue she’d just mixed to add depth to the satin folds of Eliza Courtney’s dress. Poor Farleigh finally relented, has he? Given up the boys for good? She applied the paint to the canvas and worked it lightly.

Vanessa hummed as she read the rest of the letter, half to herself, but also to let Nora know she was there. Would always be there. Nora adored the sound of that hum, for it embodied everything lovely about the life the two of them had built over the past twenty years. That hum promised a future, acknowledged the past. The hum was usually accompanied by a gentle hand on Nora’s shoulder or the back of her neck, but never when Nora was painting.

While the outside world lauded Nora as the creative force between the two of them—the accomplished painter, the prolific artist—if it were not for Vanessa’s faith in her abilities, Vanessa’s confident nature prodding her on, Nora would still be . . .

Well, it didn’t bear considering where Nora White would still be were it not for Vanessa Montagu Cambury, Marchioness of Camburton, Force of Nature. For Vanessa, life was full of promise and always had been. Even at her darkest moments, when her dashing young husband died at sea and left her bereft—with their new twins and his old money—Vanessa had peered through the mist of loss to the lifetime of possibilities that lay before her. A devoted single mother and successful independent businesswoman by the time she was twenty-five, Vanessa refused to be daunted by mere circumstances such as death.

For Nora, circumstances had always been far more . . . daunting. She tried to stop her mind from wandering into the darker moments of her past. The month of May had pitched her into a terrible spell of sadness—as always—and she wasn’t about to let herself get dragged back into that frame of mind on this beautiful July morning. What was done was done, she told herself, giving Eliza’s dress an extra swipe of the sultry blue.

Vanessa rested her palm against Nora’s nape.

Darling, I beg you, Nora huffed good-naturedly, as much as I crave your touch, you mustn’t pet me while I’m working—

Put your brush down. Vanessa’s voice bore no resemblance to the lighthearted cadence of a moment before.

What is it? Nora turned her attention from Eliza’s portrait, holding the brush aloft a few inches from the canvas. She only needed a few more strokes to make that bit of fabric fall precisely the way she wanted, and if the paint dried, the opportunity would be lost. I’m working—

Farleigh has married a Spanish girl.

A prickle of awareness traveled up Nora’s arms, and she had to hold the paintbrush tighter, lest she drop it on the extravagant carpet. Vanessa squeezed the base of her neck for moral support, and then massaged the skin with a few passes of her thumb.

Put the paintbrush down, Nora.

Nora did as she was told, moving in slow motion, her ears pounding, the air around her becoming thick and murky; she was drowning.

Come sit with me, darling. Vanessa helped her up and the two of them settled on the bright red satin chaise. It was an absurd purchase Vanessa had made in London a few years ago, insisting an artist’s studio simply had to contain a tawdry red satin chaise. Despite its egregious color and rococo gilt frame—or maybe because of it—the two of them spent many hours lounging against the luxurious fabric in one another’s arms.

Vanessa positioned Nora so they could both read the letter at the same time, with her petite frame settled in the familiar curve of Vanessa’s lap. Ever since Nora was eighteen, to Vanessa’s twenty-five, she had fit against the other woman like a delicate robin’s egg in its nest. Safe.

Even though the piece of paper was right in front of her, Nora’s eyes were already swimming and she wasn’t able to focus on the letters. Please. Be a love and read it aloud for me. She finally shut her eyes.

Vanessa took a deep breath and pulled Nora tighter against the protection of her body. Well, here at the beginning, it’s all the usual charming blather about what a divine artist you are and how busy you must be . . . and then . . . yes, here it is, the duchess goes on to say: ‘Farleigh has finally fulfilled my greatest wish and provided me with a splendid grandson upon whom I may lavish all my undiluted love. He is a rascal already, at one year, very much like his father, creating mischief—and a devoted following—wherever he goes. I think this is the best time to capture him on canvas, and I also think you would enjoy meeting the rest of Farleigh’s family.’ She’s underlined that bit, you see, Vanessa amended.

Nora tried to keep breathing. What does she mean by ‘the rest of Farleigh’s family’? The wife?

Vanessa inhaled and then continued, Well, that’s the rub. Here’s the interesting part. ‘I hope you will not think me impertinent, and it is only because I was such a close friend of your Uncle Fitz and feel myself able to speak honestly about your circumstances, that I am taking such a liberty. Farleigh has married a lovely Spanish woman named Pia Carvajal. I believe they are quite in love with one another, as much as a mother can gauge such things, and as much as Farleigh can love anyone. They also live in very close proximity with another couple. They are two happy families who spend much of their time together, as far as the outside world is concerned. But I believe they are one family, if you take my meaning—which, again, only because I presume to know your own liberal beliefs on the subject, do I believe you will take . . . my meaning, that is. I would like all six of them in the portrait, you see. Farleigh, Pia, and their son, Teddy, along with Sebastian, Anna, and their daughter, Dolores. Perhaps at a picnic or by a river, something bucolic and natural, as they all seem to thrive in the outdoors. No drawing room, please. I’m sure Nora will envision something appropriate and divine without much prodding from me, as she did eight years ago for my late husband’s portrait, which hangs above the mantle in the room where I am writing this.’

Nora’s breathing was shallow and her mind hazy, but she tried to follow the rambling nature of the old woman’s letter. Please finish, Vanessa. I’m not sure I can tolerate much more.

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