Duke of Rothermere
Castonbury Park
Harry,
It is with much regret that I must admit we have wasted precious time in the hunt for the truth. What might have become of Jamie is still unclear and our family name remains in tatters. What was once a powerful dynasty is fast crumbling around us and I fear that we may have to give in to the demands of the woman who calls herself Jamie’s wife.
Harry, I beg of you to stop the rot which is fast taking over the Montagues and discover once and for all what has happened to Jamie. Time is, as ever, of the essence, and I urge you from the bottom of my heart not to find any distractions along the way …
Yours hopefully,
Father
About the Author
JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination and she has travelled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles. Visit Joanna’s website at www.joannafulford.co.uk
Previous novels by the same author:
THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE
THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS
THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE
THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?
Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Redemption of a Fallen Woman
Joanna Fulford
For the Old Guard in Madrid
Chapter One
Elena Ruiz stared out of the window letting her gaze range across the rooftops of the city towards the open countryside and thence to the foothills of the Sierra de Guadarrama, shimmering in a dusty haze. Out there, beyond the jumble of pantiled slopes and chimneys, lay freedom. It was an emotive word. Her fellow countrymen and women had spent eight long years freeing themselves from the French invaders. She had played her part in that, and gladly too. When the conflict ended she desired no more than to live a quiet country life, but such freedom was not permitted women of noble birth. For them the choice was simple: marriage or the cloister.
Betrothal had taken place in a past life when she had been a different person. Young, naive and hopeful she had never questioned her pre-ordained role. The war had seemed far off then. It had caught up with her eventually, of course. As a result marriage was out of the question. No man of good family would want her now. In any case the thought of intimacy filled her with dread. Men did not touch her and the only one foolish enough to try had found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Even then it took a bullet crease in his arm to convince him she wasn’t bluffing. The incident was sufficient to keep the rest at a respectful distance. Memories were another matter. By day, useful employment kept them at bay but at night the dreams still returned, less often now but no less violent for that. She would never be entirely free of those. Her hands clenched at her sides and she turned away from the window to resume her slow pacing of the floor.
Her companion surveyed her keenly. Although of a similar age to Elena, her dress revealed her to be of the household servant class. In spite of unfashionable olive skin, her face with its high cheekbones and pointed chin was not ill-looking, though the mouth was too large for conventional beauty. However, the dark eyes were shrewd and intelligent and, just now, expressive of concern.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know, Concha, but somehow we have to get out of this house.’
‘Your uncle’s servants are vigilant.’
‘Vigilant, but not infallible. I’ll think of something.’
‘Better to think quickly, then. We have only a few days more.’
‘I will not spend the rest of my life shut away just to suit notions of family honour.’
‘If we don’t find a way out of here you may have no choice. Your uncle is powerful and, as we have already seen, he has the means to compel obedience.’
That was undeniable, Elena reflected. He had no qualms about bringing her to Madrid against her will, and he would have none about expediting the rest of his plan either. As the head of the family now it was his responsibility to guard its reputation, a duty he took most seriously, and she had become a liability.
‘I’ll think of something,’ she replied, as though repetition might make it true.
Since their arrival two days earlier she had racked her brains trying to think of a viable plan. The only person whom she knew would help her was Dolores, but her beloved older sister was married and settled in England now. She might as well have been on the moon. As for Luisa and Estefania … they were lost to her for good. Even after four years the memory was still painful and she pushed it aside, along with all the others pertaining to that time. The past was done with, and if she didn’t put her mind to the present problem the future would be irrevocably blighted too.
‘At least you are not without means,’ said Concha.
‘Money is not the problem. There’s enough and to spare, but it will be no use unless we can get out of Madrid.’
‘If … when … we do leave, your uncle is certain to mount a search.’
‘We’ll worry about that when the time comes,’ said Elena. ‘In the meantime we must not give any reason for suspicion. Being under house arrest is bad enough. I don’t want to be locked in my room as well.’
Concha nodded. ‘You are right. Let it be thought that you are becoming resigned to your uncle’s will.’
‘Exactly.’ Elena made a vague gesture with her hands. ‘I have no wish to be at odds with him, or any other member of my family, but as it is … there’s no choice now.’
The sound of iron-rimmed wheels and horses’ hooves distracted her momentarily and she glanced out of the window to the street below to see a carriage approaching. Instead of driving past as she expected it stopped outside the house. To judge by the heavily sweating horses and the dust on the bodywork the vehicle had travelled some way. All the same, under the grime, it was a handsome equipage and certainly the property of a nobleman.
As she watched, a servant jumped down to open the door and let down the steps. A single passenger emerged, a gentleman, very elegantly dressed. He paused on the paved walkway and glanced up at the house. Elena caught her breath. Problems temporarily forgotten, she stared, arrested by a face in which strong lines accentuated the chiselled planes of cheek and nose and jaw. The hair visible below his hat was dark. He seemed to be tall too, certainly much taller than the servant with him, and carried himself with the air of one used to command.
Concha came to join her by the window and now stared in her turn. ‘Dios mio! Who is that?’
‘I don’t know. One of my uncle’s acquaintances from the embassy, perhaps?’
‘I imagined all his acquaintances