A Sneak Peek: The Unexpected Heir

Hi there! I am working on final edits on this, but I wanted to give everyone a heads up that it’s coming. I am hoping before July, but of course, that depends upon the schedule of others as well as my own. This is strictly Regency, but is also a fantasy with bits of different magical lores included as well as some Arthurian legend. I’m excited for you to read it. It has gone through edits, but has not yet been proofread. Forgive me any typos!

So, without further ado….

Prologue

21 December 1791

“I can see the head! Keep pushing, Frances. He is almost here, and he has a full head of thick auburn hair.”

Anne’s hand smarted as her friend bore down with an ear-splitting scream, the babe slipping into the waiting grasp of the midwife as though the entire process had been the product of minutes and not the long interminable hours that had actually occurred. The woman began to vigorously rub the babe, bringing forth a cry that was, no doubt, heard throughout the house.

“Is it the heir?” asked Frances, her tone urgent.

The midwife smiled. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

Frances’s face crumpled. “What? No! This child was supposed to be the heir! What am I going to do with another girl?” Anne’s heart sank. She would have been grateful for any child, but Frances had always been fickle. Still, how could anyone not cherish an innocent babe?

The midwife caught Anne’s eye and pointed to a distinct mark on the inside of the child’s arm. Anne gasped. “I shall clean her up and bring her to her father.” Without another word, she took the babe to a table near the fire where she wiped away the remnants of the birth. She turned the child’s arm to run a finger over the mark. How was this possible? By all that was known, this was impossible. She shook her head. All she could do was take the little girl to her father and hear his opinion on the matter, so she swaddled her in clean warm blankets. Anne could not help but give a tiny laugh. The wide-eyed little one watched her so intently. She almost seemed to be taking her measure while Anne cared for the infant. She had never seen such an alert newborn.

Once the babe was presentable, Anne gathered her up but paused on the way to the door. “She is truly beautiful. Would you care to hold her?” When Frances turned the opposite direction without uttering so much as a “no,” Anne’s heart split and bled. She looked down upon the small child in her arms. The poor dear! She had done nothing—except being born a girl.

As Anne departed and made her way down the narrow stairs, the babe’s eyes were still open and alert. She brushed her finger down the child’s soft cheek. How could anyone not love a baby? Anne had to shove the stirring in her stomach back down where it belonged. She and Frances had been friends for years now, but at this moment, Anne had to forcibly resist the urge to return to the bedchamber and shake the woman. Why was Frances so recalcitrant?

When Anne reached the library, she knocked and was bid enter.

Henry Bennet and Anne’s husband, George, jumped to their feet as soon as she stepped inside. “Well?”

She smiled. “You have a beautiful daughter.” She held her breath in her lungs while she awaited Bennet’s response.

He did no more than frown. “But I saw—”

“She bears the birthmark,” said Anne.

Both gentlemen gasped. “Are you certain?” asked Bennet, who hurried forward.

She handed the child to the father and with great care, showed him the four-point star on the inside of the babe’s left arm.

“A female has never borne the mark in any family.” Bennet’s voice was low, as though he whispered to himself.

“She will require protection,” said George. “A lady with the abilities of a man will be sought after—will be in great danger from those who would wish to use her for their own purposes.” A pang ripped through her. Her husband was correct of course. This child would not have an easy time of it. Those who understood the meaning of the mark would do anything to marry her into their families by whatever means necessary.

Bennet dropped back into his chair and stared at his new daughter. “My God. What am I going to do?”

George wagged a finger and took the chair across from his friend. “Do not despair just yet. I think I may have a solution.”

Chapter 1

14 September 1811

The warmth of the sun bathed Elizabeth’s face as she wound through the stones, her fingers trailing along the varied textures of the weathered rock. The stone circle was her favourite place to idle away a morning. Here, in the middle of Oakham Forest, she was surrounded by the trees and the gentle caress of the breeze. Few ventured into this wood without reason, and it was a rarity for someone not magical. Most outside of their circles had forgotten this place existed. Over the centuries, the Bennet family had ensured that those other than the people of Meryton had ceased to come here. Outsiders now believed this wood to be haunted. The enchantments and charms she had spent so many hours learning as a child had been successful. Now, she spent countless hours here. Why would she not? This place brought her a solace nowhere else could.

A gentle breeze wound through the forest surrounding her, tickling her flesh while it whispered its secrets into her ear. Here and there, she closed her eyes and listened more diligently in an effort to catch every nuance. The trees added their own voices with the rustling of the turning and falling leaves, which contributed further to the discourse.

While she meandered, the huge white stag she called Herne stood in the centre watching her. Several sizeable hares also bounded about the clearing. They enjoyed the soft, verdant grass that grew near the edges. Now that autumn approached, their favourite meal was not as abundant as during the warmth of the summer, but that did not deter their search. During some early mornings, she was joined by the local pheasants, but this morning, they seemed to be elsewhere.

When she neared the middle, she pressed her hands on the largest of the stones that appeared to be laying on its side. The enormous rectangular altar hummed under her fingers, which made her flesh prickle. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she allowed the sensation to wash over her.

The stone, whose source of power deep inside the earth ran along the same vein as that at Stonehenge and Avebury, only hummed unless the equinox or the solstice were near. The surrounding rocks here were not as grand as the other stone circles; they barely protruded from the earth, though their magic was no less powerful. The Autumn Equinox was in three days, so the altar should be readying itself. So why was the vibration was stronger than she could ever remember?

She straightened and faced Herne. “Time to return.”

The stag threw his head up and down with a snort before he followed her from the ring. Every time she left for one of her solitary rambles in the forest, he was her most faithful companion. He met her at the first of the trees where she entered the wood and followed her back when she departed. She was never alone, and at times, he almost appeared to watch more of their surroundings than he did her, but deer often kept an eye out for danger, did they not?

Her bare fingers trailed along the bark of the great oaks as she wound through the trees, her ear still trained on what the earth was willing to reveal. Soon, she met the brook that trickled towards Longbourn and the willow where she spent many hours hiding from the world and reading. How she loved this place! The boughs provided a solace when her home and her four sisters became overbearing. The stone circle did as well, but it did not provide the sense of solitude and security the trailing leaves of the willow provided so generously.

When she reached the edge of the wood, she held up her hand and closed her eyes to whisper the incantation she had recited every time she left Herne. He did not blend into his surroundings like others of his type, and his size and almost silver-white fur made him an obvious target for those brave enough to disregard the tales of ghosts and spectres and seek to kill their dinner within. Since she first found Herne, she had shielded him from the sight of others for his protection. Those who were magical would see him as a messenger from heaven and leave him unharmed. To anyone else, he was easy prey.

Herne touched her hand with his nose and allowed her to stroke his head. He was the most stunning creature she had ever beheld. They had both been young when they first met fourteen years ago, but he had become old while she had merely grown to adulthood. She did not want to consider the day when she came to the forest and he was gone. Her eyes burned at the thought. He was her best friend. What would she do when that day finally arrived?

“If weather permits, I shall return on the morrow.”

He nudged back against her palm, then she turned to begin the walk through the field. While she made her way down the well-worn path that led to Longbourn, sheep grazed on what was left of last year’s wheat planting, which had been threshed a month prior.

Once she had slipped through the break in the hedgerow, the sounds of her family became discernible. Elizabeth meandered through the herb gardens towards the door to the kitchens. Her mother’s high-pitched tone was the most prominent. As soon as she entered Longbourn, Mrs. Hill shook her head.

“Your mother is in a right dudgeon this morning. She has already broken two teacups and sent a muffin flying at your father’s head. The teacups I can repair, but unfortunately, I can do naught about your father’s pride. Jane making every attempt to calm Mrs. Bennet, but your mother is volatile today. If Jane continues to exert herself as she has, she will be worn out before noon.”

Elizabeth smiled. Mrs. Hill had been housekeeper at Longbourn since before Elizabeth had been born and had been more of a mother to her than her own. “Papa has not attempted to soothe her?”

“No, he sent for a potion from the apothecary. You know how wearing he finds it to temper your mother’s moods. He is not as young as he once was, and I am willing to vow that her fits take more out of him than some of the more powerful magic.” Mama had been losing her wits since she had carried Elizabeth, though her father’s weariness at tending to his wife’s capricious behaviour had stemmed more from his inability to hide himself from the strife rather than to temper the disturbance in the first place.

“I shall see what I can do,” said Elizabeth as she made her way to the door.

“Your father will not be pleased if you interfere. Without him in the room to mask your magic, your mother will sense who is inhibiting her, and he will be forced to manipulate her memory once again. You know that only makes her condition worse.”

Elizabeth sighed and scrubbed her forehead. “I shall speak to him first then.”

The servants’ passages of Longbourn were narrow and dark, but she had memorised the way long ago. As soon as she opened the door into the breakfast room, the light from a nearby window blinded her for a moment before she could continue into the parlour.

“Where have you been?” screeched her mother as she entered. The tone was ear-splitting and made Elizabeth wince. Mary took her stack of books and made her escape while Kitty and Lydia giggled as they skipped from the room and out of the front door with titters about the new groom at the inn. Once again, Mama was letting them venture to Meryton alone. Why would Papa not exert himself to stop them?

“I took a walk, Mama,” said Elizabeth. “I hope you are well this morning.”

A fork from the tea tray rattled then flew at her face. Elizabeth shifted to the side, the fork missing its target and embedded into the wall. Mrs. Hill would need to repair that later as well.

Jane, Elizabeth’s elder sister, placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “Lizzy walks every morning unless the weather is poor; do you not remember?”

Mama’s countenance made a gradual change before she blinked and nodded. “Yes, I suppose.” Her forehead furrowed as she turned to Jane. “Why is my mind so muddled?”

Her sister’s hand squeezed ever so slightly. “You must not have slept well last night. Perhaps a nap would do you good.”

Before her mother could utter a word a maid, hurried over and helped Mama stand. “Come, Mrs. Bennet. I am certain Mrs. Hill can send up one of her nice draughts for you to drink. That should help you sleep.”

As soon as Mama departed, Elizabeth sat beside her sister. “You cannot keep exerting yourself on her so. She cannot be dependent upon you to subdue her rages. One day, you will meet a gentleman, fall in love, and wish to marry, and if you continue as you are, you will feel compelled to remain at Longbourn to care for Mama instead of following your heart.”

Jane exhaled. “She is losing control more and more. The effort it takes to soothe her agitation has become exhausting. I fear cannot calm her wrath for long anymore. What will become of her if Papa is left to care for her alone?”

“Maybe if I had been a boy . . .” said Elizabeth. “This all began when Papa told her I was to be the heir. Perhaps her lack of control before my birth had been more like excitement, then when she learnt I was a girl, that anticipation became anger.”

Her sister’s hand landed upon her forearm, and she took a quick glance behind her. “Do not even think such a thing. Mama cares for you in her own way. How was she to know you would be the first female heir? Can you imagine? Centuries upon centuries of powerful male magicians, then you shock what everyone has believed for all that time. She was bound to dismiss you at first glance. ’Tis unfortunate she cannot be trusted with the information now.”

Elizabeth removed her hand from Jane’s. “I can feel the magic trickling through my skin, sister. I do not require your talents to soothe me.”

Her sister’s shoulders slumped a little. “Forgive me. I had not intended . . .”

“I know. Between Mama and Lydia, you use it too often, so you do not always realise you are influencing our behaviour. Papa sent for a potion from Mr. Jones. Let him and Mrs. Hill manage Mama’s moods as much as possible. I understand she will require your taming touch from time to time, but your ability should not be the sole means to maintain her balance. ’Tis not fair to you.”

Jane nodded. “Have you seen something of my future I should know?”

With a smile, Elizabeth shrugged a shoulder. “Even if I had, you are well aware I would not tell you. Papa has warned me of the dangers of altering the course of what is to come. That which seems a simple and benign disclosure could have devastating consequences.”

“At times, I wish I could see what will happen.” Jane sighed.

Elizabeth grasped Jane’s hands in hers. “Believe me when I say visions are not as exciting or straightforward as they sound. Many times, I see bits and pieces of the future or even the past. The meaning is rarely clear. I have all these fragments that do not always fit together as a whole.”

“I had not considered it being as such. Papa has never spoken of his, but little surprises him.”

“My sex shocked him,” she said with a laugh. “And until he was first told I was a girl, he considered that he could have foreseen the birth of a subsequent child—then he saw my birthmark.” Jane had known for years of the four-point star on the inside of Elizabeth’s arm. Concealment bore no purpose with Jane, who would guard the knowledge with her life. Her dearest sister would never reveal her identity until the right time. Her other sisters, however, remained ignorant to this day. Elizabeth’s stomach churned at the idea of them discovering what she was. They would tell all and sundry with no regard for the consequences.

They still believed as most did: that the Bennets had no magical heir, that all of the girls had no more than similar talents to most women and those males who were not the heir. Why would they not? It was how magic had passed through families for longer than Elizabeth’s lifetime or even her father’s and grandfather’s lifetimes. The last all-powerful woman to exist had been the Lady of the Lake, although most outside magical circles considered her a legend or tale to be told. Niniane[1] had also been a water fairy, thus, she had not been human.

“I suppose you are correct,” said Jane. “Speaking of Papa, he wishes to talk with you.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “When does he not?”

[1] Niniane was believed to be the name of the Lady of the Lake in medieval texts. Paton, Lucy Allen (1903). Studies in the Fairy Mythology of Arthurian Romance. Boston, Ginn & Co.

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