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    Swept Away
    Swept Away
    Swept Away
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Swept Away

    By Kristina Cook

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    About this ebook

    Winner, Best Novella, 2009 National Readers' Choice Awards

    Now available for the first time as a digital stand-alone novella!

    When vivacious Christobel Smyth is forced to attend her matchmaking sister's annual house party, she realizes that there may be more--much, much more--to brooding mill-owner John Leyden than she first supposed. Once ignited, their passion cannot be ignored, but is it enough to bridge the enormous social gulf that separates them?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKristina Cook
    Release dateJun 14, 2016
    ISBN9781310923111
    Swept Away
    Author

    Kristina Cook

    Kristina Cook is the author of more than a dozen books for adults and teens, ranging from historical and NASCAR romance to paranormal and contemporary young adult fiction (also writing as Kristi Astor and Kristi Cook). Since the publication of her first novel in 2004, her books (with Kensington/Zebra Books, Harlequin Books, and Simon & Schuster) have hit national bestseller lists, landed on bookseller association lists, and won awards, including the National Reader's Choice Award.When she’s not writing a book or reading a book, she’s probably online somewhere, talking about a book. Kristina lives in New York City with her husband and two daughters, but in the summer months escapes with them to sunny Miami, where she lounges on the beach and teaches creative writing classes at Miami-Dade College.

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      Book preview

      Swept Away - Kristina Cook

      Chapter 1

      H e’s like Mr. Rochester and...and—Christobel searched her mind for a proper literary example—and Mr. Darcy, all rolled into one brooding, supercilious parcel. Yes, that was it. Precisely. Without the redeeming characteristics, of course, she added with a sigh.

      Come now, Christobel, her mother scolded. Don’t be so dramatic. Mr. Leyden isn’t as bad as that. She paused, chewing on her lower lip as she often did when dissembling.

      Christobel gave her mother a knowing look. Isn’t he?

      Well, even if he is, she relented, he’s Jasper’s cousin and you must endure his company with good grace. I won’t have you acting childish and snippy—

      I’ve never been anything but pleasant to Mr. Leyden, Mother. But goodness, you must admit he’s a terrible bore.

      In all the years they’d been acquainted, she’d tried to see past his deficiencies—his brooding silences and arrogant attitude coupled with his common birth and an ever-so-slight yet discernible limp—to find something to admire. Yet for all her trying, she’d found nothing in his character to merit more than a passing interest.

      This never failed to puzzle her, as he was exactly the type of specimen she was often drawn to. Never could she walk past a starved dog or a bird with a broken wing and not take such a creature into her heart, to see to its care and comfort as best she could. Yet for Mr. Leyden, her brother-in-law’s most devoted cousin, she felt nothing more than a vague annoyance.

      Perhaps, Christobel realized, it was because Mr. Leyden made his disapproval of her so very evident. How many evenings had she suffered beneath his stare, his brow raised in censure as he watched her across the room while she laughed and coquetted? As if such activities—laughing and coquetting—were inappropriate behaviors for a young lady of her situation.

      Christobel sighed heavily as she glanced out the train’s sooty window, the autumn colors blurring into a glorious canvas of reds and golds. What else was an unmarried girl to do at a house party but flirt and enjoy oneself? She shook her head, plucking absently at the folds of her skirt, wishing the train were taking her anywhere but to Edith and Jasper’s home—and Mr. Leyden’s unavoidable company.

      Don’t frown, dear. It isn’t good for your complexion.

      Christobel shifted her gaze from the window back to her mother, seated directly across from her in the train’s compartment. Beside her mother sat Simpson, her head tilted at an awkward angle as she dozed, snoring softly.

      How does she sleep so soundly, with all this noise and activity? her mother asked with a smile.

      Dear, dear Mother, who never frowned despite the misfortune that had plagued them since Father’s death. Indeed, the woman had smiled in the face of the insurmountable debt and near financial ruin her husband had left behind.

      Her mother’s smile hadn’t faded as they’d been forced to sell off their furnishings and leave the only homes Christobel had ever known—their lovely country estate in Surrey and their town house in Wickham Road.

      And now they were reduced to this—rented flats in London during the summer season, and traveling from one of Christobel’s three sisters’ homes to the next for the remainder of the year.

      The only servant they’d been able to keep on was the ever-loyal Simpson, who had been their housekeeper but now served as lady’s maid, housekeeper, and sometimes cook, at least when they were in London.

      The situation was mortifying at best, almost enough to make Christobel wish to marry, simply so she could have a place to call home. Of course, it wasn’t as if she had many options, as far as her future was concerned. She could either marry, or continue to remain the spinster sister, forced to rely on the charity of her siblings and their husbands.

      She wasn’t entirely opposed to marriage, of course. It was just that their funds had been limited, especially after Father’s death. They’d not been able to afford a true season for her, not after the expense of putting out three girls before her. By now she’d become almost complacent, used to her mother’s companionship. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, the two of them. No man of her acquaintance had inspired her to change her course, not yet.

      Whom do you suppose Edith has invited this year? asked her mother. She’s always so clever with her guest list.

      Clever? Christobel couldn’t help but laugh. She’s shrewd, is what she is. Almost mercenary."

      Her mother nodded, a smile of satisfaction on her face. Successful matches that led to marriages three years in a row now, isn’t it? Your sister is becoming a legend.

      There must be a better use for such talents, Christobel muttered uncharitably, then instantly regretted it.

      After all, with what else had her sister to occupy herself, living so far north where genteel company was hard to come by? Poor Edith.

      Of course, she could not blame Jasper for the misfortune of his place of birth. After all, Hadley Hall was a nice enough estate and would be more than tolerable were it located in, say, Kent or Surrey or Dorset rather than Lancashire.

      Dull, gloomy Lancashire, where mills and factories often dulled the sky to gray. Part of Jasper’s family’s fortune had been made in the mills—cotton mills, to be precise. Unfortunate, yes, but there had been enough good breeding in Jasper Hadley’s lineage to make him an acceptable groom for Edith, nonetheless.

      Indeed, Jasper was a dear, a worthy match for Edith. If only... Christobel let the thought trail off. No use wishing the impossible. Her mother had done the best she could after Father’s death. A wave of guilt washed over her, shaming her. She should be grateful for her sister and brother-in-law’s generosity. Yet she could not help the feeling of unease that crept into her heart as the train chugged northward.

      She glanced at the watch she wore on a thin, gold chain around her neck, then dropped it back against her blouse.

      Across the train’s compartment, her mother smiled at her—a warm, fond smile. Why don’t you sleep, dear? We’ve still a ways to go before we reach Manchester.

      A weary Christobel nodded. Indeed, hours of travel still lay ahead. Nearly two hours remained till they reached Manchester, and then they must change for the Oldham Loop to Cranford, where Jasper would fetch them and drive them the short distance to Hadley Hall.

      Too tired to read the volume of poetry that lay on the seat beside her, she closed her eyes and allowed the train’s rhythmic movements to lull her into a dreamless sleep.

      And Mr. Godey has requested a room next to Lady Margaret’s, so I’ll put him here.

      Good heavens, Edith! However can you keep it all straight? Christobel shook her head in amazement as Edith laid down the last of the cards on the table before them—each

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