The Wood Nymph Read online

  Dear Reader,

  Between 1985 and 1998, I wrote more than thirty Signet Regency romances, most of which have long been out of print. Many of you have been asking me about them and hunting for them, and, in some cases, paying high prices for second-hand copies to complete your collections of my books. I have been touched by your interest. I am delighted that these books are going to be available as e-books with lovely new covers and very affordable prices.

  If you have read any of my more recent books, the Bedwyn saga, the Simply quartet, theHuxtable series, the Survivors’ Club series, for example, you may wish to discover if my writing has changed in the course of the past 30 years or if my view of life and love and romance remains essentially the same. Whatever you decide, I do hope you will enjoy being able to read these books at last.

  Mary Balogh

  www.marybalogh.com

  “The Wood Nymph” Copyright © 1987 by Mary Balogh

  THE WOOD NYMPH

  First Ebook edition October 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-944654-03-0

  All rights reserved. No part of the Ebook may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both copyright owner and Class Ebook Editions Ltd., the publisher of the Ebook. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Class Ebook Editions, Ltd.

  1270 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  “Balogh is today’s superstar heir to the marvelous legacy of Georgette Heyer (except a lot steamier)!” –New York Times Bestselling author Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  “With her brilliant, beautiful and emotionally intense writing Mary Balogh sets the gold standard in historical romance.” –New York Times Bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

  “When it comes to historical romance, Mary Balogh is one of my favorites!”— New York Times Bestselling author Eloisa James

  “One of the best!” –New York Times Bestselling author Julia Quinn

  “Mary Balogh has the gift of making a relationship seem utterly real and utterly compelling.” –New York Times Bestselling author Mary Jo Putney

  “Winning, witty, and engaging…fulfilled all of my romantic fantasies.” –New York TimesBestselling author Teresa Medeiros

  Table of Contents

  Dear Reader,

  Copyright

  Praise for Mary Balogh

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  More by Mary Balogh

  Biography

  Also by Mary Balogh

  The Wood Nymph

  Mary Balogh

  Class Ebook Editions, Ltd.

  New York, NY

  I

  July and August

  CHAPTER 1

  “Do stand still, Melissa,” the Countess of Claymore said to her daughter. “Your ribbons are not tied properly in front. The bow is decidedly crooked.”

  “Whatever I do with it, Mama,” the girl complained, “it is still askew just a few minutes later. I do believe Miss James was at fault when she made the dress. I wish we did not have to rely on rustic dressmakers. We are never fashionable.”

  “I do think Papa could take us to Harrogate occasionally,” Lady Emily Wade agreed. “Surely twice a year would not be beyond our means, Mama. We have been stuck in the country here forever, and never meet anyone even remotely distinguished.”

  “There is nothing wrong with Miss James’s workmanship,” the countess said firmly. “It is merely that the ribbon has been tied wrongly, Melissa. Stand still and I shall retie it for you.”

  “Papa said that Mr. Mainwaring is very fashionable,” Melissa said. “Perhaps he really will be, Emmy. Perhaps he will also be young and handsome. Papa said he is young, of course, but that could mean any age below fifty.”

  “I would not raise your hopes too high, Melly,” her sister warned. “Have you ever known anyone both young and handsome to settle in this neighborhood?” “No,” Melissa agreed, “but that does not mean that one never will. We know that he is very rich, at least.

  He owns Graystone and Papa says that he owns a great deal of property in Scotland and the south of England as well. I think it would be most appropriate if he also turns out to be handsome.”

  “You are too romantic by half,” Emily said scornfully. “If he is eligible, Melly, it is fitting that we should meet him. After all, we owe it to our positions in society to make suitable marriages before much more time has elapsed. And if Papa will not take us to a place of fashion, we shall have to make the most of what we have here.”

  “I have asked and asked Papa to take us all to London for a Season,” the countess assured her daughters, “or to Harrogate at the very least. But he cannot take his horses and his dogs to London, you see, and you all know that hunting is the breath of life to your father.” “Mr. Mainwaring really is coming this afternoon, Mama, is he not?” Melissa asked anxiously. “Papa was quite definite about it?”

  “Oh, yes,” her mother said. “He has been in residence at Graystone for several days, you know, and has been called upon by most of our neighbors. Papa was the first to call, of course. It is time Mr. Mainwaring returned the calls, and he did assure Papa that he would wait upon us this afternoon. I really am most anxious to make his acquaintance, though I feel quite vexed that he has waited all these years to visit his property. We see little enough of good company as it is without a perfectly good estate remaining unoccupied by its master for several years.”

  “Perhaps it will give a more superior tone to the neighborhood to have Mr. Mainwaring among us,” Emily said, “though he would sound a great deal more distinguished if he had a title.”

  “Pooh,” her sister said, “a title is not important, Emmy. He is of impeccable lineage, Papa says.” “Anyway,” the countess said decisively, “I want you all to look your best this afternoon. You are all remarkably fine girls, even if I do say so myself, and surely Mr. Mainwaring must show interest in one of you. Your new dress looks quite elegant, Melissa, now that the bow has been straightened. And your hair looks most becoming, Emily. You have had Matty dress it in a new style?”

  “I consider it looks less frivolous than the old style,” said Emily, turning her head first one way and then the other so that her mother could see the total effect. “After all, I am three-and-twenty already. Will it do for our visitor, do you think, Mama?”

  “I am sure he will be most impressed,” her mother replied. “And, Helen, when do you plan to dress for the visit?”

  The countess’s youngest daughter was sitting in the window seat, her head bent low over some embroidery. She looked up when her name was mentioned, a vacant expression in her eyes.

  “What?” she asked.

  The countess tutted impatiently. “Really, child,” she said, “I suppose you have not heard a word of what we have been saying. How can you be in a room with other people and not know what is going on? I asked you when you plan to dress for our visitor.”

  “We are expecting visitors?” Helen asked in some alarm.

&nbs
p; “Oh, Helen,” Melissa said with a giggle, “you know we are expecting Mr. Mainwaring this afternoon. We have talked of little else for several days. And you know you are as interested as we are in discovering if he is young and handsome.”

  “Mr. Mainwaring?” said Helen, frowning slightly. “Is he the owner of Graystone who has recently arrived?”

  “I declare, Helen,” Emily said coldly, rising from her chair and crossing the room to her sister, “you live entirely in a world of your own. I think you have been indulged far too long. A child who daydreams can seem to be a sweet creature, but when you are approaching twenty years of age, it is time you learned to accept your social responsibilities.”

  “I am sorry, Emmy,” Helen said, “but no one told me about Mr. Mainwaring. I do not wish to meet him, though. He has come from London, has he not? I would expect him to be very different from us and difficult to talk to.”

  Emily tutted and then put her hands on her hips as she looked down at her sister’s embroidery. “Really, Helen.” she exclaimed. “Look at this, Mama. Helen is not following the pattern at all. She is supposed to be stitching dainty anemones, and instead she has embroidered a huge dandelion. A dandelion! How ridiculous you are. You will have to unpick the work, you know.”

  “Dandelions are the prettiest flowers I know,” Helen said evenly, apparently undisturbed by her sister’s outburst. “They are like the sun. It is their ugly leaves and stems that make people dislike them. I am tired of creating pretty, dainty things.”

  “There is no time for one of your arguments now,” the countess said impatiently. “You must go upstairs immediately, child, and get ready. Mr. Mainwaring will be here within the hour.”

  “I will do as I am, Mama,” Helen said, putting aside her embroidery and smoothing her skirt over her knees. “My dress is clean.”

  “You will not do at all, child,” her mother said firmly. “Your new muslin will suit very nicely. And I shall send Matty up to try to do something with your hair.” She sighed. “Why is it that it will hold into no style, Helen? No matter how carefully it is curled and confined with pins, a half-hour later you have a halo of fine hairs standing all around your head. I am sure you do not take after me.”

  “It really does not matter, Mama,” Helen said placidly. “I am not intending to ensnare Mr. Mainwaring, you know.”

  “Your trouble is that you have forgotten that you are almost twenty years of age already,” Emily said. “We must all be looking for husbands at every opportunity, Helen. It is our duty, you know.”

  The countess clapped her hands. “Helen, move!” she said. “And remember—it is to be the muslin.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Helen said.

  But when she was in her room, Helen did not immediately change her clothes. She wandered to the window and looked up at the sky. The clouds were low and heavy. They promised rain later. It looked like a chilly day for summer. Even so, the outdoors looked inviting. She gazed out across her father’s fields to the east, to the large grove of trees that was just across the boundary from their land, on the land belonging to Mr. Mainwaring.

  She had not been to her private place there for three whole days, and she was beginning to chafe against the restrictions of home. She knew that Emily was right. She was a grown woman now, and she should be taking an interest in the activities of womanhood. She should be interested in her appearance and in visiting and attending all the social activities that rural living could offer. She should be interested in finding an eligible husband. She should be joining wholeheartedly in the feminine chatter of her mother and her two older sisters. But, oh, she could not.

  Her own world, the one she had built up through the years of her girlhood, was still far more attractive to her than she could imagine the real world ever being. Reading and painting and writing could still inspire her with more passion than the prospect of a new gown or a ball. And sitting and gazing at nature around her was infinitely more exciting than sitting in the drawing room listening to the polite conversation of her family and the current visitors. She found it all painfully boring and unsatisfying. If matters were left to her, they would never either visit or entertain.

  She hated the prospect of having to sit through a visit by Mr. Mainwaring that afternoon. He was the owner of Graystone, the neighboring estate, and had been for some years, but he had never been there before. Now he had arrived from London and was being made much of by everyone within a ten-mile radius. She had no right to judge someone she had never met, of course, but she had taken a strong dislike to the man. He doubtless thought a great deal of himself. She could almost picture him looking down the length of an aristocratic nose at all the rustics in this out-of-the-way corner of Yorkshire. If he was from London, he was probably a dandy and a man of frivolous tastes. She seemed to remember Papa saying that he was a fashionable man.

  She knew what the visit would be like. Papa would be there, but he would not say much. He never did. Papa had really only two topics of conversation: horses and hunting. If it happened that Mr. Mainwaring had little interest in these, then Papa would have nothing at all to say. The conversation would be left to Mama and the girls. Mama would be slyly hinting at the various accomplishments of her daughters—she was bound to have Emily sing for the visitor. And Emily would be more than usually dignified, trying to impress the man with her breeding and maturity. And Melissa would be silly, and would use wiles to try to draw compliments from the unsuspecting visitor.

  Helen had seen it all before. She loved them all, of course. They were her family. But she had never been able to understand why they could not behave naturally in the presence of gentlemen. Why must every single man be seen as a matrimonial prospect? Was there nothing more in life for a woman than to find a husband? It seemed that she was the odd one, though, to imagine that there must be something else. Mama and the girls appeared to accept the necessity of matrimony without question, and so did all the other girls and mamas of Helen’s acquaintance.

  She turned sharply as the door to her room opened.

  “Oh, Matty,” she said. “I am not ready to have my hair done yet. I shall ring when I need you.”

  The girl curtsied and left the room again.

  Helen still stared at the closed door. She could not face that visit. She could not get herself all dressed up like a sacrificial offering and be polite all afternoon to a man she was sure to despise. She could not. She turned her head to glance again in the direction of that beckoning grove of trees and up to the sky, which was still holding its rain. Then she rushed over to her closet and dragged out her moss-green velvet riding habit and her black leather boots.

  They would scold all evening, she told herself as she changed quickly into the chosen garments. Mama would talk about duty, and Papa would threaten to lock her in her room without supper. Emily would remind her that at her age she should have a stronger sense of family duty. But she would prefer all that to an afternoon of confinement with Mr. Mainwaring. Even the name she disliked. He sounded stuffy.

  She picked up her riding whip from a corner of the closet and let herself quietly out of the room. A quick glance to left and right assured her that there was no one in sight. She ran lightly to the servants’ staircase at the back of the house and quickly down to the back entrance. A few minutes later, Helen was emerging from the stables, seated sidesaddle on her horse. She took him around behind the house and headed for the fields to the east. She did not look back as she spurred the horse to a gallop. She would think of the scolding later.

  * * *

  William Mainwaring saw Helen go as he rode slowly up the driveway to the Earl of Claymore’s home. She was certainly able to handle her horse well, whoever she was, he thought. For one envious moment he wished he could join her or at least gallop away on his own flight to freedom. But he was bound to make this visit, the first of many. His neighbors had been attentive in the five days since his arrival at Graystone and he appreciated their kindness. It was not their fault that he was of a
reserved, unsociable nature.

  Even so, Mainwaring drew his horse to a stop and gazed at the figure in green as she galloped across a field to the east. Melissa was destined to be pleased by his appearance. He was a good-looking man, tall and straight in the saddle, his hair dark and quite long beneath his hat, his face thin and almost austere in expression, yet handsome for all that.

  It was strange really, he supposed, that he had been surprised by everyone’s attentiveness. He should have learned a year before that a new arrival in a neighborhood was bound to arouse interest and speculation among the families for miles around. It was the home of his childhood and younger manhood that had been the strange one. He had grown up in the Scottish home of his maternal grandfather with almost only the old man and a rather crusty elderly housekeeper for company. They had had virtually no contact with their neighbors and had participated in no social activities. Even when they had gone to church on Sundays they had never lingered to talk with other members of the congregation.

  Nothing had changed even when his grandfather had died. He had been one-and-twenty at the time, and he had spent eight more years there, almost totally alone. He had been so used to it, he supposed, that his youth was gone before he had begun to wonder what the outside world had to offer. He was a wealthy man, both as his grandfather’s heir and in his own right. He had properties both in the north and in the south of England. He really should visit both.

  But first he had gone to London and had lived there for a few weeks in something like shock. He really had not known how to take his rightful place in society. He had found it very difficult to converse with people or to relax and be at his ease. Had he not struck up a conversation with Robert Denning, Marquess of Hetherington, at White’s one rainy afternoon, he might well have returned to Scotland and become as much of a hermit as his grandfather had been. Hetherington was his opposite in personality. He was as sunny-natured and as gregarious as Mainwaring was reserved and antisocial. Yet for some reason they had become immediate and fast friends.