About the Author
Award-winning author ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire. She is fond of watching wildlife and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment and to give pleasure to her readers. She invites readers to contact her on her website, www.lindasole.co.uk.
Regency
Mischief & Marriage
Secret Heiress
Bartered Bride
Anne Herries
Secret Heiress
Anne Herries
Prologue
Autumn 1818
‘Eliza, my dearest.’ Mrs Bancroft held out her hand to her beloved adopted daughter. ‘Sit with me, my love. I have something to tell you.’
Eliza smiled and did as she was bid, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for her mother’s hand. ‘What is it, dearest Mama? Are you feeling worse? Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘No, I am just as always, but I think we should talk. You know that it is unlikely I shall see the winter out…’
‘Mama, please…’ Eliza begged. ‘Doctor Morris said that you were a little better when he called. When the spring comes you will start to get up again and then…’
Mrs Bancroft squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘I know it is hard for you, dearest. We lost Papa two years since and now…’ She shook her head as tears sprang to Eliza’s eyes. ‘No, you must not grieve for me, Eliza. I have loved you dearly, but I fear we have not been quite fair to you. We should have tried harder to discover the name of your true mother.’
‘You are my mama,’ Eliza said. ‘I know that you did not give birth to me, but I love you dearly.’
‘You have been everything a daughter should be,’ Mrs Bancroft said. ‘You have been ours since Papa found you left in the church behind the altar one Sunday morning, but somewhere out there you have a mother and a father. Don’t forget that Papa saw a gentleman’s carriage driving away and I believe you are the daughter of quality. Your clothes were of the finest materials and the ring I found tucked in with them is beautiful. I have kept it safe for you, Eliza.’
‘You showed it to me,’ Eliza said. ‘It is very beautiful, but I do not see what use it can be. If my mother abandoned me, she must have had her reasons.’
‘Perhaps she had no choice. I do not think that any mother would give up their own baby willingly.’
‘I dare say you are right.’ Eliza smiled and kissed her. ‘I only know that I was fortunate to have been found and raised by you and Papa.’
‘The ring is at the bottom of my sewing box if you should need it.’
Mrs Bancroft sighed. ‘My head aches again. I think I should like a tisane if you would make it for me, dearest.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Eliza rose and went downstairs to the kitchen. She had always known she was not the true child of her parents, but their kindness meant that she lacked nothing. However, if she were truthful, she had sometimes thought of her birth mother and wondered who she was and why she had been forced to abandon her newly born baby.
Her mama had mentioned a valuable ring amongst her clothes. Why had her birth mother placed it there—was it in the hope that one day her daughter would look for her?
Eliza had wondered if her mother would one day come to visit and tell her why she had given her up. Since she had not, there was no way of knowing who she was or where she lived. It would be almost impossible to find her—unless she could find someone who recognised the ring, of course.
If her papa had been right about the carriage he had seen driving away belonging to a wealthy man, then her parents might be gentry or even aristocrats. Eliza was not used to moving in those circles, except for the occasional invitation to the local landowner’s house at Christmas for the tenants’ party. How could she ever hope to find her mother?
She put the bothersome thoughts from her mind as she entered the kitchen. It was small like the rest of the cottage, but there were only the two of them these days; though they had missed the beautiful rectory that had been their home, they had become accustomed to their situation. Eliza did most of the work and the nursing herself, though Betty came in once or twice a week to clean. She had been the Bancrofts’s maid for years and insisted on doing what she could for them even though they could pay her very little.
‘I would work for nothing,’ Betty had told Eliza a few days previously. ‘If your mama were not so proud, I would never have left her at all.’
‘Mama does not wish to be a burden.’
‘It is hardly right that you should do everything, love,’ Betty said. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’
While the kettle was heating, Eliza gathered the ingredients for a blackcurrant tisane, her mother’s favourite. Despite the unfortunate start to her life, she had been loved, cared for and guided in the way she should go. At the moment all her thoughts must be centred on the sick woman upstairs. There would be time enough to think of her future when she was alone.
Chapter One
Summer 1819
Daniel, Lord Seaton, stared out of the window of his London house. It was situated in one of the best areas of the city, in a quiet garden square. It suited him when he visited the capitol. However, he would probably have to sell the property to meet his debts, rather than let it to a tenant, as he had intended when he came up to town.
‘Damn you, Marcus,’ he muttered. ‘Why did you have to land me with your mess?’
He frowned at the letter in his hand. As if he did not have enough problems trying to bring his own estate back from the brink of ruin! His father had died of a putrid fever six months earlier, after foolishly losing more than ten thousand pounds at the tables—and to a man Daniel believed might be both a cheat and a rogue. Cheadle was known for his ruthless play, so what his father had imagined he was about, Daniel did not know. Yet it was not the only mistake the late Lord Seaton had made. Several poor investments meant that Daniel had mortgages on at least half the land. His father had settled the gambling debt, but the mortgages meant that Daniel would struggle for years to put the estate back on its feet again. While his father had every right to spend his fortune as he pleased, Cousin Marcus was another matter.
Daniel scanned the letter again.
Only you can help me, Daniel. His cousin had written the letter two days before the accident that had caused his death just three months previously.
My debts are more than ten thousand and I cannot pay unless I sell my estate. Father might cough up the readies, but he has been ill for months and I think if he knew what I have been about, it would kill him.
To tell the truth, cousin, I have been a damned fool. I got in over my head—-things I am ashamed to own. If you knew all,