Page 2 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
She always kept the boat tied to the dock. She had never dreamed that anything could go wrong.
Today had been the first day of the year that had truly felt like spring, and she just had to get outside. She grabbed Plutarch’sLife of Theseusfrom the library and set out after luncheon. As always, she became lost in the tale, and must have read for the better part of three hours.
She sat up when she saw the clouds rolling in. She ran a hand over her opposite arm and was startled to find gooseflesh; she had been so caught up in the story, she only now noticed that the temperature had dropped by ten degrees.
That was when she saw what had happened.
At some point, the rowboat had come untied from the dock and had drifted into the center of the pond. A quick search revealed that there wasn’t an oar in the boat, but no matter—the pond was small enough. Surely she could use her hand to paddle back to shore.
It was when she failed to make any progress that she noticed the rope had become entangled in one of the underwater trees that had been left in place when they flooded the basin. Try as she might, Elissa was unable to work the rope free. And although she picked at it until her fingers bled, she couldn’t loosen the knot.
By this time, the weather was really starting to turn, and she shouted as loudly as she could for Farmer Broadwater, whose house was just over the knoll. This was to no avail, and that was when she began to grow fearful. A storm was coming, a bad one, and she was about to be stuck on the water with absolutely no protection.
The only option she could come up with was to wade to shore. Although she couldn’t swim, the pond was small, and most of it wasn’t very deep. Perhaps she could touch bottom.
Trembling, she lowered herself into the water, and was quickly disabused of that hope. The outside of the boat was slimy with moss, and she immediately lost her grip. Her chest seized with panic as her head went under, but she managed to grab a tree limb with a flailing arm and pull her head back out of the water. It was a struggle to get back into the slippery boat, especially after her hair became snarled in the tree, and she tried and failed so many times it began to feel like she would never make it out of the frigid water. By the time she finally collapsed into the bottom of the boat, her hair had unraveled from its pins, and her whole body was shaking with fatigue and terror.
That had been perhaps an hour ago, an hour in which the temperature had continued to plummet. The thin, blue muslin gown that had seemed perfect for a sunny spring afternoon was grossly inadequate for the current conditions. She couldn’t stop trembling and her thoughts were growing muddled, leading her to worry that this was more than a mere chill.
She had mumbled every prayer she could dredge from her frozen brain. Elissa had always prided herself on being self-reliant. She may have her head stuck in the clouds, but she had never been the type to sit around and wait for someone to come to her rescue. Life had taught her there was no such thing as a prince on a white horse.
But if ever she had needed someone to be her hero, it was right now.
And then she heard it—the cadence of hoofbeats on the nearby path. She tried to cry out, but her frozen throat could only manage a sad, little croak.
The hoofbeats slowed, and she could see something moving through the trees.
It proved to be a man.
A man on a white horse.
And—oh, God, surely this could not be happening…
Although Elissa knew she needed help and had, in fact, just spent the better part of two hours praying fervently for someone, anyone, to happen along, she could not believe her terrible luck.
Because if there was anyone on the face of this earth she did not want to witness her in this, the most humiliating moment of her remarkably humiliating life, it wasEdward Astley.
CHAPTER2
It had been ten years since last she saw him. He had been seventeen, as she recalled (as she recalled—as if she did not recall it all perfectly!) At an age when most boys had been spotty-faced and awkward, Edward Astley was already breathtakingly handsome, showing every indication that he would become this outstanding specimen of the male species, whom, according to the newspapers, the tittering ladies of London had dubbed “Prince Charming.”
Certainly, he deserved it. He looked much the same as she remembered, save for being taller, squarer-jawed, and broader-shouldered. He looked the part of the ideal country lord. He was riding a gorgeous, white Irish Hunter and was impeccably turned out in buff breeches and glossy top boots, with a cream waistcoat and flawlessly white linen. His coat was the color considered most suitable for the country, a pale brown shade called drab. On anyone else, it would have looked, well,drab, but on Edward Astley, the dull color only served to make his thick, glossy, dark-brown hair look richer. And as for his eyes…
They called them the Astley eyes. She’d heard that his mother had them, as did four of his six siblings. They were huge, and as blue as… Elissa didn’t even know how to finish that sentence, because she had never seen anything as blue as Edward Astley’s eyes. Even from fifteen yards away, she could make out their color.
Those eyes were currently staring at her in shock. Oh, but this was mortifying!
Get hold of yourself, Elissa.It wasn’t that bad. He didn’t seem to recognize her.
Gracious, after all these years, he probably didn’t even remember her!
“Miss Elissa?”
Er—so much for that hope. She cleared her rusty throat. “Lord Fauconbridge,” she replied, using his title (because as the eldest son of the Earl of Cheltenham, he was known by the courtesy title Viscount Fauconbridge). She sifted through her brain for the appropriate manner in which to converse with a viscount whilst floating on a pond in a translucent dress. “How—er—lovely to see you again.”
“Yes, what an unexpected plea—” A sharp rumble from the sky cut him off. “Forgive me, Miss Elissa, but are you perhaps in need of some assistance?”
“Indeed I am.” She gestured to the front of the boat. “The rope has become entangled in this tree, and I cannot free it. I fear I am stuck. I—I cannot swim, you see.”
