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    Treasure Beyond Words
    Treasure Beyond Words
    Treasure Beyond Words
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Treasure Beyond Words

    By Heather King

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    About this ebook

    Having trusted the wrong man, bluestocking Miss Amelia Burcott is forced to seek employment as a governess in order to support herself and hide from the polite world. Little does she suspect, when she joins the household of the Earl of Raftesbury, that her new employer has a secret as great as her own and has need of a special woman to help him conquer his past.

    Hugo Marchbanks, son of the Earl of Raftesbury, had never expected to succeed to his father’s title with two hale and hearty brothers before him. Yet following the wars with the French, he returns to the family estate not only in that position, but guardian to seven children. Somewhat nervous of feminine company, Hugo finds himself drawn to Amelia in a way unprecedented in his life before. She is quiet and restful, yet he detects a mischievous sense of humour. Then an excursion with the children reopens an old wound and he finds himself blurting out his secret...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHeather King
    Release dateOct 20, 2015
    ISBN9781311587985
    Treasure Beyond Words
    Author

    Heather King

    I am an author with a passion for history and in particular the Regency. I have my own voice, but I like to follow traditional Regency precepts and pen uplifting stories with flowing prose, witty dialogue, engaging characters and bags of emotion -- following with tiny steps in the magnificent wake of Georgette Heyer.I live in a beautiful rural part of the UK and share my home with various life forms, including two ponies, three cats and a rescued 'Staffie' X. When I am not writing, I enjoy long walks with my dog, watching costume dramas and curling up with a good book.From a small child, I have loved to write - and dream. In my bedroom I had a wallpaper with flower-edged squares - just perfect for writing my 'news'. I don't think my mother was very impressed, although I don't recall any major consequences.I discovered Georgette Heyer in my early teens and in my opinion, there are few in the modern era who come close, let alone match her in the Regency genre. We can but aspire, as a friend once said! At this stage my writing career took a back seat when my passion for horses led me off in another direction.My debut novel was 'A Sense of the Ridiculous', a traditional Regency Romance released originally by Musa Publishing and now re-released with a new cover.

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      Book preview

      Treasure Beyond Words - Heather King

      Treasure Beyond Words

      Heather King

      TREASURE WITHOUT WORDS

      Heather King

      Copyright © Heather King, 2015

      Smashwords Edition Published by Temeford Press

      All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

      This e-book is a work of fiction. References to historical events or personages, or actual places, are used fictitiously. The names of other characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any persons, living or dead, businesses, or events. Any similarity is entirely coincidental.

      This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

      Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table Of Contents

      Dedication

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      About the Author

      Dedication

      I should like to dedicate this book to all the people who have helped me on my writing journey so far. Thank you so much. I would not be here without you.

      Prologue

      Ouch!

      In spite of having braced himself and repeated his favourite passage from A General History of the Pyrates over and over in his head, Hugo Marchbanks could not prevent an exclamation of pain slipping from his lips as the birch switch sliced across his palm. At once, a long red weal rose on his youthful, pale pink skin. He flinched when the cruel cane struck his hand a second time, then twice and thrice more besides, but managed not to cry out again. Biting his lip against the agony from his throbbing palm, he pressed his back into the hard edge of his scratched oak desk and stared at the cold grey wall of the schoolroom.

      This beard was black, which he suffered to grow at an extravagant length – as to breadth, it came up to his eyes; he was accustomed to twist it with ribbons, in small tails… He chanted the familiar words with his inner voice as much in rebellion as an antidote to the pain.

      He was, as was customary at this early hour, alone with the tyrant, out of earshot of the rest of the household in the west wing. His elder brother Arthur would not be joining them until ten of the clock and besides, no-one would take his part against the priest. It was because his father believed that Hugo was defiant and lazy that he had to begin his lessons two hours earlier than his siblings. He had tried to explain, but his father had refused to listen.

      There is the Devil in ye, Master Hugo and he must be beaten from your flesh!

      The black-garbed priest, Father Bertram, who was tutor to all the Earl of Raftesbury’s younger sons, was spare of frame and pale of countenance, but wore two mottled flags of reddish purple upon his cheek bones. His thin lips compressed tightly together, he leaned over Hugo and glared, the switch quivering in his clenched fist. The veins showed through the parchment skin on the back of his hand like the rivers winding across the maps he forced Hugo to study and his thin shoulders were hunched, almost reaching his ears, which protruded from his head, giving him the appearance of a jug. He reminded Hugo of a malevolent crow, with his ebony robes; oily, pock-marked flesh and beady eyes.

      Hugo knew better than to attempt to defend himself as the priest launched into the familiar tirade.

      Ye be an arrogant, insolent idler, Master Hugo. You leave me no choice but to thrash you. Do you think I enjoy striking you? He paused, but Hugo was not about to confirm the rhetorical question, even if he was convinced it were true. It is my duty to rid you of this unholy Diabolus which resides within you. You knew full well you were to learn ten pages of Greek verbs and recite them this morning. Your sloth and lack of proper industry with regard your lessons can only be the work of Satan. ’Tis fortunate you will never inherit your esteemed father’s title and estates, with two brothers before you. Indeed, ’tis likely that a good-for-naught such as you will end up in the fires of eternal damnation, for it is certain you must have been replaced at birth by the spawn of Beelzebub! Spittle decorated Father Bertram’s lips as his voice rose and rose to a crescendo until he screeched the final words.

      The dreaded switch slashed across Hugo’s cheek, blood splattering the book he was holding. Rage such as he had never known before scorched his bloodstream, spewing through him as the lava had burst forth from Mount Vesuvius.

      "You are Satan!" he shrieked, his childish treble shaking with pure hatred. Shoving the priest hard in the chest, he twisted around the man’s flailing grasp as he tumbled to the floor and fled the room.

      Chapter One

      Hugo came to an abrupt halt at the threshold of the schoolroom. The solid oak door stood ajar and from within came the happy chatter of his nephews and nieces. He should be pleased – he was pleased. He had sworn, had he not, that no child should suffer in this house as he had suffered, in the name of education? Nevertheless, he could not prevent a stab of envy for their joyful learning as the memories he thought he had locked in the tower of life’s experience jumped over the ramparts to besiege him.

      He stepped backwards. He could not do it. He had thought that after all these years the memories would have faded; that the pain and humiliation he had endured beyond the portal before him would have sunk beneath all the horrors he had experienced during the wars with France.

      Those vivid impressions had not abated one whit, but no sooner had he come face to face with the prospect of once more entering that dread chamber, than all the intolerance and cruelty visited upon his ten-year-old self had come flooding back. Without thinking, he lifted his right hand to finger the thin white scar on his cheek. Emitting a tiny, involuntary exclamation of self-disgust, he clenched those same fingers into a fist and struck the door jamb with sufficient force to graze his knuckles.

      Shaking his hand, he turned to leave. He would send up the housekeeper with his apologies for the new governess. The children would forgive him. Even as regret stung him beneath his ribs, a clear, cool voice, hardly raised above a normal pitch, yet possessing a note which commanded attention, lifted above the shrill babble.

      You may put your drawings to one side, now, children. We will return to them tomorrow. Harriet, please will you fetch the slates from the cupboard?

      Something unfurled in Hugo’s stomach at the sound of the governess’ voice. The housekeeper had assured him the woman was no flighty miss, nor yet a life-worn spinster with no sense of fun, but a sensible female with the air of a lady. That might well be true, but her voice called to

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