The Second Season Read online

  An imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc.

  Springville, Utah

  Notice: ebook piracy is both illegal and immoral. If you suspect that you received this ebook from an illegitimate distributor or retailer, please look at our list of authorized distributors. If you received this book from a retailer or promotion not on this list, then neither the author nor publisher have been paid for their work. Please support us so that we can continue to provide you with quality literature.

  © 2016 Heather Chapman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of Cedar Fort, Inc. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4621-2673-6

  Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc., 2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT 84663

  Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc. www.cedarfort.com

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Chapman, Heather, 1986- author.

  Title: The second season / Heather Chapman.

  Description: Springville, Utah : Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc., [2016]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016012542 | ISBN 9781462118847 (pbk.)

  Subjects: LCSH: Social classes--Fiction. | Young women--Fiction. | Courtship--Fiction. | Mate selection--Fiction. | GSAFD: Regency fiction. | LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Domestic fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.H369 S43 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016012542

  Cover design by Michelle May Ledezma

  Cover design © 2016 by Cedar Fort, Inc.

  Edited and typeset by Jessica Romrell

  To Mom, for always being in my corner, and to my girls, I’ll always be in yours.

  “With characters calling to mind the March girls and society adventures worthy of Frances Burney, this is a genuine and thoughtful treatment of young love and its reasons.”

  -Kaki Olsen, author of Swan and Shadow: A Swan Lake Story

  “A sweet romance that will keep you reading. You’ll be rooting for the headstrong heroine from beginning to end.”

  -Tracy Winegar, author of Good Ground and The Counterfeit Series

  “A fun debut with characters that will capture your heart.”

  -Tara Mayoros, author of Broken Smiles, Eight Birds for Christmas, and The Christmas Bike

  “A delightful read and charmingly told, I found myself lost in this regency-era love story. It was hard to put down and left me guessing up until its last pages!”

  -Lindsay B. Ferguson, author of By the Stars

  “The Second Season is a sweet, lighthearted Regency-set romance that gives you more than one happy ending to root for!”

  -Dantzel Cherry, author of Miss Darcy’s First Intergalactic Ballet Class and The Price of Love

  CHAPTER 1

  Eleanor turned her head at the sight of Mr. Cranston. He was stroking his mustache with a wet finger as he stared down at her. She had not addressed him directly all evening, but still his gaze would not leave her. It was only her first season, and Eleanor did not yet know how to dissuade the attentions of an unwanted suitor.

  Mr. Cranston had moved closer. He was discussing his displeasure of dancing again. Each time the man smiled, a maze of wrinkles instantaneously appeared across his face. His eyes, once considered fine by many a lady, were now dimmed by his forty-eight years, specifically the thirty years of drinking and emptiness that had filled them.

  It was no use. Try as she might, Eleanor could not shake off her feelings of disappointment. It had only been two months ago that she had met Phillip in this very room. It had been a dark evening, much like this one, and he had come late. He had stood at the door, offering a greeting to the host, when she had caught his eyes falling upon her. His tall frame trembled as he nodded gently at her. It was then that Eleanor knew her heart was lost. She felt it in an instant. In the months that followed, Phillip Hopkins had not let even two days pass without seeing her. That was, until two weeks ago.

  Eleanor had gone to town daily in hopes of meeting him. She attended every invitation and ball without success. She began to think Phillip neglectful, or far worse, blind to her regard for him. After much deliberation, she had written to him personally, asking for his presence at the party this evening. Her letter had gone unanswered.

  “—which is why I am always so disgusted by such displays. Dancing around the room like a pair of peacocks,” Mr. Cranston was saying. “Call me old fashioned if you like, but I am of the opinion that a lady should not be objected to such lunacy. Surely Miss Davenport agrees with me, hmm?”

  The sound of her name startled her. She turned toward Mr. Cranston and raised her small hand in protest. “Mr. Cranston, you must excuse me. I find I am unforgivably distracted.”

  Mr. Cranston furrowed his brow. “Miss Davenport, are you all right?”

  Eleanor nodded, standing up from the soft chair. “I am only in need of fresh air.”

  “Please, allow me to be of assistance,” he whispered in reply. His breathing had quickened, and he now towered over her. His eyes stared down at her in keen anticipation.

  Eleanor instinctively stepped backward in repulsion, but the man was by no means discouraged. She deliberated for a moment but determined to accept his outstretched arm. Phillip had not come, and Eleanor began to feel she could not wait upon him any longer.

  Mr. Cranston had nearly led Eleanor across the room’s long expanse when she heard an eruption of excitement. She did not have to turn around to know that Phillip had arrived. Only one man could cause such an uproar.

  “Miss Davenport! Miss Davenport, I have been detained,” Phillip exclaimed as he made his way toward her.

  The company became hushed as he paraded across the room. The elegant Phillip now stood but a few feet from Cranston’s side. His dark hair was disheveled from the apparent rush he had taken. His cravat hung loosely and awkwardly around his handsome neck. His green eyes were pleading, begging, and full of hope.

  Eleanor stood motionless, her embarrassment heightened by her reddening cheeks. She could not meet his gaze. She nodded modestly and attempted a small smile, but she could not find an appropriate escape from the man in possession of her arm.

  Mr. Cranston, for his part, stood stubbornly and did not even acknowledge Phillip. He gave a slight huff at their meeting and uttered a bored and possessive, “Come, Miss Davenport, you are in need of fresh air.”

  Eleanor helplessly followed, stealing a desperate glance at Phillip.

  A

  Phillip stood abandoned at the open door. He was suddenly aware of the many eyes watching him. He turned, forcing himself to smile broadly. The most eligible ladies and bachelors filled the room. Most laughed at seeing Phillip make such a spectacle of himself. Others stared in confusion. But Phillip did not care what anyone thought. He never had. He chuckled to himself as his fingers combed through his hair. Satisfied he had regained his composure, Phillip strolled to the terrace in search of Eleanor.

  Poor Eleanor.

  She looked positively charming, a fact that had apparently caught the attention of the wealthy but boorish Cranston as well. It was painful to see Eleanor so uncomforta
ble. Phillip determined he could not help but rescue her. He filed between the small clusters of couples. It was not difficult to find Eleanor, for Cranston had led her to the southernmost side, leaving a large gap between the pair and the rest of the company.

  Phillip cleared his throat loudly, attracting the attention of both Eleanor and Cranston. Phillip then raised his voice as he impulsively announced, “Mr. Cranston, I am sorry to inform you that you are wanted at the card table.”

  Cranston’s eyes lowered in irritation. “I do not think you are sorry in the least, Hopkins.”

  A chuckle escaped Phillip’s mouth. He cleared his throat once more. “Mr. Cranston, I am not sorry. I simply meant that I was sorry to be the one to inform you. Clearly, you have been favored with the prettiest lady here. No, I am not sorry at all. Nor do I envy the card table at the moment.”

  Cranston silently eyed Phillip for some time. When it was made clear Phillip was insistent, Cranston stood and turned, huffing as he stormed away.

  It wasn’t until the old bachelor was out of sight that Phillip had the nerve to steal Eleanor’s hand in his. She jerked backward in response, attempting to free herself of his grip. However, the shock on Eleanor’s face only encouraged him.

  Phillip laughed mischievously and whispered quietly, “Perhaps we are in need of more privacy.” He quietly pulled her toward the steps leading to the gardens. Though she shook her head in protest, Eleanor did nothing else to resist his efforts.

  Safely hidden in the dark trees, lighted only by the moon, Phillip commenced laughing as he secured Eleanor around the waist.

  “Phillip Hopkins! You have been mistaken if you’ve presumed I am that type of lady,” she exclaimed. She tried with all her might to escape his embrace, but with each struggle he only tightened his grip.

  “Am I mistaken indeed? You wish to marry that old buffoon, eh? I had thought you cared for a younger, more attractive gentleman,” he teased, leaning close to her face.

  Eleanor fell silent.

  Phillip was no longer smiling. He stood, tall as he was, leaning over her, peering seriously in her eyes. “Please,” he softly pled, “Will you give me your promise?”

  He waited until she met his gaze at last. Her eyes were wet, and Phillip instinctively wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “Oh, Phillip,” Eleanor answered, “You have had my heart since the moment we met.”

  Before she could say another word, Phillip scooped her up in an enormously inappropriate kiss.

  A

  CHAPTER 2

  Twenty-Five Years Later, 1817

  Lady Hopkins was fully aware of her exceptional skills as mistress of Whitefield Hall. Within her twenty-four years as the lady of the house, she had transformed Phillip’s estate, while also restoring the family’s reputation. Though the Hopkins family had always been well established among London followers, a difficulty arose by the hand of the late Lord Whitison Hopkins, baron of Chelmsford. His careless gambling and scandalous behavior almost entirely ruined his nephew Phillip’s chances of ever having the estate to call home.

  Lady Hopkins, then only Miss Eleanor Davenport, had been just the fix for Phillip’s dire circumstances. She had not known of his financial situation when they wed. She had only known that Phillip had been everything fashionable—even the manner in which he walked, his careful compliments, and the handsome smile that had seemed only to belong to her. In short, Miss Eleanor Davenport had been smitten. And at the age of only eighteen, her heart could not be ignored.

  Lady Hopkins had been considered a renowned beauty. Nearly half of the eligible bachelors at the time had attempted to court her. Her fortune was almost unheard of, at £60,000 upon her marriage. This fact had miraculously spread throughout London in a matter of days prior to the arrival of her first season. Surprisingly, the only thing more alluring than Lady Hopkins’s fortune had been Lady Hopkins herself. Her lustrous dark hair, straight teeth, and hazel eyes were enough to render even the most cynical of men speechless. She had had her pick of suitors.

  Lord Hopkins was an attentive husband. He allowed her to assist in managing the estate. It was, after all, Lady Hopkins’s thrift and grand fortune that had established the family estate as one of the most envied plots in all of Essex. The estate, though small in comparison with some, was indeed beautiful. Situated only a few miles outside of Chelmsford, Whitefield Hall overlooked beautiful gardens of green, mature trees, and fields of white flowers. The gardens surrounding the great house were always manicured to perfection; assortments of flowers bloomed from the first hint of spring until the frost of fall, and mature trees were seemingly placed to offer the best shade on bright summer days. The house itself had been in the Hopkins family for three generations. The stone structure towered over the green landscape, boasting four floors and nine chimney stacks. The green ivy that climbed the outer walls seemed to only add to the charm the rest of the house and gardens so clearly radiated.

  Of course, Lady Hopkins spent the majority of the season in London. Whitefield Hall was only a day ride from London, and the proximity allowed her long visits and all the staff she could want in town. The Hopkins’s town home was conveniently placed in a fashionable part of town. The house itself was in Mayfair, bordering Hyde Park. One could access the city pleasures quite easily, while yet feeling a sense of serenity from the noise of the horses and the chatter of the town. And while Lady Hopkins entertained quite often, she was grateful to escape the noise. Her nerves were not what they used to be. Perhaps it was due to the burden of raising her three children. Even with the best governesses and teachers England had to offer, Lady Hopkins still felt it her personal duty to raise her two daughters and heir to their respective ranks.

  Lady Hopkins had spent far too much time in disappointment over Phillip John. Her son, known by his second name, John, was the sole heir to the estate and title. While John tried to improve himself, he proved to be a dull sort of boy. He struggled in his history and arithmetic lessons (thank goodness he had not been prone to gamble). At least Lady Hopkins had given him the advantage of becoming a great horseman. The true difficulty was that John had grown to be too much like his father in manners. He had not shown the slightest regard for rank or reputation. There was still hope, however, for John was a mere fifteen years old, but Lady Hopkins had little expectation of him amounting to anything impressive. Unless, Lady Hopkins had thought many times, she could arrange a match with a young lady of unusual skill and popularity. And, perhaps John would someday grow to be more like Lord Hopkins in looks. Maybe then John would trick a lady worth catching into marrying him.

  It was the girls that showed promise. Lucy, age twenty, was supremely elegant. She resembled Lady Hopkins with hazel eyes and full lips, though Lucy’s hair was a few shades lighter than Lady Hopkins’s dark hair. Lucy had dazzled nearly all the men in Chelmsford, a fact that Lady Hopkins took great pride in. Perhaps the greatest credit to Lucy was her kind temperament. She was gracious. She seemed incapable of crossing her mother or father, and she was grateful whenever she was given the chance to assist others. This fact endeared Lucy to almost all she came in contact with. And yet, Lucy had the tendency of leaning too much on her mother’s influence. She was ruled all too easily. And while Lady Hopkins gloried in her ability to persuade the girl, Lady Hopkins could not help wishing Lucy showed more individuality. Still, Lucy would make an advantageous match. She had been out two seasons and had already secured multiple offers of marriage, though none were deemed acceptable to Lady Hopkins.

  Caroline was Lady Hopkins’s particular favorite, a fact that puzzled Lady Hopkins exceedingly, for Caroline seemed to be on a constant crusade to provoke Lady Hopkins. Caroline was a tease, and at times, uncommonly open and honest. She never went so far as to be indecorous, but Caroline was by no means the typical reserved young lady. Her pale skin paired with her dark hair and green eyes was simply breathtaking. Caroline resembled her father in all the right ways. More impressive to Lady Hopkins, however, was Caroli
ne’s character. She knew her own mind. At times it did so irritate Lady Hopkins that she could not persuade her younger daughter, but Lady Hopkins still felt Caroline’s determination invaluable. Though manners and gentility were the standard of all well-bred ladies, Lady Hopkins also knew the benefits of a lively and original soul. She had the highest hopes for Caroline.

  And so it was that Lady Hopkins sent her youngest son off from holiday to school once more with little more than a kiss and a list of commands, informed her daughters of her great matrimonial schemes, and instructed the staff of the impending stay in London. She did not fear failure, for after all her faults, she was sure of this: Lucy and Caroline would be the talk of all London.

  A

  CHAPTER 3

  Caroline pressed her hand against the cold glass. The glass began to fog, and she peered at the frost covered hills below her. She traced the windowpane with her finger, wishing she could stay at Whitefield Hall instead of travel to London. As she stared blankly at the ground below, a cascade of memories came pouring into her mind. If everything went according to her mother’s plan, Caroline would be married this year. To whom, she did not know.

  The trunk hit the floor with great force, pulling Caroline’s attention away from the window. Her maid, Louisa, was bent gathering the spilled contents. Caroline watched distractedly.

  “Miss Caroline, your trunk is nearly ready,” the maid chimed. She sensed the silence and added, “Are you all right? You look rather melancholy.”

  Caroline gave a slight sigh, and openly acknowledged, “I am feeling down, Louisa. I fear I will miss Whitefield Hall more than I can bear. Mother is determined we shall have a great season, but I am not so convinced.”

  Louisa stood from the trunk, placing her hands at her hips. She gave Caroline a stern look, as she usually did before dealing out a reprimand. “Miss Caroline, you’ve never been one to sulk. Don’t start now. Young ladies are all the same—crying one moment and giggling the next. Oh fiddle!” She paused, her face softening. “But London is no Whitefield Hall. I will miss this land and house just as you will.”