Mary Balogh - Simply Love

Contents

Dear Reader,

It occurred to me as I watched the republication of The Secret Pearl in November 2005 and awaited the release of Simply Love that there is a marked likeness between the heroes of the two booksboth of them severely and similarly scarred in the Napoleonic Wars, their handsome looks forever changed.

I have always been intrigued at how different people can react very dissimilarly to catastrophic events that drastically change their lives. Some men who had suffered as Adam Kent and Sydnam Butler did would allow their infirmities to diminish them and ruin their lives. Not these two! Both have a hard time adjusting, but both ultimately triumph over every adversity. They are, after all, heroic characters who must be worthy of their heroines and must earn their happily-ever-after.

Nevertheless, the way they go about piecing their lives back together is very different, as I believe you will agree. And this is what fascinates me most about the creation of fictional characters. To me they become living, breathing individuals, no two of them exactly alike no matter how similar the circumstances in which they find themselves.

I hope you will enjoy Simply Loveand that you will go back to read The Secret Pearl if you have not already done so.

Happy reading!

Mary Balogh

SIMPLY LOVE

A Delacorte Book / August 2006

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

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

All rights reserved

Copyright 2006 by Mary Balogh

Excerpt from The Secret Mistress copyright 2011 by Mary Balogh.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Balogh, Mary.

Simply love / Mary Balogh.

p. cm.

1. Women teachersFiction. 2. Bath (England)Fiction. I. Title.

PR6052.A465 S525 2006 2005058262

823/.914 22

www.bantamdell.com

This book contains an excerpt from The Secret Mistress by Mary Balogh. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the current edition.

eISBN: 978-0-440-33622-8

v3.0_r1

Anne and Sydnam arrived home atTGwyn with David on a crisp afternoon in November. But, cold as it was, the sun was shining and Sydnam let the window down impulsively when his coachman stopped to open the gate into the park and informed him that he could continue on alone to the stable and coach house.

We will walk the rest of the way, he said.

And so they stood, the three of them, a few minutes later, watching the carriage drive down into the slight bowl of the park before climbing up the other side.

Well, David, Sydnam said, setting his hand on the boys shoulder, this is T Gwyn. This is home. What do you think?

Do those sheep belong here? David asked. May I go closer to them?

You may indeed, Sydnam said. You may even try to catch one if you wish. But I warn you that they are quite elusive.

The boy ran off into the meadow with whoops of delight after hours of being cooped up inside the carriage. The sheep, forewarned, moved out of his path.

Sydnam turned to smile at his wife.

Well, Anne, he said.

Well. She was staring off at the house in the distance. But then she turned her eyes on him. I am going to have to go over the stile, you know. I have to redeem myself. I was horribly clumsy the last time.

I did have the bottom step seen to, he said.

He watched as she climbed then sat on the top bar and swung her legs over to the other side, warmly clad in her russet pelisse, her cheeks already rosy from the cold, a few strands of honey-colored hair pulled loose from her neatly pinned hair and wafting in the breeze, her eyes bright and laughing. His beautiful Anne.

He strode toward her.

Allow me, maam, he said, offering his hand.

Thank you, sir. She set her hand in his and descended to the ground. You see? Like a queen.

They stood face-to-face, their hands still joined, and gazed deeply at each other for several moments while her smile faded.

Sydnam, she said, I know you did not want any of this

Do you? he said.

You were contented as you were, she said, and I was not the sort of woman you would have chosen to marry.

Were you not? he said. And was I the sort of man you would have chosen to marry?

We were lonely, she said, and we came here on a lovely day and

It was a lovely day, he said.

She tipped her head to one side and frowned slightly.

Why will you not let me finish anything I am trying to say? she asked.

Because, he said, you are still not sure I do not regret our marriage deep down, are you? And I suppose I am still not sure you do not. I suppose I ought to have told you something long ago. But at first I did not want you to pity me or feel obligated to me, and after that I convinced myself that the words were not necessary. Men do tend to do that, you know, Anne. We do not find it easy to spill our feelings in words. But I do love you. I always have, I think. And I know I always will.

Sydnam. Tears sprang to her eyes. The tip of her nose was growing rosy, he noticed. Oh, Sydnam, I do love you. I love you so very, very much.

He leaned forward, rubbed his nose against hers, and kissed her. She wound her arms about his neck and kissed him back.

You always have? She tipped back her head and laughed at him. Right from the start?

I thought, he said, that you had stepped out of the night into my dreams. But then you turned and fled.

Oh, Sydnam. She tightened her grip about his neck again. Oh, my love.

And I have in my pocket something that always lives on my person, he said, and may convince you that I have always loved you. If you even remember it, that isor them, since there are more than one.

She stepped back and watched curiously as he drew a handkerchief out of the inner pocket of his greatcoat and flicked open the folds with his thumb to reveal a little cluster of seashells within. He would, he thought, feel foolish if she did not remember.

She touched one forefinger to them.

You kept them, she said. Oh, Sydnam, you have kept them all this time.

Foolish, was it not? He smiled at her.

But a shout distracted them as he flicked the corners of the handkerchief in place and put it back into his pocket.

Mama, look! David called from the middle of the meadow. Look, Papa, I have caught one.

But even as they looked the indignant sheep pulled free and ambled away to resume the serious business of cropping grass and clover. David, laughing gleefully, went chasing after it.

Sydnam wrapped his arm about Annes waist and drew her back against him. He spread his hand over her abdomen and hid his face against the side of her neck as she tipped back her head onto his shoulder. He felt almost dizzy.

He called you Papa, she said softly.