Lily of the Valley (The Gents #2)

  Cover image: © by Melea Nelson

  Cover design copyright © 2022 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2022 by Sarah M. Eden

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: April 2022

  ISBN 978-1-52442-127-4

  Praise for Sarah M. Eden

  “Sarah M. Eden has created a heart-warming historical romance book. Lily of the Valley is a beautifully written story of love, grief, friendship, and dedication. Eden’s character development is to be applauded. The reader will see each character standing in front of them in their mind as they read. Each Gent has a unique nickname given to them, which they absolutely live up to. I found it very difficult to put the book down. The story growth was perfectly laid out and exceptionally planned. The reader can envision themselves standing in the library of Livingsley Hall, searching through the vast volumes of books, as well as becoming involved in the nightly games the Gents and the Ridleys played after dining. I highly recommend Lily of the Valley by Sarah M. Eden. If you are looking for a heart-warming story of strength, love, and dedication, this is it!”

  —Readers’ Favorite five-star review

  "Filled with witty banter, colorful characters, and tender moments, Lily of the Valley will plant itself in your heart!"

  —InD'tale Magazine

  “Lily of the Valley is a masterpiece. With her trademark wit and meticulous attention to historical details, Sarah M. Eden has written a touching story with a marvelous cast of characters whose fallibilities are offset by their refreshing sense of honor, comradery, and loyalty. There’s no doubt that by the time readers reach end of this book, they will all wish that The Gents were truly part of their lives.”

  —Sian Bessey, USA Today best-selling author, INDIES award-winning author of the Georgian Gentlemen series

  Praise for Forget Me Not

  “Julia is an admirable heroine who resists the social convention of the Georgian era, determined to have a marriage built on mutual respect, and Lucas’s sincere attempts to understand and please her will win the hearts of romance fans. Eden’s light, sweet story is sure to delight.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Forget Me Not is an optimistic, witty romance in which wedded bliss arrives on the coattails of memorable Gents.”

  —Foreword Reviews

  “Forget Me Not is a cute romance. This relaxing read was wonderful . . . over tea in an imagined drawing room. This is a blossoming start to Eden’s the Gents series, one I look forward to reading more of.”

  —Historical Novel Society

  “Forget Me Not is everything I’ve come to eagerly anticipate from Sarah M. Eden! Lucas and Julia's story kicks off a new series sure to delight fans of Eden’s Jonquil series (and if you haven’t read that series yet, what are you waiting for?!) as well as win her brand-new readers. The banter is witty, the romance is charming, and the premise is immediately intriguing. Plus, I liked getting a sneak peek at the other Gents. I adored every page of this story. My only complaint? I finished it in a day. But I have plenty of practice happily rereading Eden’s past books, so there’s no doubt in my mind this one is destined for my reread pile too. Highly recommended!”

  —Melissa Tagg, Carol Award–winning author of the Walker Family series and Now and Then and Always

  “What a treat! Old friends and new ones abound in this delightful new series.”

  —Esther Hatch, INDIES Silver Medal Award winner, author of the Proper Scandals series

  "What a delightful start to this new series! Eden's witty dialogue and charming gift of storytelling shine bright in this sweet story of love and trust."

  —Sarah Ladd, ACFW Award winner, author of The Light at Wyndcliff

  Chapter One

  Eton College, Berkshire, England, 1772

  Kester Barrington would enjoy Eton more if there were fewer students and fewer “opportunities” for socializing. People were fine in small doses, but nobody seemed to define small the way he did. And absolutely no one overestimated the definition quite like Lucas Jonquil, Stanley Cummings, and Digby Layton.

  For two years, Kester had done his best to avoid them. But they always found him. They were a year ahead of him at Eton and, it seemed, always a step ahead as well.

  This time, they approached as he sat reading on a low wall. He eyed them over his spectacles, exhausted already.

  Lucas was the first to hop up on the wall and sit. Stanley sat on Kester’s other side. Digby kept his feet on the ground, striking a dashing pose despite not having an audience who was likely to be impressed.

  “We’re going to propose a new society at Eton,” Stanley said without preamble. “Tragically, these hulverheads wouldn’t go along with my brilliant idea for a Land Pirate Society.”

  Digby hmphed. “I will not lower myself to dress like a highwayman, Stanley, no matter how adventurous you promise it will be.”

  “You have to admit, my adventures never disappoint.”

  Stanley was probably grinning devilishly.

  Kester was choosing not to look at any of them. If they realized he was disinterested, they might go away. Of course, the strategy had never worked in the past.

  Lucas took hold of the conversation, if one could call it that. They were speaking at Kester more than with him. “We mean to propose that a Travel Society be started for those who wish to go wayfaring and adventure seeking around the globe.”

  “What could this possibly have to do with me?” Kester grumbled.

  “Compared to you, we’re a collection of bottleheads,” Stanley said.

  “While I am not questioning my intelligence or your dunderheadedness,” Kester replied, “you did not answer my question.”

  With a laugh under his breath, Digby repeated, “Dunderheadedness.”

  “We’re not completely bacon-brained,” Lucas said. “But we all heard you knock a bit of the wind out of Finley’s sails yesterday, making him look the fool he is by countering all his half-formed blusterings. That degree of cleverness would help us make our case for the Travel Society.”

  “But I don’t wish to travel,” Kester said. “More than anything, I want to be left in a quiet corner alone with my books.” He emphasized the word alone.

  “For being fifteen years old,” Digby tossed back, “you sound eighty, my friend.”

  Kester shook his head. “I’m not actually your friend. Any of you.”

  Stanley slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Beg to differ, Kes. You have three friends here, whether you want us or not.”

  “Not,” he muttered.

  They all laughed. Stanley and Lucas hopped off the wall.

  “Will you help us?” Lucas asked. “We’d appreciate it.”

  Kester took in a lungful of air, then pushed it all out in a whoosh. How was it he always, in the end, agreed to their schemes? It was not precisely an argument in favor of his intellect. He snapped his book shut. “I’ll help with your proposal.” He, too, jumped off the wall. “But that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

  “Someday you’ll admit it, Kes,” Lucas said, grinning mischievously. “We’re friends, and we’re always going to be.”

  ***

  Brier Hill, Cumberland, fourteen years later

  “I denounce every last one of you,” Kes grumbled.

  Lucas was unmoved. “You’ve been saying that since Eton.”

  “Not to me.” Lord Aldric Benick never was one to be swayed by idle threats.

  “If you’d known him then, he would have said it to you too.” A hint of amusement always lingered somewhere in Lucas’s expression. “And you would have ignored it just like the rest of us.”

  “I’m in earnest this time,” Kes said. “After years of being dragged to social events rather than being permitted to return to my own home, I am putting my foot down.”

  Lucas’s wife, Julia, passed by. “Stop being so grumpy, Kester.”

  “Et tu, Julia?”

  “Ego sum maxime sapiens.”

  That she knew Latin did not surprise him, though it was very rare for a lady to possess such knowledge. Julia was remarkably intelligent. He had discovered, upon making her better acquaintance, that she was self-taught and ambitious in her studies.

  So he answered her Latin declaration in French, saying that while she might be the wisest among them, that did not mean she was correct.

  She replied, in stilted Italian, that he was being stubborn as well as grumpy.

  “I am beginning to suspect there is nothing you don’t know, Our Julia,” Aldric said.

  “I most certainly do not know why Kes objects so vehemently to attending what promises to be an absolute romp of a ho
use party,” she said.

  “I do not romp,” Kes answered.

  “You also once insisted that you don’t travel,” Lucas said with a grin, “but you’ve done a tremendous lot of that.”

  “I’ve done a ridiculous amount of it recently. You and I”—he addressed Lucas—“returned from our Grand Tour only a year ago. Since then, we’ve had a house party here at Brier Hill and have journeyed to Portugal. I traveled to the homes of my brother and sister while you were having your own little house party with the Harrow set—”

  That led to a silent exchange between Julia and Lucas—small smiles and expressions of remembered enjoyment.

  Kes continued his recounting. “We have only just left London after a month of the social whirl. It is time and past I returned home.” He needed to be back at Livingsley Hall. He needed a chance to breathe and rest before the next whirl of activity began.

  “I have the perfect solution,” Lucas said. “We will simply have our own house party at Livingsley Hall.”

  “That is not at all what I meant.”

  Julia, in a show of theatrics far more common to their friend Digby or even to Lucas, floated down onto the settee in a mock bout of the vapors. “Oh, dear me,” she opined. “I had hoped to have one more bit of company, one last time with my friends before my confinement begins. I fear this heartbreak will render me too weak to go on.”

  Kes shot a quick assessing glance at Lucas. If Julia’s health was fragile on account of her “interesting condition,” he wanted to know. But Lucas gave a subtle shake of his head. Julia was, then, putting on a performance. And that, logic told him, meant all of this had been planned.

  “You wish for the Gents’ annual gathering to be held at Livingsley Hall this year?” he asked.

  The Gents were a group of friends, the three who had forcibly adopted him at Eton and three others who had joined their ranks at Cambridge. They were friends still, despite having been out of school for many years. Stanley, killed in the war with the former colonies, was no longer among them, and his loss was felt acutely, by Kes especially.

  “It is your turn to play host.” Aldric hadn’t joined in the dramatics around him, but neither did he appear the least confused by the performances.

  “Why the push to attend this other house party, then?” Kes asked.

  Lucas shrugged. “Aldric sorted the need for a less desirable option.”

  Ah. “You knew, given the choice, I would inevitably insist on Livingsley Hall.”

  Aldric dipped his head in acknowledgment of the rather brilliant bit of strategy. He was known among them as the General for a reason.

  Kes fully meant to continue grumbling about this, but he knew it would make no difference. The Gents always gathered in the autumn, and he had only ever missed two: the one held while he and Lucas were on the Continent and one he’d chosen to forgo ten years earlier, a decision he’d regretted ever since. He’d known whatever respite he was afforded would have come to an end when the yearly festivities began. It seemed there was to be no intermission this time.

  Holding their annual party at his estate meant he could go home, which was at least a bit more restful than being a guest elsewhere. And though it meant Livingsley Hall would not be as peaceful as he would have preferred, he likely could still find time to himself. At least a little.

  “Do you promise it will be a quiet and uneventful few weeks?” he asked.

  “Of course not.” Lucas had embraced the mischievous adventurer role that Stanley had filled before his death. Lucas likely intended to make certain this gathering was as topsy-turvy as ever.

  “I am going to regret this,” Kes muttered.

  Lucas laughed. “That’s what friends are for.”

  Friends. They had insisted all those years ago that he would eventually admit they were friends. He didn’t resent that they’d been proven correct—he was unspeakably grateful to have the Gents in his life—but they did tend to introduce chaos into his otherwise orderly existence.

  A Gents house party . . .

  One thing was absolutely certain: anarchy was about to descend on Livingsley Hall.

  Chapter Two

  Irthing Grange, Cumberland

  Violet Ridley needed to meet people. In the fortnight since her family had moved from Portsmouth to their new home in Cumberland, she’d seen no one but them, gone nowhere, done nothing. She was getting a little desperate.

  “Why did we have to move so far away from the sea?” her young cousin Georgie asked. “Can’t rich men like Uncle Ridley live in Portsmouth?”

  Rich men like Uncle Ridley. Violet didn’t know if she would ever grow accustomed to hearing her father described that way. They’d never been destitute. Indeed, they’d always lived in tremendous comfort. But his recent investments in iron had proven extremely lucrative. Enough so that he and Mother had decided to purchase a country estate and join the gentry. The estate they’d found was far, far inland.

  “I miss the sea as well.” Violet removed the sleeping cap from Georgie’s hair. They hadn’t yet found a governess for the girl, one who could tend to her hair in the mornings. Georgie’s tightly coiled curls required effort, more so even than Violet’s, whose hair was a similar shade of almost-black and very nearly as curly but was decidedly more cooperative than her cousin’s.

  “Livingsley Hall has a lake,” Georgie said, sitting very patiently as Violet used her hand to carefully detangle those areas of Georgie’s hair that had knotted a bit despite the cap. “Perhaps Mr. Barrington will let us visit his lake. That will be nearly like being at the seaside again.”

  Violet hoped their neighbor proved generous and personable and friendly. And she wouldn’t complain if he also proved handsome. She had no designs on the gentleman—she’d never met him—but a handsome face was not a terrible thing in a neighbor.

  “Mrs. Peters said Mr. Barrington is very scholarly. Do you think he has a big library?” Georgie flinched when one of her spring-like curls caught on another. She accepted Violet’s apology before turning her head a bit to look at her. “Our library here doesn’t have a lot of books.”

  “Not yet,” Violet said. “But we will soon begin addressing that, won’t we?”

  Recognizing that the girl’s enthusiasm was about to overcome her patience, Violet handed her a length of burgundy ribbon and motioned her to the mirror on the side table. Georgie slid off the bed and, eying her reflection, worked at wrapping the ribbon from the back of her neck, up behind her ears, and into a bow just behind her hairline to create a lovely mass of springy coils.

  Georgie continued adjusting her hair and tucking uncooperative bits into place. “Do you think we will find a book about John Blanke for our library?”

  “I do not think my father will rest until we do.”

  Georgie shook her head. “John Blanke is Aunt Ridley’s ancestor.”

  “And your father’s. And yet, mine is as proud to call John Blanke family as he could be if he were related by blood rather than marriage.”

  John Blanke had been a trumpeter in the court of Henry VII, having come from Africa to England nearly three hundred years ago. He was featured on the Westminster Tournament Roll, an honor not afforded many people. Mother’s family had long held to the belief that they were descended from the musician, though they hadn’t proof. Mother was quite an adept musician herself, and her brother had been as well. Violet found it the most reasonable thing in the world that they shared that gift with a long-deceased ancestor.

  Georgie hopped onto the bed once more and sat with her legs crossed in front of her, her dress, fashionable but plain, as Georgie preferred her clothing, pooled in lumps around her. “And perhaps Mr. Barrington will let us explore his gardens. I saw them through a gap in the hedgerow.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Violet was excessively fond of nature and being outdoors. Irthing Grange was not one of those grand estates that had been manicured to the point that Mother Nature herself would struggle to recognize what corner of the world she was viewing. There was still a wildness to it, a feeling of seeing the grounds as they originally were before a single person had ever set foot there. She loved that about this place, but she also adored what she’d seen of the grounds of Livingsley Hall. There were formal gardens as well as sections where wildflowers were left to grow in abundance. Old, stately trees grew near more newly planted ones. The hedgerows were tidily maintained but also contained a variety of vegetation. The lake—oh heavens, the lake—she had admired from the moment she’d first set eyes on it from a distance. How she hoped Georgie’s wishes about their neighbor proved to be true. She could lose herself for hours at that lake.