Page 1 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
CHAPTER1
Gloucestershire, England
March 1803
Edward Astley had failed.
That was the thought that echoed through his head in time with his horse’s hoofbeats as he cantered toward home. He didn’t hold out much hope that he would make it before the storm gathering above him broke.
Perfect. He wouldn’t just be a failure; he would be a failure who was soaked to the bone.
The task that had brought him to the village of Bourton-on-the-Water was a question, and the person he’d hoped might be able to answer it was his former tutor, Julian St. Cyr. Learning the answer to this particular question would go some ways toward forestalling the disaster that was bearing down upon him.
But Mr. St. Cyr hadn’t had the information he sought, and now Edward had no idea what to do. He only had two weeks to figure this out, and if he couldn’t…
If he couldn’t, his brother, Harrington, would be the one to pay the price, exposed to their father’s wrath and society’s scorn. And although, in truth, this whole ridiculous situation was Harrington’s fault, Edward would never allow that to occur. There was nothing he would not do for his brother. Nothing. Edward would lay down in a muddy ditch and die for Harrington without a second’s hesitation.
The thought sounded strangely appealing compared to what he was about to do instead.
The path wound through a grove of cherry trees. They were in full bloom, and it was a shame about the storm, because the soft pink blossoms would’ve been lovely against a cloudless sky. But the sky was roiling charcoal, and there wasn’t a speck of blue to be seen.
Other than… wait. Edward squinted through the trees.
There was definitely something blue deep in the grove. Blue and… copper, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him. It was probably nothing, and he needed to hurry on. But the hairs on the back of his neck were suddenly standing on end, and he found himself reining his horse in. As he steered his mount through the cherry trees, a pond came into view.
That was when he saw her.
A single ray of light penetrated the gathering clouds, illuminating the girl in the rowboat like the subject of a Rembrandt.The Naiadwould be the title of the painting, for with the cascade of red curls tumbling down her back, she truly looked like a water nymph surveying her demesne.
She glanced up at him, and the breath left Edward’s body, becausedear Lord, this was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. In addition to her siren’s mane, she had a heart-shaped face, coral-pink lips that managed to be petite and full at the same time, and the sort of delicate curves he preferred above all others.
Wait. It was difficult to think when his senses were being bombarded with so much female gorgeousness, but somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, the thought emerged that he could see a bit more of those curves than he should. He realized with a start that her dress was soaking wet, her shoulders were quivering, and those lush, full lips were a bit… blue.
He shook himself. How disgraceful to sit there gawking at the poor girl while she was freezing to death! He guided his horse to the edge of the pond to offer his assistance.
But the words died on his lips as it hit him—this wasn’t just any gorgeous woman.
He knew this girl. It had been ten years since last he saw her, ten years since he had sat across the aisle from her in her father’s classroom, but he was sure of it.
“Miss Elissa?” he asked in shock.
* * *
Elissa St. Cyrhad done it this time.
She was hardly a stranger to calamity; one might say it was her stock in trade. Nor was this the first time reading out of doors had been the cause of her downfall. There had been the time when she was ten and had thought she could finish the last few pages of Xenophon’sAnabasisduring the short walk to church. She had wandered straight into Mrs. Naesmith’s blackberry bramble, and it had taken a quarter of an hour to disentangle herself. She could still recall the way the vicar fell silent and everyone turned to stare as she slunk into church with her dress torn and her arms covered in scratches.
There had been another incident when she was twelve. It must have been a Wednesday, because Wednesday was the day the village shop received a box of books from the big circulating library at Cheltenham to supplement the two shelves they kept behind the counter for lending. Elissa never missed a Wednesday and, besides, she had to return the book she had out, Francis Fawkes’s translation ofArgonautica. She had been reading a favorite passage one last time as she walked along.
That was when she tripped over the pig (because of course there happened to be a pig just wandering by) and fell flat on her face in the middle of the road.
She was unharmed, but the incident was unfortunate in that it was witnessed by William Ricketts, one of her father’s students. More specifically, William Ricketts was the worst of her many tormentors inside the classroom. The Unfortunate Pig Incident had given him years’ worth of fodder.
Then there was the Bicklebury Bog Debacle.
Elissa still did not like to think about the Bicklebury Bog Debacle. She’d had to wait for Farmer Broadwater to fetch his plough horse to pull her out, by which time a crowd had gathered to point and laugh.
That had been when she finally swore off reading and walking, but she still loved to read outdoors. There was nothing like a picturesque spot to stir the imagination. Farmer Broadwater, her rescuer all those years ago, didn’t mind if she borrowed his rowboat, and when she was reading something set on the water, she liked to lie in it. The gentle bobbing gave her the feeling of being aboard a ship, right there amongst the ancient heroes.
