A Wild Heart

by Celeste De Blasis

Genres: Classics; Historical Fiction; Sagas; War & Military; Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

Wild Swan, the horse farm Alexandria Falconer built up from nothing in the border state of Maryland, has been Alex's sanctuary through years of turmoil, and she has come of age in this land of opportunity. But the storm clouds of civil war are gathering, and Alex knows she has a choice to make to protect her family and maintain the precarious peace at Wild Swan.



When Alex's son dies tragically, she is shattered. It is only through caring for her adopted daughter, two-year-old Gincie, that Alex starts to overcome her grief and find comfort with her beloved husband Rane once more. But when Rane is called away to aid the Union war effort, she is left bereft.



Alex's heart is with Rane, but at home she has the sole responsibility of shielding Gincie and the rest of her family from the danger creeping ever closer to their door. When a charming soldier arrives at Wild Swan, Alex reluctantly gives him shelter, but the two form a bond and when news arrives of Gettysburg, she is torn with worry for men on both sides of the battlefield. With Gincie by her side, she undertakes a dangerous journey to fight for her family, her principles, and the man who holds her heart.

Contains mature themes.

Release date: December 8, 2020

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Alexandria Carrington Falconer knew better than most the perils of mixing past and present. And yet, this day would see it done when Hugh Bettingdon and his wife Angelica, the Duke and Duchess of Almont, arrived at Wild Swan. Alex had never met his wife, and she had not seen Hugh since the day sixteen years ago when she, St. John, and the children—the twins, Flora and Blaine, and Morgan and Nigel—had sailed away from Gravesend, England, bound for a new life in America. But when Hugh saw her again, saw her with her husband Rane and with their son Morgan and daughter Gweneth, he would know.

When Hugh had written to say that he and his wife were coming to the United States and would like to visit the Falconers, Alex could have refused. Briefly she had considered making some excuse that would keep the Bettingdons away without offending their feelings. Though Rane had not pressed the point, she knew he would have preferred she do just that. But she could not. She was proud of what she had made of her life in Maryland, proud of her husband and children. And beyond that there was part of her that wanted Hugh, who had been such a kind and supportive friend in England, to approve the choices she had made.

She was too restless with waiting to remain in the house, and she went outside, savoring the immediate welcome of the sunlight.

Spring was fully on the land, and Alex viewed the burgeoning acres of Wild Swan as if they were newly created. In a sense they were, for her, because she had just returned to the farm after being away for weeks while attending various horse races in Virginia and the Carolinas.

The fields, pastures, orchards, flower beds, and the herb gardens, which provided many of the ingredients Alex used in brewing her healing simples, were flourishing with the fierce energy of the season. And the air was alive with the sound of livestock from poultry to the red Devon cattle to the Thoroughbreds—the exquisite horses bred for speed and endurance, the aristocracy of their blood showing in every sleek, strong line.

The horses were the heart of Wild Swan, the reason that Alex and her first husband, St. John Carrington, had purchased the estate, rundown then, renamed it, and worked so hard to renew the fertility of the land. Hers had been the dream of a new life in a new land; his had been the dream of a stable of horses fit to compete in the most demanding races. They had merged their separate visions into one, and had transformed the dream into the reality of Wild Swan.

They had not done it alone. In England they had had the help of Alex’s grandmother, Virginia Thaine, who had sold a treasured wood of oak trees in order that Alex and St. John might have the money for passage to America and for beginning a new life there. And in Maryland friends and employees had helped the Carringtons, first in the establishment of the Wild Swan Tavern in Annapolis, which had been the Carringtons’ first business in America, and then in their move to the land that lay nearly equidistant, about sixteen miles, from Annapolis to the southeast and Washington to the southwest.

Alex smiled as she watched her daughter with Samson. Though Gwenny would not be four until the fall, she had long since learned that one of the most interesting places to be was with Samson, who was endlessly patient with children as long as they obeyed his basic dictates about taking care around the horses. Samson and his wife had much to do with the smooth functioning of the farm.

Even though it was a familiar sight, Alex never ceased to be touched by the sight of the huge Black man trailed by the children of Wild Swan. Slavery had left its fearsome marks on him; his dark brown skin was scarred on wrists, ankles, back, and right cheek, and part of his right earlobe and a lower front tooth were missing. But Samson possessed the most unblemished heart and soul Alex had ever encountered.

He had come to Wild Swan as a fugitive slave. Legally, he was still a fugitive, and worse, a murderer. Though Samson had fled from his owner under the threat of maiming or death, he had planned to return to Georgia to free his wife and his two children. But his owner had come to Wild Swan, drawn there by interest in the famous horses, and Samson had confronted him a little way from the farm, begging him to release his family. In a rage, the slave owner had not only refused, but had attacked Samson with his riding crop and threatened Alex as well for her part in sheltering a runaway slave.

It had happened very quickly, but Alex could still see it all unfolding before her, slowly, as Samson dragged the man from his horse and bashed his head in She had witnessed the killing and her own fear. She and Samson had stared at each other over the chasm of the worst Southern fear—a Black man had killed a white man. And then she had remembered that this was the same man who had been training the horses and guarding the children with infinite tenderness since the day he had asked for a job at Wild Swan.

Alex had devised the plan to make the authorities view the incident as an accident, and she had begged Samson to remain at Wild Swan. And here he had stayed even after he had learned that his family had died of fever shortly after Samson had fled the plantation. Alex’s housekeeper Della had helped him weather the crippling blow of that truth, and he had married her. Della, half Black and half white, the product of a white owner’s relationship with his slave, was a beautiful, highly educated, and freed woman who had had no intention of falling in love with the untutored slave Samson had been on his arrival at Wald Swan, but her heart had not heeded her mind’s reluctance, and Alex did not know a couple more closely bound by love than Samson and Della. Nor could she imagine Wild Swan without them. In addition to doing the cooking, Della ran the household while Samson was the undisputed authority in the stables. It was an arrangement that allowed Alex to leave the farm for extended periods of time without fear that everything would be in disarray when she returned.

Samson eyed her keenly as she came near, taking note of the fact that she wore her riding habit.

“Mebbe you an’ Swan be needin’ a liddle runnin’ fo’ de spirit Mista Rane an’ de company dat’s comin’, dey come you worry or not,” he observed.

“You know me too well,” Alex said ruefully. “And you are absolutely right—I will feel better for a run on Swan.”

“Me too!” Gwenny chirped, and Alex mentally adjusted the speed of the ride to accommodate taking Gwenny before her on the saddle.

But Samson came to her rescue, pulling a sad face and complaining to Gwenny, “You goin’ leave me here wid all dis work to do by myself?”

Gwenny looked pensive for a moment, torn by wanting to do both, but then she said to her mother, “I better stay here ’cuz Samson needs me to help ’im.”

Alex hid her smile, greeting this announcement with the solemnity the child expected though she was aware that Gwenny’s decision had been influenced by the fact that her brother Blaine had given her a ride earlier in the day. “Maybe if you and Samson get very warm while you work, Della could be persuaded to give you something cold to drink,” she suggested, and Gwenny nodded her head in vigorous endorsement of the idea.

The big chestnut stallion danced a little in anticipation of being taken out for a ride, but he quieted immediately at a few words from Alex. Though everyone called him “Swan,” his full name was Wild Swan. He had come with the Carringtons to America when he was a newborn foal at his mother’s side. His mother, the lame mare Leda, had been bred to another stallion after the birth of Wild Swan and had given birth to a filly, Black Swan, in the United States. It was not only the connection with the mythical legend of Leda and the Swan, but also Alex’s love for the wild swans of England that had led to the naming of the Swan line as well as the farm and before that the Wild Swan Tavern. Leda had been the foundation mare of the stables, producing a string of fine racehorses, and Swan had been a racing giant in his day. Even more, he continued to command high stud fees, in addition to producing champions for Alex’s stable through his breeding to mares outside his own bloodline.

Alex reminded herself that she had much to be grateful for from Hugh Bettingdon. Though Wild Swan’s sire had been a different stallion, Black Swan’s had been a prize horse in Hugh’s stable and the breeding to Leda had been a parting gift to the Carringtons.

Mounted on Swan, Alex felt immediately more peaceful and in control. However badly or well the reunion with Hugh went, this was her reality. This land and these prize animals provided not only financial security but strength for her spirit, too, and while, with the exception of Gwenny, the children’s lives were centered in Baltimore now as was Rane’s with his business at the Jennings-Falconer shipyard, Wild Swan was still the heartland of the family.

She looked back as she rode away. Though the buildings were from the last century, everything was in perfect repair from the dependencies—the smokehouse, springhouse, laundry, necessary, and others—to the brick stables, wooden barns, and the separate buildings that allowed the staff to live their own lives. And dominating the scene was the main house, a five-part design in rosy brick with the central two-story block flanked by “hyphens,” covered passages that connected the two side wings to the rest. It could not match the vast dimensions of Hugh’s country estate, but the house had a feeling of airy space, and because it was no more than two rooms wide front to back and had large windows and doors, the air circulated and kept the temperature bearable even on the hottest days of summer, though winter heating from the fireplaces was sometimes a problem when the weather was severe.

Alex shivered a little thinking of cuddling close to Rane on a cold night—or on a warm night, for that matter. He had journeyed to North Carolina to be with her at one of the race meetings, but still, they had been apart for long days.

Swan sidled impatiently, and Alex laughed. “Sorry, my pet. Did you feel my attention wandering from your magnificent self?”

She guided him through fields and woodland, letting him cover the ground with his long swift stride when the footing was good, keeping him safely reined over rough terrain, and generally enjoying the feeling of being attuned to the big beast. Spring flowers and bird song gladdened the day. Alex’s spirits rose even higher when she heard the voices as she turned for home.

“I thought I might meet you on my travels,” she called to her three sons as they came into view.

Though her voice was casual, her heart overflowed at the sight of the three young men riding so gracefully on Thoroughbreds from her stable. Blaine was twenty-one this year, Morgan nineteen, and Nigel seventeen, and Alex was convinced there could be no more handsome or satisfactory sons anywhere. Sometimes she felt a quick sorrow that none of them had chosen the Thoroughbreds as their work, but the sorrow was far less than the pride she felt for their choices.

Blaine was establishing a law practice that was already the envy of older men; Morgan, with his passion for ships and the sea, worked at the shipyard; Nigel would begin medical school in Philadelphia in the fall and was currently completing his general education and spending his free time working with Dr. Benjamin in Baltimore.

Despite the busy lives the boys had in the city, they had not shown the slightest reluctance in complying with their mother’s request that they meet her at Wild Swan on her return from the races. Without asking for details, they knew she was anxious about the English visitors, and if their presence at Wild Swan could ease their mother’s way, they were more than happy to be here.

As Nigel had said to his brothers, “We hardly ever have a chance to do something for her. It’s usually the other way around.”

With Gwenny back at the house, it would have taken only Flora, Blaine’s twin, to complete the family, but Blaine confessed his failure to persuade her to come with them.

“I think she is afraid Carlton would decide to follow her out here, and God knows how uncomfortable that would be,” he had said bitterly.

Alex had known that whichever twin married first, it would be hard on the other, but Flora’s marriage to Carlton Fitzhubert III in the previous year had made the situation far worse than Alex had imagined. The marriage was a disaster. Carlton was good-looking, and possessed a surface charm that had been more than adequate to the task of courting Flora, but after the wedding he had rapidly proved himself a wastrel. He drank and gambled to excess, and Alex suspected that he had other vices too. However, far from running home to ease her lot, Flora’s response had been to cut herself off more and more from her family. It saddened them all but was hardest on Blaine. And because he had been harsh and accurate in his judgment of Carlton even before the couple married, Flora welcomed his interference even less after the marriage.

Studying Blaine now, Alex saw that being at Wild Swan and out with his brothers had already eased much of the tension from his face. He caught her look and smiled at her, looking for an instant so much like his father St. John that Alex’s heart twisted. The twins were her sister’s children by St. John, but Alex had had their care from so early in their infancy, when she herself had been little more than a child, that she thought of them as no less her own than the children she had carried in her womb.

“Everything seems better and less complicated when I’m here,” Blaine said, and then he added, ‘I’m not sure, but I think I remember the duke and that he was quite kind to us in England.”

“He was,” Alex agreed, and inwardly she hoped that kindness could withstand the truth. “Did you ride over to Brookhaven?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Morgan answered for the three of them, and his voice was aggrieved. “Yes, but when we asked Sam to come riding with us, she claimed she was too busy.”

“It’s probably true,” Nigel pointed out peaceably. “Her stepmother doesn’t turn her hand to anything but gossip, and her father has never seemed very handy around the place. Sam is the one who really runs Brookhaven.”

Morgan was not mollified. “I know that! But we’re not here in the country that often any more. You’d think she could at least find the time for a ride.”

What he meant was that Sam should have been able to find the time to spend with him, but his brothers hid their grins and forbore pointing it out.

Samantha Elise Sheldon-Burke had been part of their lives since she had first wandered into Wild Swan as a grubby eight-year-old. But Morgan had been her special friend from the first day. The problem was that Sam was no longer a child and wanted Morgan to see her as a woman, while Morgan, though at nineteen a year older than she, did not want the complications of readjusting his view of her and continued to treat her in the old way.

Alex sympathized with both of them, for she and Rane had suffered the same situation, in reverse, when they were young: Rane had recognized his love for her as a woman long before she had been willing to leave childhood behind. But she knew that interference in the case of Morgan and Sam could only do harm though she allowed herself to suggest, “Perhaps I can persuade Sam to visit while the Bettingdons are here; I would like her to meet them.” If Hugh and I are not at war, she added silently.

She and her sons continued to talk about a variety of subjects as they rode in, but their conversation died abruptly as they drew close to the buildings and saw that Rane had just arrived with the Bettingdons.

Alex was hardly aware that Samson and the other stablehands had come out to take the horses as she and her sons dismounted. All her attention was focused on her husband and the Bettingdons.

Over six feet tall, broad of shoulder and showing none of the thickening in the middle that came to so many men of his age, Rane still had the power to steal Alex’s breath away. His dark hair had faint streaks of silver beginning at the temples, and his eyes were startlingly green in his tanned face. His features were boldly drawn from firmly molded chin to the strong sculpture of jaw, brow and nose. At forty-one, he was a man in every sense and in the prime of his life. And Alex knew him too well to miss the tension in him. As they mirrored each other in appearance, so too did they reflect each other’s feelings. Her heart sank a little; she had hoped that he and Hugh would have established some easy, common ground by the time they arrived at Wild Swan. It was why she had convinced Rane to meet the Bettingdons in Baltimore and escort them to her at Wild Swan.

It was not that Rane was being rude, but she saw the restraint and wariness in his expression before the light and the love flowed into his eyes as he looked at her.

Beside her husband, Angelica Bettingdon so forgot her usually impeccable manners as to breathe, “My heavens, they are so alike!” and although she knew she was staring, she could not stop.

Alexandria was a beautiful woman, tall and slender. Her heavy dark hair was swept back from her face and crowned by her riding hat, but a few wayward curls had escaped to brush the high-boned cheeks. Her nose was straight, with slightly flared nostrils over a generous mouth, but her most arresting features were her huge green eyes framed by thick black lashes under arching brows. Her eyes had a little tilt at the outer corners that, added to the soft golden glow of her skin, made her at once earthy and exotic. Her vitality was so enormously compelling that although she was dressed in a fashionable riding habit, it was as if she was so essentially female, outward trappings were of no moment.

Angelica had raised no demur about the visit, but she had dreaded coming face to face with Alexandria Carrington Falconer. Angelica knew her husband loved her; their marriage had been for love, not for social position nor any other necessity. And if Hugh had wanted a wife solely to provide him with an heir, he would have chosen a younger woman, for Angelica had been past the first bloom when they met, and the two children they had produced had surprised and delighted both of them. Their life together had made Angelica happier than she had ever thought to be, and she had never had the slightest cause to doubt Hugh’s fidelity. Yet, the strange soft look that came into his eyes whenever this woman was mentioned had always made Angelica feel threatened. But now the fear vanished. She could almost feel the river of energy flowing around the Falconers and through them from one to the other. Alex and Rane were a pair on such an elemental level, she could not imagine anyone coming between them.

Her smile was warm as she was introduced to Alex and the Falconer sons, and when Alex addressed her as “Your Grace,” Angelica said, “Please, no titles here. My name is Angelica,” and the two women exchanged looks of mutual approval.

Indeed, Alex felt as if she had found an unexpected ally in Hugh’s wife. While Hugh was forty-seven, the same age St. John would have been this year, Alex guessed Angelica to be closer to her own age of thirty-six. She was slightly built with fine features. Her hair was dark gold, her skin fair, and her eyes saved her from looking the perfect patrician beauty. Framed by dark lashes, they were an odd deep gray with scarcely a touch of blue, the irises defined by deeper gray rings. They were wise, kind eyes that somehow reminded Alex of her grandmother’s, though Virginia’s had been very dark.

Alex hoped that the flurry of greetings was covering her nervousness at facing Hugh again. Aside from a few more lines on his face and a little gray in his hair, he was just as she remembered him—tall, dark-haired, black-eyed, a well-built man and self-assured. She steeled herself to meet his eyes squarely.

“Welcome to Wild Swan, Hugh,” she said softly, and for a moment the comfort of old friendship blossomed between them.

And then Gwenny catapulted from the house and into her father’s arms. Almost instantly Alex saw the flare of discovery in Hugh’s eyes as they flickered from Gwenny to Rane to Morgan to herself.

She did not flinch from the accusation in his eyes, but she felt a welling sadness. He was reacting exactly as she had feared he would. She could feel his withdrawal, and suddenly he was very much the duke, aloof and removed from the scene around him. It reminded her of how he had behaved toward her when he had first met her, before he had learned she was not like her sister Florence, St. John’s first wife.

“You have done very well here,” he said. “The land is obviously prosperous and the horses are magnificent.” The stiffness in his tone stripped the words of their generosity, but Alex acknowledged the surface meaning with a dutiful thank-you.

She could hardly bear to look at Hugh’s wife, fearful of the change she would see there also, but Angelica’s brief frown was not for her but for Hugh. And Alex was grateful that Rane seemed distracted by Gwenny’s claim on his attentions, though Blaine wore a slightly puzzled expression, as if this reserved Hugh was not the man he remembered from England.

For her part, Angelica restrained herself until she and Hugh had been shown their room and left alone to wash and dress for supper. Then she said, “How can you be so rude when your friend Alexandria has greeted you with such warmth?”

“You don’t understand!” he snapped. “It’s there for all to see. Blaine has his father’s vivid blue eyes, though his hair is not as pale as St. John’s was. And Nigel looks as he should, too, the blend of Alex and St. John giving him those blue-green eyes and the dark brown hair. But Morgan and Gweneth are obviously Rane Falconer’s children. I could not know that in England because there was no Gweneth. Morgan was only a small child when the Carringtons left, and I had never met Rane Falconer. I thought Morgan was simply a testament to the strength of the Thaine blood Alex carries. But now I know. Though the girl’s skin is fair and Morgan’s golden, they can be no less than full brother and sister with their green eyes, dark hair, and a thousand other things in common.”

“Alex and Rane look nearly as much alike,” Angelica pointed out, “and they are, you told me, only distantly related. So perhaps the Thaine blood is as you first thought, strong enough to dominate from only one side.”

“Your sweet reason will not serve here,” Hugh said. “It is not only the children, it was in Alex’s eyes. She was daring me to—”

“To what?” Angelica asked with mocking calm. “To betray her, to rail at her, to condemn her? My lord Duke, I love you, but you are being an insufferable boor about this. You have no right to pass judgment here.”

“St. John Carrington was my friend. And I trusted Alex. Now I see that she made a cuckold of her husband.” He ground the words out and his face was dark with rage at being played the fool, but Angelica was far more afraid of seeing him act unjustly than of his temper.

“It is not your business. And from all you have told me before, Alexandria saved your friend’s life when he would have died of his wound from Waterloo and gave him new hope. But she adores Rane Falconer; that is clear for anyone to see. If she was with him before it must have been agony to let him go from her.”

“If she did,” Hugh muttered, but even in the turmoil of his suspicions, he could not believe that Alex had led a double life for long while she was with St. John. He was as miserable as he was angry, and he didn’t want to look too closely at why Alexandria’s behavior so many years ago should so wound him now.

“My dear husband, perhaps it would be better if we did not stay with the Falconers after all,” Angelica suggested.

Hugh heard the sorrow that underlay the words. He knew how much his wife had looked forward to staying put for a while after the trip from England and the journey down the coast from New York where he had conducted business. And ruefully he acknowledged to himself that Alexandria’s old magic was still working—Angelica was already a good way toward being charmed by her.

“No, we will stay, at least for a time. And I promise I will be civil.”

Angelica had to be content with this, but she knew that Hugh’s idea of civility could be markedly lacking in warmth.

Alex was only too aware of this lack when they gathered for supper. She knew that Rane and their sons were wondering why she and St. John had ever been fond of this very aloof Englishman. Angelica did her best to instill life into the conversation, asking questions and relating her first impressions of America, a commentary that was much more tolerant than that given by many English visitors. But it was hard going with Hugh observing it all with cold obsidian eyes, and Alex was infinitely relieved when the evening was over and she was at last alone with Rane.

“Just hold me for a moment,” she murmured, leaning against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, tempering the desire that flooded through him at having her within his reach after so many days without her.

“Your duke is behaving quite well, considering how hard it must be for him to see me in his friend’s place,” Rane said, striving to be fair.

And seeing that you had been in St. John’s place before, as well, Alex added to herself. She did not want trouble between the men, and so she made no attempt to explain that the Hugh Rane was seeing was not the real man at all.

Rane tilted her head up and kissed her, and Alex opened her mouth to the invasion of his tongue, tasting his mouth in turn, letting the sweet rising warmth ease the tensions of the day. And suddenly she needed him desperately, needed him to banish Hugh’s cold judgment.

She rubbed sinuously against his hard body, and Rane loosed the leash on his own passion as they undressed each other and tumbled on the bed, breathing in each other’s scent and tasting the salt and sweat of heated flesh.

They had been apart too long to go slowly. When Rane loomed over her, she tilted her hips to meet his thrust and took the hard fullness of him deep, sighing his name.

Rane moved in her, savoring the warm, pulsing welcome and the long sleek lines of her as she moved to celebrate his body and her own.

Still harbored in her warmth, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, holding her close. “My love, my love,” he whispered, “no matter how busy my days are when you are gone, nothing is complete until you are with me again.”

She rubbed her cheek against the dark fur on his chest and felt the comforting thump of his heart. “It frightens me sometimes,” she confessed softly, “to know how much I need you. I cannot imagine this earth without you. You worry about me when I am gone, but often you are far out to sea, and that is more dangerous than any of my travels.”

“When I am at sea, I give her all my attention, and I do not tell her how much I love my wife. The sea knows no cause to be jealous on my account.”

He was teasing, but Alex could hear the underlying seriousness; as rational as Rane was, he had his share of superstitions regarding the sea. He left her briefly to snuff the candles the servants had left burning for them, and when he settled down again, he expected Alex to go right to sleep, but instead he could feel the lingering tension in her. His hands found the tight cords in her neck and shoulders and massaged them.

“This is your life, here at Wild Swan, and with me. It does not matter what the duke thinks.” Rane’s voice was gentle, but there was a thread of steel in it. He had been battling his jealousy ever since he had begun to suspect how much the visit of the Bettingdons meant to Alex, and the jealousy was still there, lurking in the back of his mind, even though he knew he had a depth of love from Alex that no one else, including St. John Carrington, had ever had. But he would never be completely comfortable with the fact of her past life with St. John, and he did not want this visitor from the past to have any power over her.

“You are my life,” Alex said, and finally she relaxed against him.

But in the next few days, Rane discovered that Alex was fully at ease only when she was alone with him. In her role of hostess she was too brittle, too anxious to please. Accustomed as he was to the confidence she usually brought to so many tasks, it made his heart ache to see her so vulnerable. And he began to observe Hugh Bettingdon more closely and to understand the cause of Alex’s hurt.

It no longer mattered that Rane had not known Hugh before; he began to see the deliberate coldness the man was displaying toward Alex. Hugh’s own wife was a good measure of it because she was so obviously distressed at her husband’s behavior and tried so diligently to smooth the way. Above all else, Rane had come to realize that Alex would never have felt friendship for such a rigid man as Hugh seemed to be.

Once he realized that Hugh’s attitude was deliberate, it was all he could do to control his temper. His overwhelming instinct was to punch the man in the mouth and send him packing, but he knew that would never do because it would hurt Alex more than Hugh.

He cautioned himself to patience, and when