THE LEGEND OF NIMWAY HALL_1750_JACQUELINE Read online

  The Legend of Nimway Hall

  1750: Jacqueline

  Stephanie Laurens

  Savdek Management

  This e-book is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This e-book may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE LEGEND OF NIMWAY HALL

  1750: JACQUELINE

  Copyright © 2018 by Savdek Management Proprietary Limited

  ISBN: 978-1-925559-08-8

  Cover design by Savdek Management Pty. Ltd.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Savdek Management Proprietary Limited, Melbourne, Australia.

  www.stephanielaurens.com

  Email: [email protected]

  The name Stephanie Laurens is a registered trademark of Savdek Management Proprietary Ltd.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1750: Jacqueline

  The Legend of Nimway Hall

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Stephanie Laurens

  About the Author

  1750: Jacqueline

  #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens brings you the opening story in a series of romances touched by magic as old as time.

  A gentleman fleeing the bonds of loveless marriage and a lady in desperate need of a champion join forces to defend an ancient legacy.

  Jacqueline Tregarth, lady and guardian of Nimway Hall, is devoted to protecting her people, the Hall, the estate’s wood, and its farms. She yearns for a husband to help her meet the challenges, but all those seeking her hand are interested only in controlling her lands. With the estate’s stream running dry and summer looming, she sets men digging to reopen an old spring. Her workers discover a dirt-encrusted ornament buried at the spot; once removed, water flows and fills the old lake—and Jacqueline realizes the ornament is some kind of ancient orb.

  Meanwhile, Lord Richard Devries, overly-eligible darling of the ton, fights free of kidnappers seeking to force him to offer for some lady’s hand. But on escaping into the countryside, he gets lost in Balesboro Wood and stumbles on a covert scheme to divert a stream. Later, he finds his way to Nimway Hall, where the household is celebrating a spring running again.

  Richard is welcomed and meets the fascinating Miss Tregarth. That his youthful hostess is disinclined to bat her lashes at him piques his interest, yet after his recent experiences, he feels safe in her company—for him, an unusual and comforting experience. Indeed, everything about Nimway Hall is calming and soothing.

  Then Richard makes the connection between what he saw in the wood and the Hall’s recent water shortage and leads Jacqueline and her men to the diversion in the wood. Subsequently, he learns of the various men pursuing Jacqueline, and recognizes the danger to her and to the Hall. Although self-protective instinct presses him to travel on, his lamed horse has yet to recover, and despite all inner warnings, Richard feels compelled to step into the role of a supportive protector.

  Aided and abetted by the household, the estate community, Balesboro Wood, and the ancient orb, propinquity works its magic, seducing Richard with a role into which he and his talents fit perfectly, and tempting Jacqueline to hope that her champion has finally found his way to her side. If the tales told of those snared by Balesboro Wood and sent to the Hall are true, then…

  Yet true love never runs smoothly, and both Richard and Jacqueline must search within, embrace their destinies, and find the courage to seize their heart’s one true desire—all just in time to foil a dastardly plan that would wreck all they and the Hall’s people hold dear.

  First in series. A historical novel of 73,000 words interweaving romance, mystery, and magic.

  Praise for the works of Stephanie Laurens

  “Stephanie Laurens’ heroines are marvelous tributes to Georgette Heyer: feisty and strong.” Cathy Kelly

  “Stephanie Laurens never fails to entertain and charm her readers with vibrant plots, snappy dialogue, and unforgettable characters.” Historical Romance Reviews

  “Stephanie Laurens plays into readers’ fantasies like a master and claims their hearts time and again.” Romantic Times Magazine

  Praise for The Legend of Nimway Hall – 1750: Jacqueline

  “A romance fueled by more than one kind of magic, The Legend of Nimway Hall (1750: Jacqueline) is an utterly spellbinding tale.” Angela M., Copy Editor, Red Adept Editing

  “Mystical, historical, and entirely romantic, The Legend of Nimway Hall (1750: Jacqueline) will draw you in and captivate you as only a true love story can. Never has there been a more perfect pair than Jacqueline and Richard. Their tale is one for the ages.” Amanda K., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing

  “Stephanie Laurens gives another delightful tour of the eighteenth-century English countryside, manners, mysteries, magic, mirth, and all.” Kim H., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing

  THE LEGEND OF NIMWAY HALL

  A love invested with mystery and magic sends ripples through the ages.

  Long ago in a cave obscured by the mists of time, Nimue, a powerful sorceress and Merlin’s beloved, took the energy of their passion and wove it into a potent love spell. Intending the spell to honor their love and enshrine it in immortality, she merged the spell into the large moonstone in the headpiece of Merlin’s staff. Thus, when Merlin was far from her, he still carried the aura of their love with him and, so they both believed, the moonstone would act as a catalyst for true love, inciting and encouraging love to blossom in the hearts of those frequently in the presence of the stone.

  Sadly, neither Merlin nor Nimue, despite all their power, foresaw the heart of Lancelot. A minor adept, he sensed both the presence of the spell in the moonstone and also the spell’s immense power. Driven by his own desires, Lancelot stole the headpiece and used the moonstone’s power to sway Guinevere to his side.

  Furious that the spell crafted from the pure love of his and his beloved’s hearts had been misused, Merlin smote Lancelot and seized back the headpiece. To protect it forevermore, Merlin laid upon the stone a web of control that restricted its power. Henceforth, it could act only in response to a genuine need for true love, and only when that need impacted one of his and Nimue’s blood, no matter how distant.

  Ultimately, Merlin sent the headpiece back to Nimue for safe keeping. As the Lady of the Lake, at that time, she lived in a cottage on an island surrounded by swiftly flowing streams, and it was in her power to see and watch over their now-dispersed offspring.

  Time passed, and even those of near-immortality faded and vanished.

  The land about Nimue’s cottage drained, and the region eventually became known as Somerset.

  Generations came and went, but crafted of spelled gold, the headpiece endured and continued to hold and protect the timeless moonstone imbued with Nimue’s and Merlin’s spells…

  Over time, a house, crafted of soun
d local stone and timbers from the surrounding Balesboro Wood, was built on the site of Nimue’s cottage. The house became known as Nimway Hall. From the first, the house remained in the hands and in the care of a female descendant of Nimue, on whom devolved the responsibilities of guardian of Nimway Hall. As decades and then centuries passed, the tradition was established that in each generation, the title of and responsibility for the house and associated estate passed to the eldest living and willing daughter of the previous female holder of the property, giving rise to the line of the Guardians of Nimway Hall.

  THE GUARDIANS OF NIMWAY HALL

  Nimue - Merlin

  .

  Through the mists of time

  .

  1720: Moira

  (to come)

  .

  1750: Jacqueline

  by Stephanie Laurens - available now

  .

  1771: Olivia

  (to come)

  .

  1794: Charlotte

  by Karen Hawkins - available now

  .

  1818: Isabel

  by Suzanne Enoch - available now

  .

  1839: Miranda

  (to come)

  .

  1862: Georgia

  (to come)

  .

  1888: Alexandra

  (by Victoria Alexander; to come)

  .

  1912: Fredericka

  (to come)

  .

  1926: Maddie Rose

  (By Susan Andersen; to come)

  .

  1940: Jocelyn

  by Linda Needham - available now

  Chapter 1

  June 6, 1750, Nimway Hall, Somerset

  “Miss! Miss! You got to come and see!”

  Caught in the act of crossing the great hall, Jacqueline Tregarth swung to face the front door, propped wide to let the sunshine stream in, just as Billy Brakes, one of the gardener’s boys, came pelting in. “What is it, Billy?” Eyes widening, she walked toward him. “Has something gone wrong?”

  Billy halted, wheezed, and shook his head. After a second, he managed, “The digging’s going fine, miss. But Crawley’s working over where the dowser says the spring should be, and he—Crawley—says as you need to come and take a look.”

  She frowned. “A look at what?” The Hall’s groundsmen were digging out the bed of an old lake that had been allowed to dry up thirty years ago, as well as striking down to open up the spring that used to fill the lake. Over the recent winter and spring, the stream that had provided water to the house and most of the estate for the past thirty years had steadily failed; it was now not much more than a trickle. In that region, water was known to change its course, sometimes with little warning, but with summer in full swing and the first crops ripening in the lower fields, the estate desperately needed a good, reliable source of water, especially to drive the estate’s mill.

  “I dunno, miss.” Billy blinked guileless blue eyes at her. “I think they hit a lump of something. Crawley just said to come and get you so you could look and decide what you wanted to do.”

  A lump of something? Jacqueline glanced down the great hall, but none of the tasks awaiting her couldn’t be put off. “Very well. I’ll come.” She waved Billy ahead of her, picked up her skirts, and followed him out of the front door, down the steps, and onto the gravel path that led around the eastern side of the house.

  Neat, well-tended lawns rolled away to the line of trees marking the edge of the wood that protected the Hall in an arc from the southwest through the east to the north. Bees buzzed in the lavender bushes bordering the path, and the sun, still high in a cloudless blue sky, shone down with welcome warmth.

  As she followed Billy past the corner of the house and onto the wide north lawn, Jacqueline reflected that she really should have stopped to find a hat—freckles were thoroughly unfashionable. The thought made her grin. Being fashionable didn’t feature on her list of aspirations. Leading her people and taking care of the Hall and the estate were all that really mattered to her.

  The lake lay a hundred or so yards behind the house, in the northeastern quadrant of the area the household deemed “the grounds.” A narrow path of beaten earth followed the low berm that circled the wide, shallow lake.

  At various points on the lake bed, in groups of two and three, men were working with shovels and wheelbarrows, removing the soft earth that had once been underwater. Jacqueline paused to survey the results of their efforts; they’d done a good job of deepening the lake in preparation for releasing the blocked spring. The men saw her and paused, raising their heads and looking expectantly her way; she smiled and nodded in approval and encouragement, then continued walking. The Hall’s gardener, Crawley, was waiting at the far end of the lake with Mr. Mainard, the dowser she’d called in.

  As Jacqueline neared, she saw that Crawley was standing over a deeper hole into which both he and the dowser kept glancing. She halted on the path nearby and arched her brows at Crawley; Billy had rejoined the nearest group of men. “Billy said you found something.”

  “Yes, indeed, miss.” Crawley lumbered over to offer her his hand and steady her down the slope of the bank to the lake bed. “Seemed a bit odd, so before we went further, I wanted you to look and tell us what you think.”

  Gripping Crawley’s gnarled hand, Jacqueline raised her skirts and went down in a controlled rush. She was relieved to find the earth firm enough beneath her leather-soled slippers. She released Crawley’s hand and her skirts and walked over to the deeper hole.

  On the other side of the hole, Mainard frowned into its depths and shifted from boot to boot. He glanced at her, bobbed his head respectfully, then looked down again. “This is the right place. I’d take my oath the spring is down there.”

  She halted at the edge of the hole and looked in. At first, all she saw was a hole several feet deep and a yard or so square, its floor and sides composed of rich, friable earth. Then she caught a gleam of something beneath the dirt in the center of the hole. She crouched and stared. “What is that?”

  “It’s a stone of some sort.” With a grunt, Crawley dropped back into the hole, his boots landing well clear of the object. “I just glanced it with my shovel, then I thought it best to wait and get your orders.”

  Country folk were superstitious, and the locals of this county, and especially those on the Nimway Hall estate, were wary of disturbing unexpected finds. Local legends too often carried warnings of dire consequences.

  “What, exactly, is it?” She couldn’t make out the object’s size or even the material from which it was made. “Brush away the dirt, and let’s see.”

  Crawley took a rag from his pocket and bent and cautiously wiped away the first layer of dirt, then the next, revealing the upper surface of what appeared to be a smooth, pale, milky stone.

  Jacqueline caught the glint of metal—brass, copper, or gold—like fingertips holding the stone. “It looks like some sort of ornament.” She studied it, then caught Crawley’s eye. “Can you test around it to see how big it is or whether it’s attached to something larger, then see if we can lever it up? Preferably without damaging it.”

  Crawley studied the lump, then grunted. He straightened, looked out over the lake, then bellowed to another of his lads, “Matthew! Fetch me a trowel.”

  Jacqueline rose from her crouch. Crawley bent again to the buried ornament and carefully felt in the dirt around it.

  Mainard looked troubled. “I swear, Miss Tregarth, that the spring is down there.” He pointed at the object Crawley was tending. “If I had to be precise, I’d say it’s right below that spot. And before you ask, that ornament, whatever it is, couldn’t have distracted my dowsing. I only react to water, nothing else.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find the spring, Mr. Mainard—I don’t doubt that.” She gave him a reassuring smile; he was the best dowser in the area and came with an excellent reputation. “I have no idea why that ornament was buried there, but if we need to remove
it to get to the spring, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Mainard continued to frown. “I can’t imagine why anyone would bury such a thing on top of a spring—on the spot a spring used to be.”

  Nor could she, but she wasn’t about to allow any object, no matter how unexpected or strange, to keep her people from the water they needed.

  By the time Matthew came running with a trowel, Crawley had cleared around the ornament—a smooth, roundish stone, about the size of a man’s fist, trapped and held in claws of some burnished metal.

  Crawley took the trowel, crouched beside the dirt-encrusted lump, and carefully inserted the trowel’s blade at an angle such that it would strike well below the object.

  They all watched with bated breath.

  The trowel sank smoothly in to the hilt.

  Crawley grunted. He tried again from a different angle with the same result. “Right, then.” He glanced up at Jacqueline. “Looks like it’s not stuck to anything—we should be able to free it.”

  She nodded at him to proceed.

  Five minutes later, Crawley waggled the trowel one last time, and the dirty lump rolled free. Crawley rose, handed the trowel to the waiting Matthew, then, once again, drew the rag from his pocket. This time, he handed it to Jacqueline. “Here.”

  She took the rag, then Crawley bent and carefully lifted the ball of dirt enclosing the stone and the structure housing it. He held it up, then turned and offered it to her.