The Waylaid Heart

Book 1: A Chance Inquiry

by Holly Newman

Genres: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

A husband murdered . . . A widow's ruse to find the killer . . . A nobleman's curiosity . . . Lead to a white slavery ring destroyed and a love found . . .



Although her marriage to George Waddley has been passionless, the beautiful widow Cecilia Haukstrom Waddley vows to unmask the man responsible for her husband's murder. Suspecting the culprit traveled in society circles, she diverts attention from eavesdropping and prying with constant and tiresome complaints of illness.



But nothing is as it seems . . .



Sir James Branstoke sees straight through Cecilia's feigned fragility. Intrigued by her odd behavior, he believes she has secrets—secrets that could lead to her demise. So, the hunter follows the huntress through society, never imagining that what has started as a chance inquiry could lead to a surprising love greater than either had ever known.



But will the cost of uncovering a murderer be too high? Can Cecilia and James reveal the culprit so love can blossom in the end?



Contains mature themes.

Release date: September 8, 2012

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Print pages: 179

Sample

Chapter One

Snubbed! It hardly seemed possible.

Intrigued, Sir James Branstoke raised his gold-rimmed quiz­zing glass to observe the slender yet enticingly shaped form of Mrs. Cecilia Haukstrom Waddley. He mentally reviewed his brief encounter with the renowned ninny hammer.

If the woman had been any other than Mrs. Waddley, her ac­tions would have fallen into the category of a snub, to the point of a direct cut. However, Mrs. Waddley's eccentric reputation preceded her. He found himself unwilling to grant her the sophis­ticated subtlety of manner necessary for the proper delivery and timing of an effective snub. No, something sent her scurrying off, slipping through the crush by the music room door.

Branstoke rubbed the rim of the quizzing glass thoughtfully against his cheek. He'd greeted the infamous widow with com­ments designed to flatter and draw a blush, thereby avoiding a recital of her most recent afflictions. He swiftly perceived she was not attending him.

Her head tilted, and her dark blue eyes sparkled strangely. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she left, going off in a flurry of gossamer layers of muslin and trailing lavender ribbons, leaving him without a word. He doubted she possessed an awareness of her social gaff. Ruefully, he wondered whether it would have mattered to her. Her attitude was that of a hound flying to a scent and totally out of character for the woman all society con­sidered a beautiful yet charmingly featherbrained creature.

Despite her youthful marriage into trade, society wel­comed Mrs. Waddley back into its august ranks upon her widowhood—as much for her now elevated purse as for the elevated positions of her grandfather, the notorious Duke of Houghton, and her uncle, the Marquis of Nye. At five and twenty, she was no longer in the first bloom of youth; yet with hair the color of moonlight and large, twilight-blue eyes, she possessed an ethereal beauty and fragility. Her ethereal appearance gave credence to her complaints of the various and sundry illnesses that afflicted her body.

Absently, Branstoke twirled the quizzing glass by its black riband. He'd endeavored to engage Mrs. Waddley in conversa­tion as a refreshing diversion from his attentions to Miss Philomel Cresswell, the current London beauty and society darling. Though a diamond of the first water in appearance, Miss Cres­swell lamentably possessed the hardness of that particular stone. Mrs. Waddley, with her childlike chatter, he deemed a pleasant counterpoint and a subtle message to Miss Cresswell that he was not a man to be manipulated, as she was wont to try. However, from his brief observation, he doubted Mrs. Waddley was as simple as everyone thought.

He glanced at the circle of gentlemen surrounding the laugh­ing Miss Cresswell. He was in no hurry to rejoin their ranks. It would be more entertaining to discover the true nature of Mrs. Waddley, if there was anything to discover. Somehow, his intu­ition told him there was.

A slight smile pulled upon his lips. Branstoke stuck the end of the quizzing glass into his waistcoat pocket and sauntered off in the direction his new quarry had taken, his curiosity roused.