Before the Season Ends Read online

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Discussion Questions for Before the Season Ends

  If you enjoyed Before the Season Ends, you’ll also love the sequel, The House in Grosvenor Square.

  About the Author

  A Short Glossary for Before the Season Ends

  What Readers Are Saying About Linore Burkard’s

  Before the Season Ends

  “A really nice surprise! This is definitely an original Regency romance.”

  ANNE WOODLEY

  Amazon.com Top 500 reviewer

  patroness of the Almack’s List, Byron List, Janeites, and the Austen List

  “Beautifully written story, fast paced, and exciting from cover to cover. One of the best stories I have read!”

  KELLI GLESIGE

  book reviewer for www.ReaderViews.com

  “In the vein of Jane Austen, Burkard weaves a delightful world, rich with detail. Her characters spring to life as they deal with their own struggles and prejudices..”

  JANICE LAQUIERE

  Logos Book Reviews

  “Well-written, interesting, captivating, romantic, inspirational, and addictive, I highly recommend this book.”

  ARMCHAIRINTERVIEWS.COM

  And from satisfied readers at Amazon.com…

  “I laughed out loud and was also brought to tears while reading this beautifully written book.”

  ALICE TJIONG

  “Beautifully written, touches your heart and keeps you entertained!”

  DEBBIE HANNA

  “A must-read story that will lift you up and stay in your thoughts long after you’ve finished the last chapter.”

  LISA G. SMITH

  “A great, entertaining book! It had me caught from the first few pages and continued to reel me in page after page.”

  DONNA CRUGER

  “Wonderful and beautiful book!”

  LILLIAN J. WONG-SUHU

  “So good that I couldn’t put it down! It made me laugh out loud and it made me cry…”

  LAURA LOFASO

  “Fun and inspirational. I enjoyed it from cover to cover and heartily recommend it to anyone who likes historical fiction!”

  DIANE GRAZIANO

  A peek at Linore’s mail…

  Christina writes…

  “I received my copy of Before the Season Ends yesterday and have already finished it…I literally could not put it down…I can’t wait for the sequel!”

  Catherine writes…

  “I got your book in the mail yesterday, started reading it, and could not put it down. It is delightful! It seems to me to be a bit like Pride and Prejudice, which is my very favorite novel of all time.”

  Viola writes…

  “Just had to write a note and let you know that I have finished Before the Season Ends. It was great. Will there be another book about [Ariana] or her sisters?”

  BEFORE

  THE SEASON

  ENDS

  LINORE ROSE BURKARD

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Verses marked NIV are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  BEFORE THE SEASON ENDS

  Copyright © 2008 by Linore Rose Burkard

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Burkard, Linore Rose

  Before the season ends / Linore Rose Burkard.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-7369-2551-8 (pbk.)

  I. Title.

  PS3602.U754B44 2008

  813’ .6—dc22

  2008020667

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 / RDM-NI / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To the memory of my grandmother, Marie Rose, for always believing; and my parents, for their love of reading.

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my editor, Nick Harrison, who, (besides having a cool name) is great to work with and who brought me to Harvest House Publishers; to Helen Hancox and Charlotte Hails, my trusty British resource people, for their friendship, suggestions, and corrections. And to my wonderful husband, Michael, the computer wiz, (where would I be without my laptop?) who has never questioned my obsession with writing; and to my children, for their patience and understanding. You are all priceless!

  One

  Chesterton, Hertfordshire

  England

  1813

  Something would have to be done about Ariana.

  All winter Miss Ariana Forsythe, aged nineteen, had been going about the house sighing.

  “Mr. Hathaway is my lot in life!”

  She spoke as though the prospect of that life was a great burden to bear, but one to which she had properly reconciled herself. When her declarations met with exasperation or reproach from her family—for no one else was convinced Mr. Hathaway, the rector, was her lot—she usually responded in a perplexed manner. Hadn’t they understood that her calling was to wed a man of the cloth? Was there another man of God, other than their rector, available to her? No. It only stood to reason, therefore, that Mr. Hathaway was her lot in life. Their cold reception to the thought of the marriage was unfathomable.

  When she was seventeen (a perfectly respectable marrying age), Ariana had romantic hopes about a young and brilliant assistant to the rector, one Mr. Stresham. It was shortly after meeting him, in fact, that she had formed the opinion the Almighty was calling her to marry a man of God. Mr. Stresham even had the approval of her parents. But the man soon took a situation in another parish without asking Ariana to accompany him as his wife. She was disappointed, but not one to give up easily, continued to speak of “the calling,” waiting in hope for another Mr. Stresham of sorts. But no man came. And now she had reached the conclusion that Mr. Hathaway—Mr. Hathaway, th
e rector (approaching the age of sixty!), would have to do.

  Her parents, Charles and Julia Forsythe, were sitting in their comfortably furnished morning room, Julia with a cup of tea before her, and Charles with his newspaper. A steady warmth was emanating from the hearth.

  “What shall we do about Ariana?” Mrs. Forsythe, being an observant mother, had been growing in her conviction that the situation called for action.

  “What do you suggest, my dear?” Her husband reluctantly folded his paper; he knew his wife wanted a discussion of the matter, and he would get precious little reading done until she had gotten it.

  She held up a folded piece of foolscap, on which was written the annual letter from Agatha Bentley, Charles’s sister, asking for Alberta, the eldest Forsythe daughter, for the season in London. It had arrived the day before.

  Aunt Bentley was a childless wealthy widow and a hopeless socialite. For the past three years she had written annually to tell her brother and his wife why they ought to let her sponsor their eldest daughter for a London season. She owned a house in Mayfair (could anything be more respectable than that?) and knew a great number of the bigwigs in society. She had, in fact, that most important of commodities, which the Forsythes completely lacked: connexions. And as Charles’s family were her only living relatives, she was prepared—even anxious—to serve as chaperon for her niece.

  Much to the lady’s frustration, Julia and Charles had annually extinguished her hopes, replying to her letters graciously but with the inevitable, “We cannot countenance a separation from our child at this time,” and so on. Charles was unflinching on this point, never doubting his girls would reap a greater benefit by remaining beneath his own roof. They knew full well, moreover, that Aunt Bentley could not hope, with all her money and connexions, to find as suitable a husband for their offspring as was possible right in Chesterton.

  And yet, due to the distressing state of affairs with Ariana, Julia wished to consider her latest offer. Waving the letter in her hand, she said, “I think we ought to oblige your sister this year. She must be lonely, poor thing, and besides removing Ariana from the parish, a visit to the city could prove beneficial for her education.”

  Ariana’s father silently considered the matter. His eldest daughter, Alberta, was as good as wed, having recently accepted an offer of marriage—to no one’s surprise—from John Norledge. Ariana, his second eldest, had been irksome in regard to the rector, but to pack her off to London? Surely the situation was not so dire as to warrant such a move.

  “I think there is nothing else for it,” Mrs. Forsythe said emphatically. “Ariana is determined about Mr. Hathaway and, even though we can forbid her to speak to the man, she will pine and sigh and like as not drive us to distraction!”

  Taking a pipe out of his waistcoat pocket, though he no longer smoked, Mr. Forsythe absently rubbed the polished wood in his fingers.

  “I recall other fanciful notions of our daughter’s,” he said finally, “and they slipped away in time. Recall, if you will, when she was above certain her destiny was to be a missionary to America. That desire faded. She fancies this, she fancies that; soon she will fancy another thing entirely, and we shan’t hear another word about the ‘wonderful rector’ again.”

  Mrs. Forsythe’s countenance, still attractive in her forties, became fretful.

  “I grant that she has had strong…affections before. But this time, my dear, it is a complicated affection, for in this case it is the heart of the, ah, affected that we must consider. It has ideas of its own.”

  “Of its own?”

  Mrs. Forsythe looked about the room to be certain no one else had entered. The servants were so practiced at coming and going quietly that their presence might not be marked. But no, it was only the two of them. She lowered her voice anyway.

  “The rector! I do not think he intends to lose her! What could delight him more than a young, healthy wife who might fill his table with offspring?”

  Mr. Forsythe shook his head. “Our rector is not the kind of man to think only of himself; he must agree with us on the obvious unsuitability of the match.”

  The rector in question was Thaddeus Admonicus Hathaway, of the Church in the Village Square. Mr. Hathaway was a good man. His sermons were grounded in sound religion, which meant they were based on orthodox Christian teaching. He was clever, and a popular dinner guest of the gentry, including the Forsythes. If these had not been true of him, Mr. Forsythe might have been as concerned as his wife. Knowing Mr. Hathaway, however, Charles Forsythe did not think a drastic action, such as sending his daughter to the bustling metropolis of London, was necessary.

  Mrs. Forsythe chose not to argue with her spouse. She would simply commit the matter to prayer. If the Almighty decided that Ariana must be removed to Agatha’s house, then He would make it clear to her husband. In her years of marriage she had discovered that God was the Great Communicator, and she had no right to try and usurp that power. Her part was to pray, sincerely and earnestly.

  Mr. Forsythe gave his judgment: “I fear that rather than exerting a godly influence upon her aunt, Ariana might be drawn astray by the ungodliness of London society.”

  “Do you doubt her so much, Charles? This infatuation with Mr. Hathaway merely results from her youth, her admiration for his superior learning, and especially,” she said, leaning forward and giving him a meaningful look, “for lack of a young man who has your approval! Have you not frowned upon every male who has approached her in the past? Why, Mr. Hathaway is the first whom you have failed to frighten off and only because he is our rector! ’Tis little wonder a young girl takes a fanciful notion into her head!”

  When he made no answer, she added, while adjusting the frilly morning cap on her head, “Mr. Hathaway causes me concern!”

  Mr. Forsythe’s countenance was sober. “ ’Tis my sister who warrants the concern. She will wish to make a match for our daughter—and she will not be content with just any mister I assure you. In addition to which, a girl as pretty as our daughter will undoubtedly attract attention of the wrong sort.”

  Julia was flustered for a moment, but countered, “Agatha is no threat to our child. We shall say we are sending Ariana to see the sights, take in the museums, and so forth. Surely there is no harm in that. A dinner party here or there should not be of concern. And Ariana is too intelligent to allow herself to be foisted upon an unsuitable man for a fortune or title.”

  Too intelligent? Charles thought of the aging minister who no one had had to “foist” her upon. Aloud he merely said, “I shall speak with her tonight. She shall be brought to reason, depend upon it. There will be no need to pack her off to London.”

  Two

  Had Ariana, once she set her mind upon something, ever been swayed by reason? This was the question on Mr. Forsythe’s mind as he spoke with his daughter in his study that evening. He poked at the hearth with an iron instrument although the red coals were pouring out heat. It was, instead, the conversation that more rightly needed stirring, having gone cold; for Mr. Forsythe could not impress Ariana with the rector’s unsuitability.

  She had been preparing for bed when he summoned her and was therefore in a warm chemise nightdress and robe, her long, luminous blonde locks about her shoulders. Her feet were tucked up beneath the robe for warmth, and she absently twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. Her sparkling eyes—said to be the handsomest in the county—were fixed upon him in mild perplexity. Her bedside candle sat nearby, ready for the return trip upstairs.

  “If God were to smile upon the union you desire,” Mr. Forsythe told her gravely, turning from the fireplace to look at her, “then proof would be the blessing of your parents. But without the latter, you should not assume the former.”

  Ariana blinked, looking surprised at such a thought, and her father silently rejoiced that perhaps he had finally hit his mark. Then she smiled, and it was so placating and compliant a smile that he felt his first twinge of true alarm. And when she spoke, her tone wa
s so maddeningly sweet that he might have lost his temper altogether.

  “Mr. Hathaway says, even the most pious are apt to misread the will of the Almighty on occasion! And I can rest in the knowledge that marriage is a blessed estate to be much desired; and how could I, who am seeking to please God, err, if I marry into the church?”

  Mr. Forsythe’s face grew red. He set down the iron poker with his back to his daughter and made a grimace. Taking a breath to control the sudden rage he felt toward the minister, he put his hands upon his hips, and turned to face the girl. She was watching him cautiously.

  “Has that man made an offer to you?” It came out in a bellow.

  It was so uncharacteristic for Papa to lose his temper that Ariana felt the colour rise in her cheeks, and she clasped her hands together nervously.

  “N-no!” It was true that she and the rector shared a tacit understanding, but there had as yet been no actual declaration. The damage had been done, however. Her father was clearly out of countenance. What would he do?

  At the same moment, he was asking himself that very question. He was loathe to speak against God’s servant, but he had to do something.

  “Ariana—.”

  Her large eyes regarded him fearfully. They were light brown during calm moments, but colourful at the least excitement. Streaks of blue and green or even amethyst could sparkle in them, as well as health and youth, vigour and intelligence. Combined with her golden locks and delicate features, the young woman had a startlingly pleasing effect. He refused to allow her look of youthful innocence to sway him, however.

  “I forbid you to speak with Mr. Hathaway from this day forward.”

  A flash of colour in her eyes revealed her alarm.

  “But, Papa! What if Mr. Hathaway addresses me? I must answer him. I shan’t be so disobliging as to not answer!”