Where the Stars Meet the Sea Read online

  Cover image : Malgorzata Maj © Arcangel, Eltz Castle photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

  Cover design copyright © 2020 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Cover design by Hannah Bischoff

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2020 by Heidi Kimball

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN: 978-1-52441-043-8

  To Ali,

  for getting me through the hard years

  Acknowledgments

  I have to start by thanking my little table at a first-chapter workshop at the Midwest Storymakers Conference: Michelle Pennington, Amy Wilson, and Sara Cardon. I brought them the rough and quickly written first chapter of this book, and they believed in it from the very first reading. Without their encouragement, this story might never have come to light.

  My many critique partners made this book far more than it ever would have been had I been working on my own. Jen Geigle Johnson, Mindy Strunk, Sally Britton, and Megan Walker all have my sincerest thanks.

  Dear friend and fellow author Rachel Fordham helped me a great deal as I polished my manuscript. Thank you for your dedicated time and help and for seeing all the potential in the disadvantages of marrying a duke.

  Arlem Hawks is a genius at naval research and went above and beyond in her efforts to help me make my story as authentic and accurate as possible. Don’t worry; I’ll keep your secret.

  And where would I be without my writing bestie? Joanna Barker, I would have thrown in the towel long ago if not for your constant support and encouragement. Thank you for pushing me to be better, for not being scared off by my knife collection, and for occasionally indulging me in my laziness.

  And always, a huge thanks to my husband, Dave, who is there for me through thick and thin. Thank you for the encouragement, the hours of child-free writing time, and the excellent feedback. You’re my Halstead.

  Finally, to my wonderful editor at Covenant. Kami, you are a delight to work with. Thanks for making my manuscript shine. And Hannah, thank you for another absolutely breathtaking cover.

  Chapter One

  Norfolk, England, 1819

  When I saw the opportunity for escape, I took it.

  Members of the dinner party made their way to the drawing room, but I edged away from the crowd, heading in the opposite direction. With a backward glance, I turned the corner into a dimly lit hallway, hoping no one had seen me break away. The voices grew fainter. Leaning against the wall, I felt the intricate wood molding dig into my back. I debated risking a peek around the corner.

  “Juliet?” Aunt Agnes’s shrill voice sounded.

  Fearful she had seen me retreat, I hurried forward. This hallway would offer me little protection if she suspected my intentions. A plush rug ran the length of the corridor, muting my footsteps as I tiptoed down the hall. Nothing looked familiar from the tour we’d received upon our arrival earlier today, and I scolded myself for not paying closer attention.

  To my left a door rested slightly ajar. I pushed it open and slipped inside. The library. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it with a sigh. Escaping Aunt Agnes’s watchful eye for even a few moments was a great relief.

  The library was dark, save for the flickering light of the fire, whose flames danced across the room’s shelves. The cavernous ceiling stretched beyond my view, enshrouded in an inky blackness. I shivered against the chill of the large room, where the faint smell of pipe smoke lingered in the air. Drawing near the fireplace, I missed the quaint library at home—my own personal retreat. It served as a sanctuary from Aunt Agnes’s demands and, more recently, cousin Robert’s unsolicited professions of love.

  My head ached with the tedium of conversation at tonight’s dinner and the multitude of pins sticking into my scalp. I removed my gloves and pulled the pins out one by one, letting my hair fall down my back. The sting eased, and my hand skimmed over the mantel as the fire warmed me.

  When had Robert’s feelings changed? Robert had ever been my ally, my best friend, the one person who truly understood me. Until, all at once, he completely misunderstood me. He had ruined everything between us, for I could never see him as anything but a brother. My palms began to sweat just thinking of it.

  I shivered, wishing for the warmth of a cup of chocolate. Ever since that day of Robert’s confession, there’d been a sense of aloneness, a chill inside me—one the fire couldn’t reach. I idly fingered a small porcelain figurine, a slender woman holding a fan, atop the mantel. One of my knuckles brushed against it a bit carelessly, and the figurine slipped and crashed to the floor.

  On my knees in an instant, I began picking up pieces, though the matter was hopeless. “Oh dear.” I blew out a heavy breath.

  “As if those words could replace a gift given to my great-grandmother on her wedding day,” a deep voice with a hardened edge said.

  I whirled around, my lungs tight. I’d thought myself alone all this time. “Who’s there?” I searched the shadowed darkness but found nothing. The creak of a chair alerted me to someone in the corner, far from the light of the fire. I could just make out the form of a man occupying the chair.

  “Do you make a habit of touching other people’s things?” he asked, ignoring my question.

  “I-I am sorry, sir.” I stood and placed the broken pieces on the mantel, then turned back to the shadows. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you are,” I stammered, heart pounding. Could he be another guest? I cursed my propensity for making terrible first impressions.

  “I asked you a question.” The voice was unyielding, and I had a difficult time trying to imagine its owner.

  “Well, I . . . not usually,” I said finally, feeling like a small girl receiving a rebuke.

  “So I am just especially unfortunate, then.”

  “I suppose.” I lifted my chin. “And now that I have answered your question, might you answer mine?” I took a step toward him, hoping to get a better view. “I would like to know whom I am speaking with.”

  “Stay where you are,” he commanded. “You’ve intruded enough.”

  “Sir?” I took another step. Perhaps if we could talk, I might somehow repair the damage of a ruined first impression.

  “Don’t come near me,” he snarled, and I froze, the chill in his voice making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. “I’ve never met a woman with such ill-bred manners.”

  “Do you presume to know me after only three minutes?” I asked, offended in the face of his abuse. “What kind of gentleman sits in the shadows as he insults a lady?”

  He laughed a joyless laugh, full of irony. “A lady, are you? One who sneaks off to the library when you should be down in the drawing room, displaying your musical talents?”

  His words miffed me. “As I have none to share, I am sure I won’t be missed.” I inwardly scolded myself for speaking so openly; he had no right to know how much I hated performing before others. I did not want to share anything about myself with this uncouth man.

  “I see.” Silenc
e reigned for a moment. “Take a seat,” he commanded finally, his voice soft and dangerous.

  “Well, I—”

  “Sit,” he repeated, and I sat.

  As I waited for him to lecture me on the loss of his beloved and broken heirloom, I studied his outline, trying to guess his age. He had a full head of dark hair; that much I could tell. He held a walking stick in his left hand, and there was something about the way he sat that made me think the cane might not be just for show.

  The man laid the cane across his lap. “Once you have finished scrutinizing me, I’d be vastly interested to hear your opinion.”

  “You can hardly blame me since you seem intent on remaining mysterious.” My words slipped out before I could stop them.

  He turned his head sharply toward me. “My, my. For one so young, you do have quite a tongue.”

  I raised my chin again. “I’m twenty. Not so young. It is not as though you are some fading old codger.”

  “Did your study of me reveal my age, then?”

  “Not precisely. But I’d put you somewhere under forty, if you wish to know.”

  He sat forward, one side of his face lit by the fire. His was a severely handsome face with dark brows and a defined jaw. His lips were full, and one side of his mouth was tipped up in amusement. He was younger than I’d expected—perhaps only thirty.

  His striking features set me off balance. I’d felt much more comfortable with him when he’d sat in the shadows as a faceless voice. Looking around, I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was in the library, alone, with a gentleman. “I’m not sure I should—”

  One hand slid down his cane. “Ah, you fear for your reputation. You need not. For most people I have ceased to exist.”

  Intrigue pulled me to the edge of my seat, the impropriety of the situation forgotten. “What do you mean?”

  A hand passed over his brow. “Forget what I said.”

  “You are the most peculiar gentleman I’ve ever met,” I said, struck by the oddity of the situation.

  “And you the most peculiar lady I have met.”

  I shook my head. “Surely not.”

  “Indeed you are. Though it would be arrogant of me to presume to know you, three minutes in your presence has revealed a great deal. You detest the tedium of the fashionable crowd. You don’t act like a lady when you think you are alone”—my mouth dropped open, but he gestured toward me—“your gloves are off, and with your hair undone, it looks as though your shoulder is aflame.” My bare hand went to my auburn hair, loose about my shoulders. “And you touch—and break—things that are not your own.”

  If only I had retreated to my room. There was little to say in my defense. “I am not usually peculiar; I am usually quite ordinary. And ladylike.” I clasped my hands together in my lap.

  “How disappointing.”

  I raised my brow, uncertain whether he was mocking me. “I am sorry about the figurine. Perhaps I could—”

  “I assure you it is irreplaceable.”

  “I see. Well, it is my cousin’s fault, you know. If he hadn’t—” I bit my lip.

  “Is there another person in the library I’m unaware of?” He looked around as if expecting someone to come forward.

  “No, of course not. I only meant he was occupying my thoughts.”

  “How inconsiderate of him.” His dark eyes raked over me, flickering with interest.

  “Well, no—” I had never felt so flustered. I shook my head. “Oh, never mind.”

  A muffled voice sounded through the door. “William, are you in here?” I recognized the voice; it belonged to the duchess, our hostess.

  He pointed over to the window. “Quick. Behind the drapes.”

  Hardly knowing why, I obeyed. I still did not know who this man was. I pulled the thick drapes around me, trying to hold as still as possible. I heard the door open and quiet footsteps moving and imagined Her Grace entering the room.

  “William,” she said in a reprimanding tone.

  “Yes, Mother.” His voice softened but still held a trace of annoyance.

  “I’m very put out. We have company, yet you insist on hiding away in here. And you, the Duke of Halstead!”

  I bit back a gasp. I’d been talking to the duke ?

  She went on. “Have you no respect for our reputation? The numbers at dinner were uneven, and there were several people I hoped to introduce you to this evening.” She paused, taking a quick breath. “How much longer do you plan to act like a petulant child?”

  The cold from the window began to seep through my dress, and I rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to keep warm.

  “For as long as you insist on treating me like one. This is my home. I am the Duke of Halstead, and just once I would like to be treated as such.” He sounded dangerously close to losing his temper. “You know you are welcome here, and I have never opposed your right to invite company as you choose. But I refuse to be your lap dog and come whenever you call.”

  His mother sighed. “You are ill-humored, as usual, and I am vastly tired of it.”

  “I will not insist you stay.”

  A rustle of skirts indicated movement. “What’s this? What happened to Grandmother’s figurine?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I edged over to where I could peek around the drapes. The duchess stood at the fireplace, looking at the broken pieces.

  The duke stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “I lost my balance earlier, grabbed for the mantel, and knocked it to the floor. I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “Oh, Halstead. Is it the cold? I know that makes it worse.”

  “I am well enough.” His leg bowed, his knee twisting with each step, as he walked toward his mother.

  Watching pained me, but I observed with awful fascination the irony of a beautiful man with such a broken body, unable to look away.

  The duchess shook her head. “You are not. I shall call for the doctor.”

  “No,” he said fiercely. “Please, just leave me.”

  She considered for a moment before nodding. “As you wish.” Her skirts swished as she left.

  I made my way out from the curtains, no longer cold but steeped in curiosity. “Why did you lie?” I asked, coming up behind the duke.

  He did not turn to face me. “Sometimes a lie is easier to accept than the truth.”

  I glanced at the mantel, where the figurine lay in pieces. “I am sorry, Your Grace.” A heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe.

  His hand tightened around the knob of his cane. “Of course you are,” he said bitterly.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You should leave, before your reputation is compromised.”

  “But I—”

  “It was not a suggestion.”

  Tears stung my eyes. Without another word, I walked to the door. I turned back briefly, taking in the shadowed planes of his face as he stared into the fire, then hurried to my room before Aunt Agnes went to check on me there and discovered I was missing.

  Chapter Two

  Sleep eluded me. I paced the floor of my bedroom before settling into the window seat and pushing open the window. A mist of light clouds obscured my view of the stars. I stared up at the slow-moving haze as my mind combed through everything I’d heard about the duke and the whispered rumors of his accident. Had it been a riding accident? I remembered someone mentioning he was rarely seen in public. The very fact that he’d not attended tonight’s dinner—even in his own home—said much.

  Finally, I climbed into bed. I lay in the darkness and stared up at the ceiling, trying to recall any other details I’d heard about the duke, but it was useless. Aunt Agnes had prattled on about the castle and its revered owners for hours in the carriage yesterday, but I’d ignored her, preoccupied with the awkward tension that had accompanied the breach between Robert and me. br />
  Now, for the first time in weeks, my mind fixated on something new—my unexpected encounter with the duke in the library. Our interaction left me with a strange mixture of guilt and anger. The man was perplexing. Intriguing. I’d never met anyone quite like him. It felt like hours later when I fell into fits of half-sleep, wondering whether the whole thing had been a dream.

  In the morning my eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and I stared at the mirror in frustration. “Lawks and lubbers,” I muttered just as Betsy pushed the door open. “Oh, excuse me, Betsy.” Having been raised in a household with two male cousins, I sometimes struggled to keep my language ladylike. Old habits were difficult to break—except in Aunt Agnes’s presence.

  “What’s this, miss?” Betsy picked up the brush and began going through my unruly red hair with it in long strokes.

  “Oh, nothing. I slept poorly is all.”

  She nodded. “I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning, as your aunt wishes me to try her hair in a new fashion.”

  “Of course. A simple chignon will do for today.” I was accustomed to hurrying through the process of getting ready, since Aunt Agnes was too stingy to hire me a lady’s maid of my own. I suspected she put far too much of the monthly allowance she received to care for my younger brother, Harry, and me toward her own comforts.

  “How has your stay been thus far?” I asked as Betsy’s deft hands arranged my hair.

  “Not as grand as yours, I’m sure, but this castle is enough to take one’s breath away. I must have gotten lost at least three times yesterday.” She grinned as though alluding to some private joke. “Though there were plenty of handsome footmen about to show me the way, and right helpful they were. The trick will be trying to keep track of them all.” She giggled. “I can’t imagine working at such a large house.”

  I was tempted to ask her if they spoke of the duke belowstairs but wisely held back. No need to encourage rumors among the staff; Betsy was known for having quite a loose tongue.