The Proposal
Lori Wick
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota
Cover photos © Dugan Design Group; Stockbyte Photography / Veer; Ian Shaw / Alamy
THE PROPOSAL
Copyright © 2002 by Lori Wick
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-2529-7
Library of Congress has cataloged the edition as follows:
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wick, Lori.
The proposal / Lori Wick.
p. cm. — (The English garden series)
ISBN 978-0-7369-0558-9
1. Guardian and ward—Fiction. 2. Orphans—Fiction. 3. England—Fiction. I. Title.
II. Series
PS3573.I237 P77 2002
813'.54—dc21
2001039812
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 / RDM-VS / 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Todd and Becki Barsness.
You’ve worked hard, and we have been blessed.
You’ve shared yourselves and your life with the
church family, and we’ve grown richer.
This dedication comes with my love.
God bless you both.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Lori Wick
Acknowledgments
The first book in a new series! I’m so excited. I fell in love with this time period in England’s history while watching some of my favorite Jane Austen films. I returned to England with my husband and a friend, able to look at that old place with new eyes. Since that time the stories in my mind have come alive for me. I hope you enjoy this first volume, and also enjoy reading about the people I need to thank.
—Julie McKinney. I couldn’t have done this without you.
Thank you for a trip we will never forget. I love your enthusiasm for my work and that delighted sparkle that fills your eyes. Thank you for the family name.
—Shelly Alilunas. Thank you for all your help on the home front, especially when we were so many miles apart. You were a real lifesaver. The information has been so valuable. Also, thank you for launching me into finding the Internet for myself.
—Ian, Steve, and Steve. It was wonderful meeting you and talking to you about England. I’m not sure if my England looks exactly like the real one, but I still hope the people there who have a chance to read my books will enjoy this series. Thank you for all you do to promote my work.
—Tim, Matt, and Abby Wick. Thanks for one of the best summers we’ve ever had. After you all worked so hard, we had more time to play. Never forget how much I love you, or how huge our God is.
—My Bob. Thank you for going to England with me. You made it so fun and special. I’m going to go back to England again sometime. It’s simply lovely knowing you’ll go with me. Actually, it’s simply lovely having you with me every day.
Prologue
Tipton
Collingbourne, England
April 1810
Seated in the north sitting room, her letters in her lap, Lydia Palmer read the missive in her hand one more time before looking across the room at her husband. He was studying the daily news, but only a moment passed before he glanced her way.
“What is it, love?” he asked kindly. Frank Palmer was always kind.
“My cousin has died.”
Mr Palmer frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I must admit I didn’t think you had any cousins left.”
“Godwin Jennings. He lives near Bristol, or should I say ‘lived.’ It was not a close relationship, but he was family.”
“I know who you’re talking about,” he said as light dawned. “Who contacted you, by the way?”
“His solicitor,” Lydia said, her eyes going back to the official letter.
“And did Mr Jennings have children?”
“Yes. Three of them.” Lydia chewed her lip a moment. “I wonder where they’ll end up.”
“I was wondering that myself. You have so little family of any kind left.”
For a moment, Mr and Mrs Palmer were quiet. A few seconds later, however, their eyes met, both faces showing some shock.
“No, Frank. It couldn’t be.”
“I don’t know who else, Liddy. Your brother is the only male heir left in your family.”
“But three children, Frank? You know how William Jennings enjoys his independence.”
Mr Palmer shrugged. “I’m just stating the need, Lydia. Unless you’re hiding someone that I don’t know about, by law Jennings would be responsible for Godwin’s children.”
Lydia shook her head. “It’s too fantastic to be real. Jennings barely tolerates women. I can’t think he would have any more interest in children.”
“Well, he wouldn’t have to love them—just support them.”
The room grew quiet again, only the ticking of the mantel clock making itself known.
“Will you write him?” Mr Palmer asked.
“Jennings? I don’t think so. He hasn’t acknowledged a single one of my letters in seven years.”
“But you don’t write to him so that he’ll answer, Lydia. You write so he’ll know you still love him.”
Lydia took the gentle rebuke in good grace. Even before reading the letter in her hand one last time, she determined to write her brother by the end of the week.
Chapter One
Aydon
London, England
May 1810
“And where did you say this was?” Mr Collins asked as he frowned fiercely at the new help, a young man who was now sweating from every pore of his body.
“It was on the floor in the back hall, Mr Collins.”
“The postmark on this letter is five days past. How could it have been missed in the hall all these days?”
“I don’t know, sir. Betsy just gave it to me.”
“Who is Betsy?”
“We were hired at the same time, sir. I believe she works upstairs.”
Mr Collins’ eyes narrowed with even more danger.
“Mr Jennings will hear of this. You may be discharged.”
“Yes, sir.”
The crushed but humble face of the young man before him softened Mr Collins’ heart a bit. He continued more kindly, “As you know, Mr Jennings is out for the evening. He probably won’t receive this until morning. If I can put a word in for you, I will, but know this, young Geoffrey, it will not happen again.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“You are dismissed.”
As Geoffrey walked awa
y, Mr Collins, long in the employ of Mr William Jennings, stood thinking about his next move. He had several options and after just a moment’s deliberation, took the second one and turned to locate Bates, Mr Jennings’ man. It didn’t take long. He ran him to earth in the servants’ dining area, where he sat with a cup of tea and the day’s post.
“This just surfaced,” Mr Collins informed him, setting the letter on the table.
“It’s five days old,” Bates responded with a frown.
“Precisely. Do I tell him tonight?”
Bates looked up at his old friend and smiled wryly.
“You forget, Collins, that when he returns from Lady Wendt’s dinner, we won’t be doing anything tonight but keeping the house quiet.”
Mr Collins had a smile to match his friend’s before leaving to secure the letter on his desk, knowing he would have to face his employer come morning.
“Jennings?” Knightly called out as he entered the veranda. “What are you doing out here?”
Mr William Jennings, the man he sought, glanced over his shoulder, not at all sorry to be out of Lady Wendt’s stifling ballroom and in the fresh air.
“It was a bit warm in there,” Jennings said briefly as Knightly joined him at the railing.
“Yes, and getting warmer. Did you see Louisa Dent tonight? Her husband leaves for France, and she throws off every inhibition.”
Jennings shook his head in disgust and said, “I’ve known for many years what Dent has yet to find out: Most women cannot be trusted.”
“I’ll say,” Knightly agreed fervently, draining the glass he’d brought out with him.
“Knightly?” a female voice called from behind the men just as they were beginning to enjoy the silence. “Are you out here?”
“Yes, Augusta, I’m here.” Knightly turned from the railing. “Are you coming back in, Jennings?”
“I think not,” that man replied. He was tired and wished to go home.
“We’ll see you later,” Knightly said and moved toward his wife.
Jennings did not reply. He was in need of solitude and knew that home was the only place he could be guaranteed of that.
The carriage delivered Jennings to the front of his London home precisely on time, but that man barely took notice. Though footmen in attendance and his man, Bates, didn’t often see him elated, at times they sensed a lighter mood. Not tonight. Tonight he seemed far away, his mind in deep thought.
In the eyes of Jennings, Lady Wendt’s dinner party had been dreadful, full of women who had nothing more on their minds than catching a rich husband or gossiping about a woman who had. His dinner companion had been a vain, blonde creature so occupied with herself she had never stopped speaking. It had given him a headache.
Now in his dressing room, having stated that he wished to be alone, Jennings slowly loosened the cravat at his throat, telling himself that tonight’s dinner party would be the last. In truth, he didn’t know why he’d gone in the first place.
His mood growing more pensive by the second, he waited only until his throat was free to retire to his study to sit by the fire. No other lights burned, and for long moments he stared into the flames.
Jennings had not been reared to distrust women, but his own good mother was dead, and his sister, a woman he’d admired for many years, had changed since she’d found God, cementing Jennings’ belief that women were not all that trustworthy.
Jennings hated to even think about the change. It made him angry. That anyone with half a brain would embrace the teachings of an ancient book and say they were lifechanging, was incomprehensible to him.
Prior to her religious experience, his sister had been a brilliant woman. Articulate and keen—why, that’s what had drawn Frank Palmer to the altar thirteen years ago. They’d been a promising couple. But Jennings couldn’t stand to be around either of them any longer. For him, the relationship was over.
Warm from the fire, Jennings felt fatigue creep over him. The blaze lulled him as his irritation drained away. At moments like this, when his sister and her family came to mind, and only if he was very tired, he asked himself if he’d made the best choices. Maybe he should have looked into a family for himself. Maybe having sons to carry his name would have been worth taking a chance on a wife, but he would be thirty-four on his next birthday, and though not old by many standards, Jennings felt he was now too set in his ways to accommodate a family.
Sleep began to crowd in, and Jennings fought it. Just when he thought he could nod off in the chair, Jennings, a man of discipline, made himself rise and find his bed. The cool touch of the linens against his skin was enough to rouse him for a time, but the day’s activities and the busyness of his mind were catching up. Asleep before the clock struck one, he never heard a sound.
“How did he take the lost letter?” Bates asked.
“I can’t tell you. He didn’t want the post with breakfast.”
The two men looked at each other before going on about their duties.
The staff was accustomed to a life of order and discipline, so this was a surprise to them. Jennings was not an unreasonable man, but he liked his routine. And since he rarely stepped from the routine himself, it left his servants in something of a quandary. They carried on as best they could.
Bates went soundlessly into the room to see to his master’s needs, but clearly Mr Jennings’ mind was elsewhere. He seemed to be eating the breakfast in front of him without notice or even taste. All over the house, people were moving about quietly and for his comfort, and faint sounds of this activity drifted even to the small dining room where he sat, but there was no outward recognition of anything.
This went on for an hour before Jennings reached for the day’s newspaper. He had only just immersed himself in an article on finance when Bates came to the dining room, this time to interrupt.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but a situation has arisen.”
Jennings, wanting his solitude at the moment, still put the paper aside.
“Yes, Bates, what is it?”
“Some children have been delivered to our door, sir. The coachman insists that they are to come here to Mr William Jennings.” Bates paused a moment but then went right on. “And if I may be so bold, sir, I have also brought you the post. On top is a letter that was given to Mr Collins yesterday. It was misplaced for a few days.”
As keen as the sister he admired, Jennings was lifting the letter and opening it to read just moments later. The news that a cousin he barely knew existed had died was surprising enough. Learning that the man was leaving his three children to him was staggering. Jennings sat utterly still for a full three minutes before standing to face Bates.
“Where are these children right now?”
“In the foyer, sir. The coachman would not be swayed.”
Jennings consulted the letter again.
“Three children?”
“Yes, sir. Two boys and a small girl.”
“And their father’s just died,” he said almost absently.
Bates remained quiet.
“Ready a room they can all sleep in tonight.”
Jennings made his way toward the foyer. It didn’t take long to identify his guests. Standing in a sober mass were three children. The boys stood side by side, but the girl tried to stand behind her older brother. Upon seeing Jennings approach, the older boy gently pulled his sister out to stand next to him.
Jennings went directly to the oldest child.
“I’m William Jennings, your father’s cousin,” he said, putting his hand out to shake the boy’s. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, sir. My name is Thomas Jennings. This is my brother, James, and my sister, Penelope. We call her Penny.”
“Hello, James,” Jennings greeted him, shaking his hand as well. But when he turned back to the little girl, she was already trying to hide behind her brother.
“May I ask you a question, sir?” Thomas, pale from the events of the last weeks, took the courage
to ask.
“Yes, you may, Thomas.”
“Were you expecting us, sir? Is this where we are to stay?”
As though a present had been dropped from heaven, William Jennings saw what had been given to him. The answer to the boy’s question came from Jennings’ mouth just heartbeats before it entered his mind.
“Yes, Thomas. This is where you’re to stay.”
The young man, near his thirteenth birthday, bowed slightly in acknowledgment. His ten-year-old brother and six-year-old sister made no comment or movement at all.
“How are they?” Jennings asked, hovering near the base of the main stairway and waiting for Mr Collins to descend.
“Settling in, sir.”
“Did they need anything?”
“No, sir. Young Master Thomas assured me that he would see to things and make us aware of their needs.”
“Are they coming down?”
“I don’t believe so right now, sir. I heard Master James say that the little girl needed to sleep.”
“What’s her name again?”
“Penny, sir.”
“That’s right.”
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“No, Collins. Thank you.”
Mr Collins had all he could do not to shake his head. He’d never seen his employer so anxious or animated. He couldn’t wait to learn Bates’ opinion on the matter.
Left alone at the bottom of the stairs, Jennings debated his next move. The children needed time to settle in to their new surroundings—they’d been through quite an ordeal— but at the same time he wanted to get to know those boys. Many times in his life he had yearned for this very thing: sons to share his life with, and now he had two of them! It was almost too fantastic to be real. Last night he’d been mourning his choices, and now he had two sons without the trouble of a wife.
His mind ran with the things he wanted to tell them and show them. Not sure when they would be ready to come down, Jennings retired to his study to prepare for such a time.
