Miss Millington's Dilemma (Lake District Brides Book 1) Read online

  Miss Millington's Dilemma

  by

  Vikki Vaught

  Miss Millington's Dilemma

  Copyright © 2017 by Vikki Vaught

  Cover design by Danielle Doolittle

  All rights reserved. This book, or any part of it, cannot be reproduced or distributed by any means without the express permission in writing from the author.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  This has been another exciting journey for me. I originally wrote Lizabella’s romance five years ago, but it laid dormant until this year. After extensive re-writing, I’m pleased to present her love story.

  I want to thank my fantastic editor and friend, Tammy Souch. Her advice and suggestions always make my books so much better. I also want to mention my wonderful proofreader, Laurie White. Thank goodness for my awesome team of beta readers: Debbie Eichler, Donna Salzman, Karen Henderson, Linda Levine, and April Renn. Your great feedback helped immensely, as always.

  My heartfelt thanks goes to readers everywhere, for your willingness to give me a chance by reading my books. Last, but by no means least, I want to thank my husband for putting up with me when I’m lost in my world of books.

  Thank you for reading Miss Millington’s Dilemma, Book 1 in my new Lake District Brides series. Look for the next book in this series in 2018. Reviews are the lifeblood for authors. If you enjoyed my story, I hope you will take a few minutes and write a review. Fellow readers will appreciate your words of wisdom.

  Chapter 1

  Spring 1815

  Lizabella Millington wandered through her aunt Dorthea’s garden. With spring in full bloom, she normally loved seeing the multitude of vibrant colors, but she was too distraught to appreciate her surroundings. Her intended, Lieutenant Michael Dawson, had left for the continent after Napoleon escaped from Elba the previous month.

  She’d met Michael in February while walking to Shrewsbury to buy hair ribbons for her cousin, Ursula. She’d tripped over a root in her path and sprained her ankle, and Michael had come to her aid. His sincerity and kindness had stolen her heart.

  For the next month, they’d met secretly at an abandoned cottage in the woods near her home, because her uncle, Baron Holyfield, did not allow her any visitors. Her uncle and his family treated her as an unpaid servant. The baron had grudgingly taken her in when her parents died six years before, but there had been no love lost between him and his younger brother, Lizabella’s father.

  The night Michael proposed, they’d let passion carry them away. She’d given him her virginity as he had given his to her. Now, her monthly flow had not come…again. She should have had two courses since her beloved left, yet nothing. Terror surged through her, leaving her shaking in her well-worn half boots. Consequences would be dire if what she suspected was true.

  In the six weeks since Michael’s departure, she’d written him dozens of times. She’d received letters from him in return, and he wrote of the boredom as they waited for Bonaparte to make his move.

  Lizabella had received a letter from Michael dated the tenth of June. Rumors were flying around Brussels that Napoleon was finally on the move. Wellington held daily briefings, and Michael had to attend them. From what her intended wrote, the detestable man had amassed a huge army, but the coalition still believed they would vanquish their enemy.

  Oh, why did that horrid man escape?

  What am I to do?

  She decided to talk to the baron’s housekeeper after dinner. The motherly woman had taken her under her wing and tried to protect her from the abuse dealt to her by her uncle’s family.

  After she finished her meager meal, she approached the woman and whispered, “Do you have a moment?”

  The only person she called friend, searched her face. “Come, we will talk in my office.”

  Once Lizabella took a seat, she did not know how to start the conversation, but she needed answers. “Oh Gully, I’m scared.” Tears filled her eyes.

  “Of what?” Her dearest friend hurried over, pulling a chair beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “What’s bothering you, my little lamb. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

  Lizabella twisted her hands in her lap. “I-I greatly f-fear I’m with child. I’ve missed two of my monthly courses and feel sick each morning. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Oh, dear Lord.” The kind woman sighed. “Well, there’s no use crying. At least your young man asked you to marry him before he left.”

  Lizabella dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief Gully handed her. “In his last letter, he wrote that he expected the conflict to begin any day, but he couldn’t be sure.”

  She harrumphed. “We shall pray he’s right, and he will return before you start showing.”

  “When will that be?” she asked.

  The housekeeper tapped her finger against her lips. “Let’s see. If you’re two months along, you should start showing in a couple of months. It could be longer, if you hide it. At first, it will look like you’re getting plump. That gives you time for your lieutenant to return.”

  A lone tear rolled down Lizabella’s cheek, and she dashed it away. “If that’s the case, he needs to return by September. Surely, the conflict will be over by then. If not, he did say I could contact his brother, Viscount Loring, and that he would take care of me. Please, pray for Michael’s safe return,” she sniffled, “and… that he comes back soon.”

  Gully held her for several minutes, letting her cry. At last, she dried her tears and hugged her friend. After Lizabella left her friend’s office, she made her way up three flights of stairs to her lonely attic room.

  Over the next month, Lizabella spent her days running hither and yon, doing her aunt’s incessant bidding, and catering to Ursula’s every whim. Their demands had her so exhausted by the end of each day, she should have fallen asleep as soon as her head touched her pillow. Instead, she tossed and turned, praying her beloved would return before the baron discovered her dilemma.

  She never received another letter from her intended. Every day, she held her breath hoping one would come, but each day passed with no news. On the twenty-eighth of June, she overheard the baron speaking of a great battle fought in a village called Waterloo, near Brussels. While they had defeated Napoleon, the casualties were extremely high.

  Lizabella tried to sneak a peek at the baron’s newspaper every day, but she missed several over the next couple of weeks. She prayed constantly for Michael’s safe return in between her chores for her aunt and cousin. Some days, there was no pleasing either of them.

  The day before, Ursula had thrown a hairbrush when Lizabella could not achieve the smooth and silky coiffure her cousin demanded. How she could accomplish that when Ursula’s frizzy hair refused to cooperate, was beyond her.

  Anxiety so riddled her body, she could not keep any food down. Refusing to give in to her negative thoughts, she replaced them with happy thoughts of her reunion with Michael.

  Knowing that the troops were on their way back to England, she walked to the garrison every time she could escape from her chores, hoping to find out when the 53rd regiment of the Foot would arrive.

  When she visited the garrison in mid-July, a sergeant told her the regiment should arrive in three days. Her heart raced at the thought of seeing Michael and laying her burden on his broad shoulders. He would take her away from her dreary existence.

  Lizabella could not find her rest, tossing and turning each night, as images of Michael lying in a pool of blood plagued her dr
eams. A lump formed in her throat every time she tried to swallow food, so she had not eaten either.

  By the eighteenth, her nerves felt like shards of glass skating across her skin. That afternoon, she managed to sneak away and rushed to the garrison. When she got there, she discovered the 53rd had arrived earlier in the day. Uniformed men were everywhere.

  Her heart fluttered so hard she feared it would break a rib.

  Her pulse throbbed at her temple.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Please Lord, let me see Michael.

  Lizabella approached the sergeant she’d spoken with on previous occasions. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she asked, “Beg your pardon, sir. Do you know where I might find Lieutenant Dawson?”

  He folded his arms across his barrel chest and glared. “Do you think I know every lieutenant attached to the 53rd? Miss, I must ask you to desist these incessant inquiries. I’m sure he will contact you once he’s settled. Now, leave.”

  She blinked several times to keep the tears at bay. “Will you at least promise me you will tell him I’m looking for him, if you see him?”

  The sergeant harrumphed. “I suppose, but do not return again.”

  At this point, she must wait for Michael to contact her. She slowly made her way to her uncle’s house, stopping several times along the way to empty her rolling stomach. She fell into Gully’s arms when she entered the kitchen.

  The kind woman stroked her back. “Bad news, my little lamb?”

  “The 53rd arrived, but the sergeant refused to tell me anything and ordered me to cease coming. He said I need to wait for M-Michael to contact me. I’m desperate for news.”

  “I know you are,” she replied, “but at least you know his regiment has returned. I will pray you hear from him soon, perhaps, even tonight.”

  “Thank you. I shall pray for that as well.” She blew a curl, which had worked its way from her bun out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.

  “Lady Holyfield is looking for you, so you’d best go to her.” Gully wet a towel and handed it to her. “Now, dry your eyes.”

  “Thank you.” After Lizabella took the damp cloth from her friend and ran it across her face, she drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves and left the kitchen to find her irascible aunt.

  By the end of July, she grew desperate. She again attempted to see her intended, but this time the sergeant threatened to call the constable if she returned. At her wit’s end, she wrote Michael’s brother and asked him for news of her beloved. Surely, he would know where her intended was, since he must not be at the garrison. By this time, she greatly feared he’d been injured. That had to be why he had not contacted her. She refused to allow the dreadful thought that Michael could have perished, enter her mind.

  As the month of August passed, she could do nothing but continue her agonizing wait. She never heard from his brother, the viscount. That troubled her so much, she could no long banish her fear that something had indeed happened to Michael.

  By the first week of September, Lizabella was showing. In a couple more weeks, there would be no way she could hide her condition. The only thing keeping her sane was Gully. She had been so supportive and caring through her whole ordeal.

  The flutters in her belly were growing stronger, and it had started to noticeably protrude. She expected either her aunt or her cousin to realize she carried a child any day. Doom, the size of a lump of coal settled in her belly. Another week passed, and she could no longer hide her condition. In fact, it surprised her that no one had noticed yet. Of course, Aunt Dorthea and Ursula rarely looked at her closely.

  On the morning of the fourteenth, Lizabella began arranging her aunt’s hair as usual. Aunt Dorthea turned around in her chair and poked her belly. Her eyes narrowed, and she slowly rose from her chair. “You’re with child.” Her voice came out low and menacing.

  Lizabella scooted back. “I…”

  “How did this happen? I demand an answer.” Her aunt backhanded her, sending her tumbling to the floor.

  The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The woman hit her with so much force, she’d bitten the inside of her cheek. She cowered before her. “I’m s-sorry. I-It was someone I met in Ambleside. It doesn’t m-matter who. He’s g-gone and n-never coming back.”

  Lizabella sobbed as the gut-wrenching realization invaded her mind. It was the first time she had acknowledged the truth…Michael may indeed be lost to her forever.

  Her aunt grabbed her by her elbow and jerked her off the floor, almost twisting it from its socket. Pain shot through her arm so fierce she almost passed out. “We’re going to your uncle so you can tell him what you just told me, and we shall see how he likes this turn of events.”

  Aunt Dorthea dragged her through the hall and down the stairs to the baron’s study. Tears fell, unbidden, and her heart pounded against the walls of her chest, making it hard to breathe. She clutched her stomach with her free arm. What would the baron do to her?

  Aunt Dorthea pulled her into the study and shouted at her husband. “Do you know what your slut of a niece has done? She’s gotten herself with child. From the looks of it, she’s close to five months along. She cannot stay in this house any longer. I will not have my daughter exposed to her licentious ways. I want her out of here today!”

  Still in the baroness’s tight grasp, Lizabella trembled as she watched her uncle’s face turn a deep shade of purple. “Come here, gel. Who’s responsible? Tell me.”

  Her aunt pushed her, and she grabbed the corner of the desk. “It doesn’t m-matter who. He’s gone,” she gasped, “and…I don’t know where. He’s never coming back.”

  Spots danced before her eyes.

  Her head spun, and she fell backward.

  The next moment, she found herself lying on the floor, with the baroness waving a burnt feather under her nose, and the pungent odor made her stomach churn. Turning her head to the side, she retched on the carpet. Slowly, Lizabella struggled to sit and crawled to a standing position.

  The baron’s brows drew together as he glared at her. “You…will leave…this house, immediately.” With each word, he jabbed a stubby finger against her breastbone. “Go. Pack. Your. Belongings. I will give you ten pounds, but don’t expect to receive another shilling. The coachman will drive you to the closest inn in Shrewsbury. You will take the first mail coach leaving, and you will never…I say never…return here again.

  “When I think of all I did by taking you in when your no-count parents were killed, out of the goodness of my heart, I tell you. I’ve clothed and fed you, provided a roof over your head, and this is the way you repay me. Remove your person from my sight! I expect you out front in fifteen minutes.”

  She ran from the study, and up the stairs, as fast as her legs could carry her. The servants watched, their expressions showing what they thought of her disgrace. How could they not think ill of her, with her uncle bellowing all her shame for the world to hear.

  When Lizabella reached her room, she found Gully there, and she rushed into her outstretched arms. “What am I to do? Where will I go?”

  The dear woman rubbed her back and held her close. “You will go to your young man’s brother, as he told you to do. Your lieutenant might be there. Perhaps he’s hurt and can’t come to you.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath. “He would have gotten word to me. I’m s-so scared. I’m afraid M-Michael…is…is dead! How can I survive, if he’s gone?” Icy shivers ran down her spine.

  “Lizabella.” Gully held her at arm’s length and made her look at her face. “You must be strong. Do not give in to despair. You have your unborn child to consider. That’s all that matters. Here, I’ll help you pack.”

  Her friend spoke true. She did need to be strong for her babe. She nodded, dried her tears, took the valise from her friend, and went to her small chest. She packed her meager belongings, placing the miniature of her parents and brother between her clothing to keep the glass from breaking. She picked up her
silver-handled hairbrush, which had been her mother’s, and laid it carefully inside. With tears blurring her vision, she hugged the bundle of Michael’s letters to her chest and lovingly added them to her valise.

  She stood and pulled on her cloak, then turned to the one friend she had left in the world. “I’m ready. Oh Gully, I will miss you so much. I shall write once I’m settled. I pray you’re right. Even if M-Michael is gone, his b-brother will help me. I must believe that. Farewell.” She straightened her shoulders and left her tiny attic bedroom for the last time.

  Making her way down the stairs with her head held high, she ignored the twitter of the other servants. When she reached the foyer, her cousin stood there with a gloating sneer on her face. Her aunt swept her skirts away, obviously not wanting to contaminate them by Lizabella’s presence.

  Without a backward glance, she climbed inside the waiting wagon, her valise clutched tightly in her hands. Clearly, the baron thought a carriage was too good for the likes of her.

  When her uncle’s coachman dropped her off at the coaching inn, she purchased a ticket which would take her north to the Lake District. From what Michael told her, the viscount’s estate was outside the village of Ambleside, a hundred and fifty miles away. She had a grueling trip ahead of her.

  The north mail coach pulled away from the inn at noon. Lizabella squeezed in between a stout, elderly woman and a gentleman of middle years, who was portly as well. She could not move an inch, and she would be traveling eight hours with these other passengers.

  The gentleman had apparently not bathed in a long time. Lizabella’s stomach rolled and waves of nausea washed over her.

  As the minutes turned into hours, the movement of the coach lulled her, gratefully, to sleep. She was roused by the driver opening the door as they arrived at their first stop. “Ye be quick ’bout it. It’ll jus’ take fifteen minutes to change horses. If ye ain’t back, I’ll leaves ye.”

  She hurried from the coach, and her nose led her to the disgusting privy in the back of the inn. She took care of her personal needs, barely returning before the driver snapped the whip, sending the coach in motion again.