Dawn's Untrodden Green, page 1
“Highly entertaining, refreshing, and witty—readers will thoroughly enjoy the banter between the wallflower and her captain in this beautifully written, delightful, and faith-filled romance of two endearing hearts.”
GRACE HITCHCOCK, award-winning author of My Dear Miss Dupré, Her Darling Mr. Day, and His Delightful Lady Delia
“A heartwarming tale that’s sure to inspire and delight readers. Theodosia’s determination to protect her friend’s daughter makes her an admirable heroine and a worthy intended for Captain Daniel Balfour. They share delightful banter, and Carolyn’s descriptions bring the era and Northumberland setting to life, making this a memorable story to savor.”
CARRIE TURANSKY, award-winning author of No Ocean Too Wide and No Journey Too Far
“Dawn’s Untrodden Green is a sweetly woven romance, with threads of family, faith, and Heyer-esque humor. Carolyn Miller writes with warmth and authenticity, making Theodosia and Daniel’s love story a pleasure to read. I thoroughly enjoyed it!”
MIMI MATTHEWS, USA Today best-selling author
PRAISE FOR
REGENCY WALLFLOWERS
“Best-selling author Carolyn Miller is back with a fresh series that will not only thrill readers eager for more of her work, but bring in new fans looking for beautiful writing, fascinating research, deftly woven love stories, and real faith lived out in the Regency period.”
Midwest Book Review
“The Regency Wallflowers series has a message of redemption and forgiveness which is sure to resonate with readers of inspirational romance.”
ALISSA BAXTER, author of The Earl’s Lady Geologist
“Fans of Julie Klassen and Abigail Wilson will delight in this newest offering from Regency-favorite Carolyn Miller.”
JOANNA DAVIDSON POLITANO, author of A Midnight Dance
“Carolyn Miller’s authentic portrayal of real-life struggles, raw pain, and faith in the midst of difficult circumstances will resonate with readers. Heartfelt and satisfying … sure to captivate fans of inspirational Regency romance.”
AMANDA BARRATT, author of My Dearest Dietrich, The White Rose Resists, and Within These Walls of Sorrow
“[Miller] brings Regency England to life with a charming and inspiring romance that is sure to warm readers’ hearts.”
CARRIE TURANSKY, best-selling author of No Ocean Too Wide and No Journey Too Far
“Miller’s latest captivating romance is rooted beautifully by the threads of redemption and hope.”
ABIGAIL WILSON, author of Twilight at Moorington Cross
REGENCY BRIDES:
A LEGACY OF GRACE
The Elusive Miss Ellison
The Captivating Lady Charlotte
The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey
REGENCY BRIDES:
A PROMISE OF HOPE
Winning Miss Winthrop
Miss Serena’s Secret
The Making of Mrs. Hale
REGENCY BRIDES:
DAUGHTERS OF AYNSLEY
A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh
Underestimating Miss Cecilia
Misleading Miss Verity
REGENCY WALLFLOWERS
Dusk’s Darkest Shores
Midnight’s Budding Morrow
Dawn’s Untrodden Green
Dawn’s Untrodden Green
© 2023 by Carolyn Miller
Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505. www.kregel.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the publisher’s prior written permission or by license agreement. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
The persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Miller, Carolyn, 1974- author.
Title: Dawn’s untrodden green / Carolyn Miller.
Description: Grand Rapids, MI : Kregel Publications, [2023] | Series: Regency Wallflowers
Identifiers: LCCN 2022049120 (print) | LCCN 2022049121 (ebook) | ISBN 9780825446559 (print) | ISBN 9780825468513 (Kindle) | ISBN 9780825476853 (epub)
Classification: LCC PR9619.4.M565 D39 2023 (print) | LCC PR9619.4.M565 (ebook) | DDC 823/.92--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022049120
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022049121
ISBN 978-0-8254-4665-9, print
ISBN 978-0-8254-7685-3, epub
ISBN 978-0-8254-6851-3, Kindle
Printed in the United States of America
23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 / 5 4 3 2 1
To all those who dare to dream.
… on the shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green,
There is a budding morrow in midnight,
There is a triple sight in blindness keen.
John Keats, “To Homer”
Chapter 1
WOOLER
NORTHUMBERLAND
1812
Stapleton Court of Wooler had, in its day, oft been described as a monument to quiet pretension. The Elizabethan farmhouse boasted more chimneys and mullioned windows than humble people thought it ought and was nestled behind antique stone-pillared gates within a picturesque landscape that included the hilly backdrop of the Cheviots. These days, however, the buildings and gardens held an air of weary resignation, or perhaps that was merely evoked by the occupants within.
Theodosia Stapleton eyed a stubborn string of cobwebs as she made her way down Stapleton’s grand staircase to the dining room, which was, like everything in this house, presided over by her grandfather, General Theodore Henry Stapleton. The decorated war hero, whose only son had died before Theo could grow of an age to remember him, had surprised the county by showing his largesse in allowing his daughter-in-law, Letitia Stapleton, and her wee children to live with him.
“So kind, so very kind,” Letitia had always insisted to her daughters in broken, tear-filled whispers whenever the general’s gout was playing up and his manners were less than pleasant. Theo suspected most of the villagers believed his cantankerous ways were the norm rather than the exception. Not for nothing had she overheard comments about “General Contrary” and his parsimonious ways. But Theo knew better, and it was proven in his agreement to take in the orphaned child of their neighbor … even if it was a temporary thing.
Theo drew inside the oak-panelled dining room, nodding to the room’s two occupants, and resumed her place at the mahogany dining table, at the right hand of her grandfather, opposite her mother, the table seating she had always known.
“Has the Mannering lass stopped her infernal crying yet?” the general asked, eyes glinting, bushy grey brows lowered, a piece of beef suspended on his fork.
“Yes.” Theo sipped from her glass. “She’s asleep now. Annie made poor Rebecca some warm milk, and I stayed with her until she drank it and dropped off to sleep.” But only after Theo held her hand, whispering prayers of comfort, as the last of winter’s winds shrieked and moaned.
“The poor little dear, losing both parents within a year.” Mama’s faded blue eyes shone with tears. “How dreadful she must feel.”
“Indeed.” Sorrow twisted within, pressing fresh fingers of pain through her chest, up her throat, to the back of her eyes. Theo blinked, swallowed the hard ball of emotion, and sought to remember Clara Mannering was in a better place now, with her Lord and Savior, and one day Theo would see her neighbor again.
“Such a silly nonsense, carrying on so.” The general rested his elbows on the starched tablecloth. “I have never heard the like, caterwauling in that way.”
“Not everyone deals with grief in the same manner.” Theo’s gaze lifted to eye her grandfather squarely. “I think it shows a tremendous deal of heart that she would mourn her mother so. I’m sure it will take many days before she will not feel like weeping, and until then, we should remember she is in many ways a child.”
“I dare say you would never have acted in such a way,” he muttered, with a sharp, quick look that, if she was in vain frame of mind, she might even consider possessed a trace of pride.
“I’m afraid I cannot remember my papa, so have not known what depths of emotion the loss of a parent might lead to.”
Her mother’s bottom lip quivered, a sure sign that poor Rebecca would soon not be the only one weeping.
Theo sighed within, ruing her o’er hasty words. But she could not allow the evening to get maudlin, so turned to her grandfather and forced brightness into her tone. “I do think your agreeing to have her stay with us is quite the most charitable thing you could have done. Thank you.”
“Yes, well.” As if embarrassed by her words, he plunged his fork into his beef, avoiding eye contact and mumbling incomprehensibly into his gravy-stained beard.
“We couldn’t let such a waif of a thing live at Mannering House alone.” Mama dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.
“Indeed we could not.” Not dear Clara’s only child. Not their nearest neighbor. And especially not with the house in such a state of disrepair.
“Those dreadful peacocks Mannering insisted on keeping.” Mama shuddered. “They always sound like a woman is crying, or dying, or some such thing. Poor child. Can you imagine growing up listening to that every waking hour?”
Theo was glad she need not. “I’m hopeful that in time we shall be able to distract poor Becky with reminders that not everything in this world is so very sad and sorry. But as for us, we should give further thought as to her future.”
Grandfather grunted agreement, echoed by her mother’s soft affirmative. “Has she given word yet as to who is the next of kin?”
Theo nodded, refraining from pointing out she’d mentioned this before. “Clara had a brother. He is in the army.”
His countenance brightened. “And what’s his name?”
“A Captain Balfour, I believe.”
“Balfour, Balfour.” His brow knit in concentration, his fork hovering in the air, as time expanded into a length that would distress more impatient people.
Theo exchanged glances with her mother, then refocused on her meal. Grandfather’s recollections of army colleagues and events had often formed the substance of their mealtime conversations. Attempts to redirect discussion to other topics sometimes met with derisive snorts as he struggled to remember exactly which battlefield or London soldiers’ club he’d encountered the man or situation.
She sliced her beef, the sputtering candlelight reminding her to speak to Annie about checking the supply of candles. They might have but recently escaped the drear of wintry darkness, but the weather in this part of England could never be relied upon to recall the relentless turn of the calendar.
“My dear,” Mama said, as the general’s silent cogitations continued, “do you think we should make over those drapes in dear Rebecca’s room? I’m afraid it must seem so outdated for her, poor pet. It has been so long since we’ve had a young girl in the place,” she added with a wistful sigh.
Becky Mannering might, at sixteen, be considered more a young lady than a girl, but she was far more youthful than Theo’s own advanced age of one and thirty.
“Perhaps we should wait until we know what her uncle wishes to do.” And what the general—and their meagre household allowance—would permit. “But I agree, it would be good to do what we can to make her feel as comfortable as possible.”
“Speaking of visitors, do you think Seraphina might be persuaded to a visit?”
She might if her sister’s nipcheese solicitor husband wanted to prove solicitous to his wife’s family for once. Theo kept such thoughts behind her teeth and murmured a noncommittal “Perhaps.”
“I simply long to see her.” Mama sighed plaintively. “It has been such an age, and—”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Captain Daniel Balfour?” Grandfather interrupted. “Did something heroic. His decisiveness saved a hundred men or some such deed.”
Theo’s lips tweaked in rueful apology as she shifted attention to her grandfather. She had been too filled with cares and responsibilities to remember every whispered word that Clara had uttered. “I think that was his name, but I’m afraid I cannot recall his exploits.”
“You cannot recall?” he asked incredulously, as if he himself had not struggled to do so these past minutes. “You cannot remember that it was his quick wits that shielded his men from enemy fire while on the Peninsular?”
“There are so many stories of heroic exploits—”
“None like his!” the general insisted. “I can never understand why you don’t pay attention to what truly matters,” he said gruffly. But from the way his moustache lifted, a smile lurked beneath his beard, hinting of the fondness she had always known behind his oft-brusque exterior.
She swallowed a wry smile—open emotion was never welcomed at the table—and said carefully, “I think what truly matters is that Becky’s uncle is informed about his sister’s death as soon as possible.”
“You will write?”
“Yes. He will be too late for the funeral, of course, but I’ll write to him again tonight.” Clara’s whispered request had led Theo to write, informing him of his sister’s illness not so long ago. Her heart sorrowed. How much harder would it be to pen—and read—the newest state of affairs.
“I’ll see it gets franked and sent off tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
The general shook his head. “A bad business, this.”
“Poor little mite. Two parents gone in a matter of months. It is so sad, so very, very sad.” Mama’s voice wavered again.
“We must do all we can to make her time here as easy and pleasant as possible.” Theo eyed her grandfather. “Even if she is inclined at times to be weepy.”
“That’s enough sauce from you, little puss.”
A smile escaped—“little” she had not been these past eighteen years—and she turned her attention to her meal while her heart continued to pray for the poor girl upstairs who had wept herself to sleep.
Dear Lord, send Your comfort to poor Becky. Be with her uncle. Lord, be with us all.
Becky’s tears of the first week eased into a general melancholy, something Theo attempted to alleviate by offering the girl distractions. But the delights of puppies and spring lambs and what tired treasures Wooler’s small shops offered only boosted Becky’s spirits for a short while before the sadness settled again.
As for herself, Theo was at a loss as to know what to do. Until Captain Balfour replied, she was responsible for Becky’s welfare, and it seemed society in general was at once torn between astonishment at her grandfather’s willingness for Theo to assume such a role and relief that they need not assume the task themselves.
“But my dear!” Lady Bellingham exclaimed during one of her near-daily visits to Stapleton. “I understand you were close to the girl’s mother, and of course, here at Stapleton you are Mannering’s nearest neighbors, but how can one expect a young lady of one and thirty to know how to care for a young girl?”
Theo smiled, shrugging off the sting of the thinly veiled advice from the squire’s wife. “I may not be the best qualified, but I was young once myself.”
“Oh, I know you were—I mean, are! Oh, you cannot try to pretend to not understand what I mean, passing yourself off as if in your decline, wearing the cap like you’re an old maid, when every young man in the village would pick up the handkerchief should one be thrown.”
Theo’s smile grew wry, and she resisted the temptation to touch her marred cheek. “Please spare my blushes, Lady Bellingham.”
“Blushes, indeed. You know it is so. And I know it is most commendable for you to wish to care for the child. But what does it mean for your future?”
“I do not see this as a burden, nor as something I will do forever. Captain Balfour will return one day, and then we shall know what to do.”
“Oh, but what if he is killed?”
“Then Rebecca shall remain with us until she is married,” Theo responded calmly.
That’s what Mr. Cleever, the Mannering solicitor, had approved and said was most appropriate when he had called to inform them that Rebecca Mannering was a young lady of independent means—or would be when the house was sold and she reached her majority. Such news they and Mr. Cleever had determined to keep to themselves, sure this information would only prove food for those of a mind to fortune hunting and those idle tongues that already wagged too quickly over the poor girl with her famous uncle.
For famous he had turned out to be. Action had seen his name grace dispatches from the front, reported in newspapers the length and breadth of Britain. The general had, unsurprisingly, been the first to point it out. His unguarded conversation around Lady Bellingham had been enough to prick that lady’s ears and cause a gush of high-pitched emotion that had soon propelled him to scowl and mutter about the indecency of visitors whose shrieks drove a man from the comfort of his room.
Not that the squire’s wife seemed to notice. Or care. “Truly? Such a hero is our dear sweet Rebecca’s only living relative? Oh, how wonderful!”
“One can hardly think either of them feel such a thing at this moment,” Theo gently reproved.
“Oh, yes, yes, of course. But imagine! We will likely soon be visited by such a man! Oh, I’m sure he must be handsome—all heroes are, are they not, Miss Stapleton?”
“In books, perhaps,” she murmured.
