Broken Boundaries: A Sweet Regency Romance Read online

  Broken Boundaries

  A Sweet Regency Romance

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Contents

  Copyright

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Broken Boundaries

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Preview - The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Join Kelly Anne Bruce’s Readers Group

  Also By Kelly Anne Bruce

  About Kelly Anne Bruce

  Sweet River Publishing

  Copyright

  Copyright 2019, Kelly Anne Bruce

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, without written approval by the author, except for short excerpts used in a book review.

  All characters, places, events, businesses, or references to historical facts are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any references to actual people, places, or events are purely incidental.

  http://www.KellyAnneBruce.com

  Broken Boundaries

  Sweet Regency Romance

  Kelly Anne Bruce

  Chapter One

  The bakery was unforgivably hot. Christine wiped her brow with a worn cloth having put the last tray of biscuits into the oven. She sighed. Her mother laughed. “You will be glad to get away from here today, I would wager,” she said with a wink, as Christine began to wipe down the wide wooden work table.

  “After all the dreadful weather we have had recently, it will be nice to be able to get out into the fresh air,” Christine admitted. She had never been one for being indoors. Working in her parents’ bakery was a position many girls her age would envy, but the wide open countryside called to Christine – especially on a day like today when the sun shone in an endless blue sky.

  “Get on with you, before your father gets back,” Mother said. “I will finish up here.”

  Delighted, Christine kissed her mother on the cheek, whipped off her apron and without even washing her hands grabbed her coat. She burst out of the bakery’s back door and onto the street singing merrily to herself as she almost skipped through the town. Christine could not contain herself any longer, and not caring one jot what anyone thought of her hoydenish ways she broke into a run as she took the path beside the church that led into the woods and finally to the cool, clear waters of the River Dart.

  The Dart was a wide and undulating river, with many tributaries and pretty views, that rose high on Dartmoor and released to the sea at Dartmouth. Christine slowed her pace as she reached the gently meandering water and sauntered along the bank, enjoying the birdsong and the space. Everything was green and lush, as far as the eye could see and the sky was blue with gently scudding clouds. It was sheer Heaven.

  After about a mile, Christine reached her favourite spot, and sank down onto the grassy bank, not caring a jot for the stains or the dirt she was bound to get on her skirt. She smiled up at the weeping willow that draped itself gracefully down into the water, and pulled off her boots and stockings plunging her feet into the cool water, enjoying the sound of the gurgling, tumbling water as it made its way over the rocks. “Oh, that is so good,” she said out loud as she wriggled her toes.

  Leaning back on her hands, gazing up at the gently swaying branches of the willow, Christine wondered if her childhood friend, Lord Nathaniel Sheffield – heir to the duchy of Goldingshire might come by. She had heard he was down from Cambridge, at last, but he had not been seen in the village. She had not even had a letter from him this year, and it made her fear he had outgrown their unexpected friendship, now that he was a young, educated man of the gentry.

  Plucking at the grass, balling it between her fingers, she supposed nothing could really have stayed the same. They were both full grown, and they had such very different lives ahead of them. She really should call him Lord Sheffield, or my Lord, even in her thoughts – but he would always be just Nate to her. A naughty boy who had not given a fig for the opinion of his family, or his peers. He had never seen her as just a daughter of the village baker. He believed she was his equal, in every way. He had helped her to learn her letters and he had taught her mathematics, so she could help in the family business. She had taught him to tickle a trout and how to gut a rabbit.

  They had so many happy memories and Christine could not keep the smile from her face at the thought of seeing him come around the bend. Some people held a special place in the heart, and Nate would always hold one of those in hers – no matter how the world might tear them apart. She had always known that she would lose him some day, no matter how much he had protested that such a thing could never be. Christine was no fool. Lords married ladies, and she doubted any high-born wife would understand, or tolerate, a husband’s friendship with a common baker’s maid like Christine.

  Their chance meeting, long ago when they were just tiny striplings, had given them an unlikely friendship to cherish and hold dear. They had both been looking to escape the burdens set upon their shoulders. Different in almost every way, their affection for each other had come out of nowhere. Christine was dreamer where Nate was practical; she was fiery while he was unendingly calm; and of course, he was the son of the Duke of Goldingshire, a family with grand manors and lands all over England. And she was simply a baker’s daughter. They made the most unlikely partnership and yet they sought each other out again and again. Both longed to escape the reality of their confining worlds and to be alone and free.

  Christine knew it was silly to expect that Nate might be here every time she was able to get away, but it did not stop her from looking up and to her right, to see if he might be dawdling along the track from Goldington House. She hated to admit just how much seeing his grinning, familiar face meant to her. She had missed him and it seemed to her that it had been much longer than four months since she had seen him last. The past four years, whilst Nathaniel had been up at university, only returning for a few weeks just a handful of times a year, had been torture for her to bear.

  But it seemed that God was smiling upon her this day, as she heard a cheerful whistling, which was soon followed by the appearance around the bend of Christine’s dear friend. He had grown still taller, even since Easter when she had seen him last. His hair was longer, too, a riot of dark curls that made him look a little dishevelled and even a bit rakish. There was no denying that he was growing into a very handsome man. Christine did not know why, but that thought made her a little sad, as though it was yet another step towards their permanent and inevitable separation.

  “I rather hoped I would find you here,” he said, flopping onto the grass beside her. “Good weather always draws you out.” He grinned at her.

  “I have been here, come rain or shine – whenever I could. You are the one that has not been here for an age and a day.”

  “An age and a day, Christine, is not a real measure of time,” he berated her affectionately.

  “Well, you know what I mean, anyway. You have kept me waiting too long!” She pouted, a little. Hearing the whine in her voice, she scolded herself silently and pinned a smile to her face, praying he had not seen or noticed her unintended slip. If all she ever did was nag at him, he would never wish to spend time
with her. Yet, did he not see how much she feared losing him? Did he truly not understand that things were changing between them?

  “Perhaps I can make it up to you, shall I? Cool you off on such a warm day?” He leant down to the water, and with a devilish grin, began to flick it towards her. Each flick drew a bigger and bigger splash, and soon his attempts would reach her and Christine would be drenched. Christine squealed, and pulling her feet out of the cool water moved further away from the bank.

  It was as if nothing had ever changed. He was behaving in just the way he always had towards her – and it should have made Christine happy. But, a tiny part of her knew it could never be the same, though she decided to play along, to clutch at this chance to make some final memories that would last her the rest of her life.

  “Nate, stop splashing!” she cried in mock indignation as she jumped to her feet and moved away from him. “I have to go home to prepare the supper and Father will already be angry that I slipped away from my chores early, even though Mother said I could. I cannot return with a wet dress, on top of being late. That will make him angrier still.”

  Nate was soon on his feet, and chased Christine as they laughed and ran into the trees. The twigs and bracken was soft enough, but soon Christine found herself running on a stony path that cut at her bare feet. “Stop, we have to stop,” she said breathlessly. “My feet are getting cut to shreds.”

  Nate seemed to think she was just teasing, trying to gain his sympathy so she could dart past him and prolong their game, and his eyes widened as his full lips curved into a wide grin. “You do not fool me,” he said.

  “No, I am telling the truth,” she protested, and sat down on a nearby log and held out her feet to prove she was not lying. Cautiously he approached her, obviously still sure that she was just trying to lure him in for some dastardly reason. But, as he drew closer he gasped and sank to his knees in front of her.

  “You poor little thing. We need to get you cleaned up. Wait there, I will get your things and we can use my handkerchief to bathe your wounds.” He grinned and ran back to the bank.

  It was cooler in the woods, and it was not long before Christine felt a little shivery. She rubbed her arms and gazed around her. Everything was still. At least, it was until Nate came bounding back to her side. He knelt down and washed her feet tenderly, then turned his back as she put on her stockings.

  Christine could not help thinking that it was not that long ago that he would not have cared about such niceties. She was not sure if she liked this new, respectful Nathaniel – or would rather have the old, playful Nate – the one who had been splashing and chasing her just minutes before. But this young man, well he was the kind of chap that you bobbed a curtsey to. She could not help but feel a frisson of fear that their easy friendship and childhood games might be coming to an end even sooner than she had feared.

  Nate sank down onto the log beside Christine and smiled as she leaned against him. It was a familiar and comfortable pose they often seemed to fall into, but today it felt different. He had noticed that as he bathed her feet. Even with the calluses poor Christine had on her heels and the balls of her feet, from standing all day in the bakery, she had lovely feet with slender toes and a high arch that had felt just right sitting in his hand.

  Nate had never thought of Christine as anything other than his best friend in the world, yet as he sat with her head resting on his shoulder, her head fitting perfectly into the curve of his neck, Nate could not help noticing that Christine was now a very attractive young woman. She had always only person who really knew him at all.

  Mayhaps it was time that he remembered that they were both grown, and that their games and shenanigans would soon be nothing but a memory. After all, a friend may be there to chase and tease, but a young woman should be treated with respect.

  He could not define the feelings he held for Christine any more. That confused and worried him, as he never wished to lose her friendship or her counsel. She was so special in every way. Yet, suddenly he was assailed by deeper, more primal emotions as he felt the warmth of her body against his. He knew he could not pursue Christine. Because she was his friend, of course, but for more practical reasons, too. She was the baker’s daughter.

  There would not be an eyebrow in the village or even up at the house raised if he were to woo and bed a village girl before, or even once he was married – but such attentions could ruin an honest girl like Christine. He would never be that kind of man. He would not take a girl’s innocence and offer in return nothing but empty promises. Quite simply, he was not free to marry as he chose and even if he was, a match with the baker’s daughter would never be suitable in his world.

  “So,” she said, breaking into his reverie. “Is it true that your father is in ill health?”

  Nate paused for a moment before answering. It was in some ways an easier subject than the one that had been racing through his mind, but in others it was just as dangerous. “He has been better,” he said cautiously, not because he did not trust Christine with the truth. His reasons for holding back were more because he was struggling to accept the realities that he would have to take on a role he feared should his father’s illness grow more serious.

  “I am sorry,” Christine said softly. She paused for a moment, as if she was trying to read his mind. “You have told me a hundred times that you shall be expected to take over the estate and all the lands when you were grown – and that you dreaded it.”

  “I cannot tell you how much the thought of it turns my insides cold,” he admitted, not surprised at her empathy for his situation. She was always so attuned to his thoughts and fears. It was as if they were one, sometimes.

  “Then we must pray that your father recovers quickly, and leads a long and healthy life,” Christine said, her positive tone sounding just a little forced.

  “I do, every single day,” Nate said quietly.

  “Most people I know would be looking forward to coming into wealth and rank,” she mused.

  “I am sure most I know do, too,” Nate said, thinking of some of the men he had known up at Cambridge who had seemed all too eager to come into their vast inheritances, even though that meant the loss of their fathers. He could understand it, of course, there were few noble parents who had much input in the rearing of their offspring after all, but common decency alone should have quelled such talk in public.

  “I just do not want the responsibility of all the people on the estate, ensuring their welfare and keeping everything running smoothly,” Nate admitted. “It is such a big job, and one I do not relish. I hardly know my Papa. He has always been busy with his solicitors, his bailiff and the tenant farmers. I cannot remember a time when he has not been poring over that great ledger of his.”

  “And all the letters,” Christine reminded him. “I have often bumped into his valet as he ensures they are delivered in a timely fashion. Such great piles, almost every day.”

  “And the tenant homes need proper maintenance, as does the mill and the public stable,” he added, with an exasperated sigh.

  “Being wealthy really is not always so wonderful, is it?” Christine said thoughtfully. “I think most people, like me, would think you have it easy. All that money, the grand houses, an extravagant life of balls and banquets. We are just grateful to pay the rent and keep food in our bellies, but there seems to be an endless list of things that you have to consider and organise when you are wealthy and hold a position of power.”

  “I am not ready, and I am certain I never will be,” Nate confessed, feeling almost relieved to have been able to speak his fears out loud.

  “Even though you have been at school, and been preparing for it your whole life?”

  “Eton and Cambridge have given me an education, that is true enough - but I do not think anything really prepares you to be a duke.”

  “So, how long will you be home this time?” Christine asked. “Must you return to university, or are you now done?”

  “Just a few
weeks. I am only here now because of Papa. I still have final examinations upon my return,” he said, sadly. “But I shall be back for good soon enough.”

  Christine gave a half smile. He knew it must be hard for her to know what to say. “Shall you be here most days?” he asked her. “I intend to be out riding as much as I can be, and outdoors whilst I am here – whatever the weather. I cannot bear being stuck in the classroom – or the sickroom - all the time. Do tell me you will try and get away as often as you can.” he begged her.

  “You know I will do just that,” she assured him.

  He thought he would be pleased to hear her say it, but strangely it made him feel a little anxious. Nate’s belly clenched tightly and a churning began to rumble deep inside him. Such a sensation had never occurred around Christine before. With her he had always been able to be himself, to be at peace. He could not deny that such sensations happened often enough when he thought of his future, and had intensified since he had received his mother’s letter telling him of Papa’s failing health, but not when he thought about spending time with his best friend.

  He had no need of further complication in his life, not right now. There was more than enough for him to have to bear. But it seemed that there was something crackling between himself and his old friend, a spark of attraction neither had ever spoken of or sought.

  They sat in silence for a few moments. In the past such times were comfortable, peaceful even, with no need to speak or do anything and a tacit understanding between them that all was good. But today, the silence seemed overwhelming, deafening even. “Shall we head back to the bank?” he asked her, breaking the first uncomfortable moment he could ever recall with Christine. “It is warmer there, and I can feel you shivering.” He smiled tightly.