The Road to Magnolia Glen

The Road to Magnolia Glen

by Pam Hillman
The Road to Magnolia Glen

The Road to Magnolia Glen

by Pam Hillman

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Overview

1792, Natchez Trace, MS
Bitter since his eldest brother abandoned their family in Ireland, Quinn O’Shea travels to Natchez, Mississippi, ready to shuck the weight of his duty and set off on an adventure of his own. It’s time Connor, as head of the family, took responsibility for their younger siblings. While aboard ship, a run-in with three Irish sisters lands Quinn in the role of reluctant savior. Though it may delay his plans, he cannot abandon the Young sisters, especially the tenacious yet kind Kiera.

Upon arriving in the colonies, Kiera Young prepares to meet her intended and begin her new life. But she soon discovers the marriage her brother-in-law arranged was never meant to be, and a far more sinister deal was negotiated for her and her sisters.

Quinn offers to escort his charges safely to Breeze Hill Plantation and his brother’s care, fully intending to seek his freedom elsewhere. But the longer he remains, the greater his feelings toward Kiera grow and the more he comes to realize true freedom might be found in sacrifice.

Includes discussion questions.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781496433190
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication date: 06/05/2018
Series: Natchez Trace Series , #2
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 448
Sales rank: 839,071
File size: 4 MB

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

THREE WEEKS LATER NATCHEZ UNDER-THE-HILL ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER FEBRUARY 1792

"Stay close."

Eyes on the bustling wharf, Kiera held tight to Megan's hand, ensuring her adventuresome sister didn't disappear into the crowd.

"But, Kiera, I wanted to say goodbye to Patrick."

"That snotty-nosed lad?" Sixteen-year-old Amelia wrinkled her nose. "Really, Megan, he's simply not the kind you should be associating with. Gutter —"

"Amelia, that's quite enough." Kiera kept her tone even, nervously searching the wharf for a glimpse of the man who might be her intended.

Amelia sniffed, then looked away, as poised and regal as Megan was wild and untamed. Sometimes Kiera felt like the two of them pulled her so hard in opposite directions that she would be torn asunder.

She didn't know which one she worried about the most — the one who never met a stranger and never backed down from a challenge, or the one who seemed bent on following in the footsteps of their flirtatious half sister, Charlotte.

Kiera sighed. If there was one thing to be grateful for about being shipped half a world away from her beloved home in Ireland, it was putting an ocean between Amelia and Charlotte.

It was terrifying how much of Charlotte's personality Amelia had taken on in the last two years. Kiera had spent many a night in prayer over the impressionable sixteen-year-old's future. Amelia would have stayed in Ireland, but Charlotte's husband hadn't given her a choice. When Father died, God rest his soul, Charlotte's husband had decided to sell the family holdings in Ireland in order to finance his own dealings in London.

Since George was married to the oldest sibling and all their father's property fell to him, it was his right to do with as he saw fit. But that still didn't stop Kiera from pining over the loss of the only home she'd ever known.

Only a few short weeks after George had cheerily announced that he was disposing of her father's legacy, he'd dropped a startling piece of news. He'd arranged an advantageous marriage for her in the colonies. With Charlotte's blessing, they'd agreed it was best that Amelia and Megan travel with Kiera across the ocean to the Natchez District.

Not for the first time, her stomach roiled at the thought of her upcoming marriage to a stranger, and with great effort, she pushed the panic down. She wasn't the first woman to enter into a marriage of convenience with a man she'd never met, and she wouldn't be the last.

She should be thankful George had arranged a marriage for her and allowed her sisters to accompany her to the colonies instead of just throwing them all out in the streets. As a British nobleman, he had no obligation to his wife's half-Irish half sisters.

Everything had happened so fast after that.

Or maybe she'd simply ignored the inevitable during the long ocean voyage from Dublin.

But now they were here, and she couldn't ignore it any longer.

Her gaze panned the wharf, the dockworkers in tattered clothes unloading the ship, the other passengers disembarking, some never pausing on the crowded thoroughfare but walking quickly away toward waiting carriages, greeting friends and relatives. Others, like her, stood at the railing, unsure where they were supposed to go or what they were supposed to do now that they'd arrived.

Each conveyance wove through the crowd and up the steep incline that led to the city spread out on the bluff above the wharf. Even from here, she glimpsed several spacious homes nestled among the trees, the full-length verandas facing the river to catch the summer breezes. Wouldn't it be grand if her intended owned one of those homes with the fancy scrollwork and porches that stretched from end to end? But she wouldn't fret over that. If her husband was a man of God and of sound moral character, she'd call herself blessed.

She searched the wharf once again, frowning as one by one their shipmates went on their way. The noon hour was far gone, and they needed to be settled before nightfall. Why wasn't her intended here to greet her and her sisters?

She spotted the boy, Patrick O'Shea, and his two older brothers threading their way through the crowd, Quinn O'Shea's broad shoulders and forceful march breaking the tide and allowing them ease of passage toward their destination. He left his brothers in charge of a meager pile of baggage and, without hesitation, entered a small building tucked against the base of the cliff.

She read the sign.

James Bloomfield, Esquire. Attorney-at-Law.

Bottom lip pulled between her teeth, she eyed the door that led to the lawyer's office. Making a quick decision, she motioned for two stevedores to carry their trunks to shore and headed toward the gangway. "Girls. Come."

As they stepped foot in a strange land where she knew no one, she squelched another surge of panic. She breathed a prayer as a pair of drunken sailors pushed past, almost pulling Megan out of her grasp. Be with us, God.

Even her unknown intended had to be better than the fetid smell of dead fish, unwashed bodies, and debauchery found along the waterfront.

Without bothering to carry their belongings any farther than necessary, the stevedores dumped their trunks at the end of the gangway and rushed away, no doubt in search of strong drink and comfort in one of the rough buildings lining the wharf.

She squared her shoulders. Surely Mr. Bloomfield could give her directions to her destination. She caught Amelia's attention. "Keep an eye on our belongings. I'm going to secure a conveyance."

Amelia huffed. Kiera sighed and bent down to Megan's level. "Stay with your sister. And no matter what, do not run off."

Megan nodded without taking her eyes off the chaos surrounding them. "Yes, ma'am."

Kiera threaded her way along the crowded wharf. She mounted the steps, tossing a quick look toward her sisters. They both sat on one of the trunks, Megan openly watching everything while Amelia pretended not to.

She ducked inside the lawyer's office, hoping to get her questions answered posthaste and be on her way. She pushed the door shut, then turned.

Quinn O'Shea stood next to a balding man wearing eyeglasses. Both men looked up, questioning, but it was Quinn's arched brow that set Kiera's face aflame.

* * *

Quinn took in the freshly pressed dress made of something soft and satiny, the pale hair pulled up and away from Kiera's face, the white bonnet trimmed with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes.

"Miss Young."

"Mr. O'Shea."

"Good day, miss." Mr. Bloomfield nodded a greeting, then looked to Quinn for introductions.

"Mr. Bloomfield, meet Kiera Young, a fellow passenger on the Lady Gallant."

"Miss Young, it is a pleasure." Mr. Bloomfield motioned toward Quinn. "Do you mind if Mr. O'Shea and I conclude our business? We'll only be a moment."

"Not at all. Please, continue." She moved to stand by the window, giving them some privacy.

Quinn turned back to Mr. Bloomfield. "You were saying?"

Bloomfield smiled. "We've been expecting you and your brothers. As soon as I heard you were on board the Lady Gallant, I sent word to Thomas Wainwright —"

"Thomas Wainwright?"

"Yes, the Wainwrights, good friends of your brother and his wife's family, have a home here in Natchez." Bloomfield searched through some papers. "As soon as the runner returns, I'll have him escort you and your brothers there until you head to Breeze Hill."

"Why do we have t' wait?" Quinn scowled. He'd been cooped up on a ship for almost three months, and he saw no need to sit and wait when he could just as easily go straight to this plantation his brother had married into. "Just point me down the road t' Breeze Hill, and I'll be on my way."

"No, no, you can't go alone. The Natchez Trace is too dangerous. It would be much better if you wait and travel with Wainwright's party."

Quinn tamped down his impatience. "I see."

Someone knocked and Bloomfield called out, "Come in."

A man old enough to be his father entered, followed by the distinguished gentleman who'd asked about Kiera's welfare aboard the Lady Gallant. The second man nodded politely in Kiera's direction, then turned toward Quinn. After a brief pause, he inclined his head in recognition.

"Mr. Wainwright. I didn't expect you so soon." Bloomfield sounded pleased. "I haven't long sent a boy to fetch you."

"Poor lad." The man called Wainwright chuckled. "His trip will be wasted. As soon as I spotted the Lady Gallant, I came to welcome Mr. Marchette to our fair city." Wainwright motioned to his companion. "My business associate from London, Alistair Marchette."

"Of Marchette Shipping?"

"You've heard of us?"

"Of course, my good man." Bloomfield smiled, then cleared his throat. "Perhaps you could join me for dinner this evening? I have several clients who have need of a reputable shipping company in London."

"That's why I'm here." Marchette spread his hands, returning Bloomfield's smile. "I'm at your disposal, sirs."

"Splendid." Hands behind his back, Bloomfield addressed Wainwright. "Thomas, I'd be pleased if you'd join us."

"I'd be honored."

Bloomfield turned to Quinn. "My apologies, Mr. O'Shea. The prospect of an alliance with Marchette Shipping made me forget my manners. Thomas, meet Connor O'Shea's brother, Quinn O'Shea."

"Mr. O'Shea, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. A pleasure indeed." Wainwright shook his hand. "My son is a friend of your brother. Actually, my daughter-in-law and your brother's wife are sisters-in-law."

Quinn's confusion must have shown on his face because Wainwright laughed and clapped him on the back. "It's complicated. You'll get the gist of it by and by. I promised Connor I'd be on the lookout for your ship and would arrange transportation to Breeze Hill."

"Transportation, sir?"

"Yes, it's a day's journey to the plantation."

"I see."

"Mr. O'Shea, if you'll just sign these papers, you can be on your way." Mr. Bloomfield handed him a sheaf of papers and stepped back. "Excuse me, sirs, while I attend to Miss Young."

Quinn made his mark where indicated, then turned to the next page. When he was done, he set the papers aside.

"I trust your passage was uneventful?" Wainwright asked.

"It was —"

"The Blue Heron? Are you quite sure, miss?" Quinn turned at Bloomfield's distraught tone.

"Yes, sir." Kiera Young glanced toward him, then turned her attention back to Mr. Bloomfield. "Is that a problem?" "Well, miss, the Blue Heron isn't exactly the place for a lady, if you'll pardon my saying so. And you have two younger sisters, you say? I'm afraid —"

"Mr. Bloomfield, my brother-in-law sent me to Natchez with the understanding that I'm to be married. The address given was the Blue Heron." She gave the solicitor the same look she'd given Quinn on board the Lady Gallant. "Might someone please secure a carriage for us?"

"Yes, but ..." Bloomfield glanced around helplessly.

"Is there a problem, Miss Young?" Marchette interrupted, coming to her aid once again.

"No thank you, Mr. Marchette." Kiera's face bloomed with color. "A misunderstanding, perhaps."

The lawyer pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. "Miss Young, you seem to be acquainted with Mr. Marchette and Mr. O'Shea. May I introduce one of our leading citizens, Thomas Wainwright?"

"My pleasure, miss." Wainwright dipped his head. "Welcome to Natchez."

"Thank you, sir."

"Miss Young, if you would permit me, Mr. Bloomfield is right to be concerned over your welfare. The Blue Heron is not the type of establishment a young lady should rendezvous with her intended." Wainwright's smile was filled with fatherly concern. "Perhaps you're mistaken —"

"There's no mistake, sir. My brother-in-law made the arrangements, and —"

The door flung open and Patrick barreled inside. "Quinn. Hurry. That man's taking Megan and Amelia."

"Taking them? Where?" Kiera lifted her skirts and rushed toward the door.

Quinn hurried after her, pausing briefly on the porch to search the wharf for Kiera's sisters. In spite of the lengthening shadows, Natchez Under-the-Hill still crawled with humanity. There. At the end of the gangway. His own brother Rory was wielding a broken board, the two girls cowering behind him. A hulking brute of a man with a wicked-looking knife advanced on Rory, the sixteen-year-old no match for the giant.

"Megan! Amelia!" Kiera ran across the wharf, skirts flying.

Quinn sprinted after her, grabbed her arm, and pushed her behind him. "Get out o' the way, lass." Palming a knife, Quinn shoved his way between Rory and the brute, his left hand held palm out. "Wait. What's the meaning o' this, man?"

"Get out of the way, monsieur. This is none of your affair."

Quinn crouched, knife at the ready. Looked like he and Rory were in for it, and he didn't even know what had caused the ruckus. Rough men, silent and watchful, gathered round. Women in rags and children with dirty faces jostled for position. No one offered to help or to stop this.

"Quinn, he —"

"Hush, lad," Quinn growled at Rory to keep quiet. The man-mountain circling him wasn't in the mood to talk about whatever had set him off. And from the scars crisscrossing his face, he'd been in enough fights to bury Quinn ten times over.

Dear Lord in heaven, protect me this day. Don't let me have come all this way t' spill me guts on me first day in the New World.

"Claude. Enough." A voice with a heavy French accent cut through the tension. The crowd parted, and a well-dressed man inserted himself between Quinn and the brute with the knife. He turned, his emotionless black eyes boring a hole through Quinn. His craggy face would have been unremarkable, and might have even been considered handsome at one time, but a long, jagged scar ran from his temple to his jawline. His thin lips curved into a sardonic half smile. "My associate is correct. This is none of your affair."

Quinn didn't take his eyes off the Frenchman or the thug with the knife.

"He said Amelia belonged to him, that he was going to take her to a tavern and force her to — "Rory's voice broke over the horror of what he'd heard — "to ..."

"It is true. These filles are my charges." The Frenchman stepped forward. "The captain of the Lady Gallant has accepted payment for their passage. My apologies for any confusion my man caused with his limited English. Claude." He snapped his fingers. "Load up their belongings and let us be on our way."

"Oui, Monsieur Le Bonne."

"No." Rory swung, and in one quick move, Claude caught the board, wrested it from Rory's hands, and had the knife at his throat before Quinn could stop him. Wide-eyed, Rory stared at him.

Quinn crouched again, his attention jerking from the thug to the well-dressed Frenchman, his heart in his throat as his brother's life hung by a slender thread. Slowly, he put down his knife, then held up his hands, palms forward. "The lad meant no harm. Just — just let him go."

The Frenchman lifted his hand, and a hush fell over the crowd. Quinn's stomach dropped, and he knew he was looking death in the eyes. One word, one snap of the Frenchman's fingers, and Rory would be dead.

Kiera pushed in front of Quinn before he could stop her. "Monsieur Le Bonne?"

The Frenchman's gaze raked Kiera, like a merchant giving his stamp of approval on goods received. Quinn barely resisted the urge to strike out at him. Only the knife at Rory's throat held him in check.

"Please, have your man put away his knife." She fumbled with the drawstring on her purse. "A letter. Here's a letter from my brother-in-law." She held the letter out, hand trembling. "I'm — I'm to be your wife."

(Continues…)



Excerpted from "The Road to Magnolia Glen"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Pam Hillman.
Excerpted by permission of Tyndale House Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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