The Rescue Read online

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Cover by Dugan Design Group, Bloomington, Minnesota

  Cover photos © Rob Wilkinson, Rubberball, Linda Kennedy / Alamy

  THE RESCUE

  Copyright © 2002 by Lori Wick

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  ISBN 978-0-7369-2530-3

  Library of Congress has cataloged the edition as follows:

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wick, Lori.

  The rescue / Lori Wick.

  p. cm. —(The English garden series ; bk. 2)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-0911-2 (pbk.)

  1. England—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3573.I237 R47 2002

  813' .54—dc21

  2002004553

  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.

  09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 / RDM-CF / 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This book is dedicated to my

  Sunday school class, 2001-02:

  Abby, Alexa, Ana, Andy, Drew, Erin, Ethan,

  Joseph, Kevin, Lydia, Marissa, Micah, Molly,

  Naomi, Nathaniel, Olivia, Rose, Sean, Sophia,

  Tess, Tyler, and Zach.

  Each one of you has touched my heart in a

  deep and special way. I grew so much during

  our study on the names of God, and you are

  part of the reason. My prayer is that you will

  long remember the truths we learned about our

  great God—and that you will serve Him

  with all your heart.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by Lori Wick

  Acknowledgments

  The title of this book, The Rescue, describes much more than the story within the cover. It also speaks of certain “rescues” in my own life. Below are the ones I need to thank for throwing me a lifeline.

  Jesus Christ. I’ve never spoken of Christ in my acknowledgments before. I’ve never wanted to fall into some sort of mindless habit. But this time I would like to give Him praise and thanks for the ultimate rescue. Had God not interrupted me on my path of destruction, giving me the gift of His Son and eternal life, I would be lost indeed. I praise Him with all my heart for loving me so much.

  The pastors at my church: Phil, Todd, Mark, and Darwin. I don’t always want to hear what you have to say, but I’m so thankful for your faithfulness to the Word. I’ve been snatched from the brink of sin on many occasions.

  My mother, Pearl Hayes. Thank you for your diligence in the Word, Mom. Like Anne’s mother, you’ve always been a remarkable student of Scripture. Thank you for all you’ve taught me and for being one of my best friends. I love you.

  The women at Denise’s Bible study. Thank you for your prayers and listening ears. Your kindness and compassion have taught me so much. I’m so thankful for each of you.

  Mary Vesperman. It’s occurred to me, Mary, that you’re one of my favorite people on the planet. This manuscript was such a challenge with the calendar and clock breathing down our necks, but we hung in there. Thank you for all your hard work and dedication. It’s an honor working with you, my friend.

  Bob Wick. You’ve rescued me so many times I think you must keep a life preserver in your pocket. Thank you for being there. Thank you for continued growth and support. And for acknowledging that sometimes we rescue each other.

  Prologue

  London, England

  April 1811

  “Are you all right?” Lenore Weston asked of her son, Robert Weston. The rain drizzled around them, falling from the tips of the large, dark umbrella that gave them some shelter.

  “Yes,” he answered quietly, but his eyes remained riveted on the casket at their feet.

  “Mr Reynolds will be waiting for us at the house.”

  Weston sighed quietly. “Why must it be today?”

  Lenore smiled a bit. “I don’t know, but it always is.”

  “Very well,” Weston said as he turned them both away. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Mother and son made their way to the waiting carriage and were soon on their way to Berwick, the London home of the late Mrs Alice Dixon, Lenore Weston’s mother. Not 20 minutes passed before they were in the library. Mr Reynolds, the family’s solicitor, stood with his back to the fire, Mrs Dixon’s will in his hand. Tea had been served, and once the businessman had enjoyed his cup, he began.

  “It’s all very straightforward,” Mr Reynolds informed them. “Everything has been yours for some years now, Mr Weston, with the exception of certain privileges and revenues. The living rights to Berwick now turn to you, Mrs Weston, for as long as you live.” He folded the papers and set them on the table. “Are there any questions?”

  “No,” Weston said, wanting to be alone with his thoughts.

  It was a relief to see the solicitor to the door, thank him for his kind service and attention to detail, and return to the warmth of the library. Lenore was still in her chair, eyes on the fire, and Weston was confident she would want quiet as well.

  He was wrong. He’d not been seated for more than a minute when she spoke.

  “Did your grandmother ever tell you how much she wished you to live at Brown Manor?”

  “At Collingbourne?” Weston asked in some surprise.

  “Yes. She remembered how you loved it as a child. Did she never mention it?”

  “No, never.”

  Quiet fell for some moments.

  “What of the residents?” Weston asked.

  “It’s been empty for more than a year.”

  Weston shook his head in self-derision. “How did I miss that?”

  “It’s not been an easy year for you,” Lenore said compassionately.

  Weston didn’t reply.

  “Is it getting any better?” his mother asked, not certain if she should.

  “It’s been more than a year…”

  An answer which was no answer at all, causing Lenore to fall silent.

  “Why do you ask?” Weston asked finally, turning his head to see her.

  “You haven’t been the same since Henrietta canceled things between you. I assume you still care very much.”

  “I do still care. I don’t hurt as I did, but I do care.” Weston’s gaze went back to the fire. “I’ve heard rumors that she moved to France.”

  “I’ve heard the same.”

  “So your wanting me to move out of London has nothing to do with the chance that I might bump into Henrietta here?”

  “Yes and no. You don’t have to see someone to be reminded of them. I just thought it might be a nice change, and I know the church there is very fine.”

 
“I must be honest and tell you, Mother, that I have no wish to marry. I’m quite content as I am.”

  “I’m very glad for you, Robert; truly I am. You must know that even if it were in my power, I would never force or even pressure you to take a bride. My suggestion comes only with thoughts of your heart and, perhaps, the good a change could do.”

  Weston smiled at her.

  “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

  With a tender touch to his shoulder, Lenore took her leave and retired to her room. She didn’t think she would see her son until dinner, but he was knocking on her door just an hour later.

  “I’ve sat for the last hour,” Weston told his mother, “and thought and prayed about nothing but Brown Manor. I’ve never known such peace. It’s not so very far from London, and I agree the change would be good.”

  Weston suddenly smiled. “I think it’s time to leave the nest.”

  Lenore reached to hug him.

  “When will you go?”

  “I’ll send Mansfield in a few weeks and follow later on. I’ll secure affairs here and then go. Maybe you’ll visit me?”

  Lenore smiled. “I’ll let you go and get settled. After that, nothing could keep me away.”

  Chapter One

  Collingbourne, England

  May 1811

  “How are you?” Anne Gardiner asked as she slipped into the small cottage and embraced her friend, Lucy Digby.

  “I’m very well, and even in my condition,” Lucy rebuked her gently, “I can tell I’m getting more rest than you are.”

  Anne smiled tiredly at her very expectant friend and took a seat on the small sofa when Lucy urged her that way.

  “Father isn’t always this bad, Lucy,” Anne explained when both women were seated. “But lately he’s been very restless.”

  “And that means what for you exactly?”

  Anne thought about the question for a moment.

  “It doesn’t necessarily mean more work in a physical sense, but he’s on my mind more, and of course that can be very tiring.”

  “I saw him not too long ago and thought he looked very well.”

  “Yes, he does. He enjoys rather good health for all his absentminded ways.”

  “So he eats regularly?”

  Anne chuckled a little before saying, “Not always at home, but I can tell that he never goes without.”

  Lucy could not say the same of her friend. Anne didn’t look unwell or ill-fed; indeed, her color was very good, but Lucy couldn’t help but wonder when Anne had last enjoyed a new dress, or even a pair of gloves or hat. Lucy’s own husband was not a wealthy man, but one look at her friend told Lucy she had so much more.

  The women visited until Lucy’s two-year-old, Meg, woke from her nap. After spending a little time with the toddler, Anne went on her way. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave, but hers was a long walk home.

  Levens Crossing

  “Did you eat something, Father?” Anne Gardiner asked of her only parent, her eyes watchful of his face. The plate of food before him looked untouched. She had not made a large meal—it was just the two of them—but what little he’d served himself seemed forgotten.

  Colonel Gardiner did not answer. He gazed across the room, his bushy brows making him look rather fierce. He wasn’t. He was naturally kind at heart, but since his illness he’d become rather unpredictable.

  “Father?” Anne tried again. This time he turned.

  “Yes.”

  “How is your breakfast?”

  “Very good,” he said, sounding confident and reaching for his fork. “I need a good meal before I go on maneuvers this afternoon.”

  Anne knew that he would be doing no such thing, but she took it in stride. For years now she’d been accustomed to the unexpected in her life, so Anne only smiled a little and turned from his side. “I’ll be outside if you need me. I need to fix that leak in the roof.”

  No answer was forthcoming, but then Anne had not expected any. Her mind on the task that awaited her, she slipped out the back door of the small home they occupied and took hold of the short ladder that stood nearby.

  Water was leaking into the dining room. It had rained nearly all night, and in the morning the floor had been wet. The house was in need of great repair as it was—a soaked floor and ceiling would not help anything. Anne thought she might have spotted the problem, and with a prayer for personal safety, she set the wobbly ladder as best she could and began to climb.

  Thankfully the roof was lower to the ground on this corner of the house. By standing on the very top rung of the ladder, some five feet in the air, Anne could reach the thatched roof with a stretch of her toes.

  She was intent on her job when a small carriage approached. It was an open carriage, pulled by one horse, and carrying just one man: Robert Weston. Approaching the door of the cottage, Weston rapped several times but received no answer.

  He wasn’t lost, although this was his first trip to Collingbourne since he was a lad. He had stopped because he hadn’t remembered the existence of this cottage. It sat some five miles from Brown Manor to the north—only two miles from town to the south—and Weston was frankly inquisitive about the owners.

  He was eager to see Brown Manor, but curiosity drove him to stop. A noise at the side of the house sent him in that direction. He rounded the corner to find Anne on the ladder.

  Unfortunately, Anne did not hear him.

  “I say,” he began, “would you be so kind—”

  “Oh!” Anne started violently before he could complete his sentence, teetered a few seconds, and then completely lost her balance. One moment she was on the ladder, and the next moment she was in the arms of a strange man, her eyes looking up into eyes as large and surprised as her own.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” Weston began as he gingerly set her down, his hands making sure she was steady on her feet.

  “Thank you for catching me. I simply didn’t hear you.”

  “Anne?” a voice called from behind the couple. Anne turned to her father with a sinking heart.

  “We have a guest, Father.”

  “Is this your intended, Anne?” the Colonel inquired.

  “No, no, certainly not, Father. I’m sure I can explain.”

  “What are your intentions, young man?” the Colonel came forward, and for the first time Weston noticed not only his uniform but the large sword at his side. Up to that point he’d been ready to make light of the situation, but as the older man drew near, he read something in his eyes that sent frissons of fear down his back.

  “Father,” Anne tried again.

  “It’s all right, dear,” he assured her in a tone she knew all too well. “I can handle this. Now, sir, you will tell me your name and how you plan to support my daughter.”

  Looking as thunderstruck as he felt, Weston made the mistake of hesitating. A moment later, the Colonel reached for his sword.

  “Did I not make myself clear?” he demanded, the sword now pointed at Weston’s broad chest. “I wish to know your intentions with my Anne.”

  Completely without fear for herself, Anne placed herself between Weston and sword, her voice and face calm, but every inch of her trembling.

  “Father,” she said sweetly, true to her very real nature, “I do not wish you to harm this man.”

  The Colonel calmed some. He lowered his sword point toward the ground and relaxed back on one heel.

  “Of course you don’t. You love him. And in light of that, I think the wedding should take place immediately.”

  “If you would let me explain,” Weston spoke up, certain the man would see reason. “I’m just moving into the area. I’m sorry to have disturbed you this way.”

  “No disturbance at all,” the Colonel said expansively. “Anne’s intended is always welcome in my home.”

  “No, sir, I’m sorry you’ve mistaken me for someone else. Your daughter and I are not getting married.”

  The sword came back up with alarming speed.

&nb
sp; Anne turned her back on her father and faced Weston.

  “Please,” Anne begged quietly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please go along with anything I do. If you don’t go along with this, he will harm you, I promise.”

  “Go along with what exactly?” Weston asked, his low voice matching hers.

  “You’ll have to marry me.”

  Weston looked at her in such horror that Anne’s face flooded with heat. But this was no time to think of herself. Humiliated as she was, Weston was in real danger, and she was determined not to have him harmed. She turned back to her father and spoke firmly, hoping it would work.

  “There is no reason to rush, Father. We have plenty of time. Did you finish your meal?”

  “He had his hands on you, Anne. I won’t have you treated with such disregard.”

  Anne knew there was no reason to continue. If he could have been distracted, it would have happened by now.

  “Come along!” the Colonel demanded. “We’ll take this carriage and go right to Croft’s office. What time is it?” the Colonel, stopping, now asked his only child.

  “Near noon,” Anne said.

  “Croft will be at home. We’ll head directly there.”

  The Colonel strode toward the carriage but then stopped. He caught Weston’s gaze with his own and motioned him forward, using the sword. He waited until both Anne and Weston started toward him before turning and climbing into the back. Weston, still in shock and walking slowly, looked to Anne.

  “Is this some type of gag?”

  “No, and I’m so sorry. I’ll explain things as soon as I’m able.”

  “I would like an explanation now,” Weston told her, his voice tight.

  “Well, the last time—” Anne began.

  “The last time?” Weston said, nearly losing his composure altogether. “What is the matter with you people?”

  “Anne!” her father’s voice boomed from the carriage.

  Anne picked up the pace even as she attempted to draw a calming breath.

  “I’m really most dreadfully sorry—I can’t tell you how much—but if you don’t wish to be harmed, you’ll have to wait for your explanation.”