A Perfect Weakness Read online

  A PERFECT WEAKNESS BY JENNIFER A. DAVIDS

  Published by Smitten Historical Romance

  an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas

  2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC, 27614

  ISBN: 978-1-946016-56-0

  Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer A. Davids

  Cover design by Elaina Lee

  Interior design by Karthick Srinivasan

  Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: ShopLPC.com

  For more information on this book and the author visit:

  https://www.jenniferadavids.com/

  All rights reserved. Non-commercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, provided the text does not exceed 500 words. When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “A Perfect Weakness by Jennifer A. Davids published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.”

  Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.TM. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.TM.

  Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas (LPCBooks.com): Eddie Jones, Pegg Thomas, Linda Yezak, Shonda Savage, Brian Cross, Judah Raine, Jenny Leo

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Davids, Jennifer A.

  A Perfect Weakness / Jennifer A. Davids 1st ed.

  Printed in the United States of America

  PRAISE FOR A PERFECT WEAKNESS

  Jennifer A Davids’ newest novel, A Perfect Weakness, is a beautiful story of regret, redemption, and romance. Filled with intrigue, culture clashes, a dashing and haunted hero, and a compassionate, wounded heroine, Davids adds an endearing lesson about God’s unfathomable forgiveness. A Perfect Weakness shows that the truest love shatters the most impenetrable walls.

  ~ Pepper Basham

  Author of the Penned in Time and Mitchell’s Crossroads series

  A wonderful picture of redemption on so many levels. A Perfect Weakness is an enchanting Victorian tale that invites the reader to taste the rural English countryside and fall in love with its very authentic characters who each take their own journey toward healing—and meet each other on the way. Rich with historical detail and emotional impact, this story will draw you into its pages and make you want to linger long after the thrilling conclusion.

  ~ Joanna Davidson Politano

  Author of Lady Jayne Disappears

  What a beautiful story! In A Perfect Weakness, author Jennifer A. Davids takes readers into the depths of redemption and God’s love through two hurting characters searching for purpose. A unique author voice blended with humor and heart, a strong hero and heroine, and an English setting make A Perfect Weakness just right for those who enjoy Downton Abbey and other period dramas. This novel is one I will return to often, and Davids is an author whose future stories I’m eagerly awaiting.

  ~ Marisa Deshaies

  Editor

  A Perfect Weakness will carry readers away to Victorian England with a wonderful story that blends romance, family drama, and heart-tugging secrets, all while exploring the power of God’s grace to overcome past failures and bring redemption. I was captivated by the intriguing characters and cheering for them to find a path forward through their struggles. Jennifer A. Davids includes several twists and turns that will keep readers turning the pages until the very satisfying ending. Reminiscent of Jane Eyre, this novel will delight readers who enjoy English historical romance. Well done!

  ~ Carrie Turansky

  Award-winning author of The Governess of Highland Hall and Across the Blue

  A fresh new voice for historical romance readers, Jennifer weaves a beautiful story of consequences, principles, and redemption while reminding us of God’s abundant love.

  ~Diane T. Ashley

  Award-winning Fiction Author

  Dedication

  This is for all those who fear they’ve fallen too far. You haven’t.

  Let Him help you back up.

  Acknowledgments

  This book has been a long time in the making and it certainly didn’t happen in a vacuum.

  To my husband, Doug, thank you for your patience with your crazy writer wife. I would say that I’ll never get behind on the laundry again, but we both know that’s not going to happen. Love you.

  To my children, Jonathan and Grace, our inside joke ‘it must be cholera’ is one of my fondest memories of writing this book. You are the best kids a mom could have.

  To Linda Yezak, editor extraordinaire, this book is a thousand times better for your input. I owe you about a dozen cups of coffee. Bless you.

  To Pegg Thomas and those at LPC who decided to take a chance on this book: thank you, thank you, thank you.

  To my writing sisters, Carol Moncado, Joanna Davidson Politano, Stacy Zink, Kristy Cambron, and Jessica Keller, for your critiques and prayers over this book and the life events that went along with it, I cannot thank you enough. I am truly blessed to be doing life with you all.

  Finally, to God, my Abba. When I asked You what would happen with my writing in 2017, You said I wouldn’t believe it if You told me. I still don’t. Thank You for knowing how to run my life better than I do. Don’t ever stop reminding me.

  Author’s Note

  Researching the nineteenth century is a daunting task. As a writer of historical fiction I try my best to thoroughly research my work. However, I am neither a professional historian nor, in regard to this book in particular, a doctor. Any errors either historical or medical are entirely unintentional, and I humbly pray they can be overlooked.

  CONTENTS

  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

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  A Gift for You

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  CHAPTER 1

  Hampshire, England, July 1868

  Penelope Howard stood before a mound of earth in the church graveyard.

  Had it really only been a few months since Uncle William’s passing? It hardly seemed possible that the warm, caring man she had loved since childhood now lay interred in the cool soil beneath. But then that was only his body, the outer shell. Her uncle’s soul rested with God, finally free of the sickness which took him far too soon. How unfair that she couldn’t have attended his funeral. Such a silly custom, not allowing women to attend funerals. To the county, he was Lord Renshaw, the baron of Ashford Hall, but to her, he was a dear uncle whom she’d deeply miss.

  “I’m glad Uncle William and Aunt Amelia are together now. There is comfort in that,” she said to her brother beside her. “How soon until they replace the marker?”

  Her brother, Thomas, laid an arm across her shoulders. “A few more months. The ground needs time to settle, and they will have to add Uncle William’s name and the dates.”

  “I’m so glad the funeral was well-attended.”

  “Indeed. I felt quite justified turning down the extra mourners the undertaker suggested. Half the county showed up,” he said.

  “No surprise there.” Penelope knelt and skimmed her hand over the recently disturbed earth. “I’ll bring some flowers to lay here in a day or so.”

  She would try to visit more often than she had in the past and bring flowers when she could. It wouldn’t be too difficult. Their parents’ resting places were just a few rows over. And there was one other, the one closest to her heart, though it didn’t really need care. It should be here. But that would not be proper. Or safe.

  “Mr. Howard, Miss Howard.” Mr. Phillips and his wife, tenants of their late uncle’s, stood off to the side.

  Penelope rose as Mrs. Phillips stepped forward with a sympathetic smile. “I hope you don’ mind if we extend our condolences to you both.”

  “Of course not, Mrs. Phillips, it is most kind of you.”

  “Lord Renshaw was a fair-minded man. It’s a loss he’s gone and no mistake.” Mr. Phillips shook Thomas’ hand. “I’m wonderin’ if I might have a word. There’s a matter I need to discuss.”

  “Of course.” Thomas took his duty as Ashford Hall’s estate agent seriously, but he had set aside today to take her to their uncle’s grave and then relax. No doubt he would have rather avoided the conversation.

  As the men moved away, Mrs. Phillips said, “It’ll be pretty once the marker’s back.”

  “Yes it will,” Penelope replied.

  “And when the grass grows over.”

  “Of course.”

  Mrs. Phillips finally quit stalling and came to the point. “Is there news of the new lord? Do we know when he’ll be here?”

  Her thinly disguised curiosity was understandable, all things considered. Ashford Hall would not be inherited in the usual way. Under normal circumstances, a son or nephew would be groomed to bring about a seamless change. Not so in this case.

  Penelope toyed with the strings of her reticule. Thomas had told her to inform the tenants. If she told Mrs. Phillips right now, they all would know by next morning. A dear woman, but one did not tell her anything which should be kept a secret. The chief concern lay in how the tenants and the village of Woodley would react.

  “We have had a letter from Mr. Smith, the solicitor. It would seem Lord Renshaw’s heir is an American.”

  “An American!” Mrs. Phillips’ jaw hung slack for a bare moment. A hopeful sign. “That’s unexpected.”

  Unexpected. Not a wholly bad reaction and encouragement enough to continue. “He is not foreign to our ways. He’s a doctor and trained in London and Edinburgh. Lord Renshaw himself sponsored his education.”

  “A doctor? Is he a physician or surgeon?”

  “I do not know.”

  Mrs. Phillips tapped a finger to her mouth. “Oh, but he must be a physician if he is gentleman enough to be his lordship’s heir.”

  “I am not certain. I do know there is less distinction between the two in America.”

  “Hmm. Could be worse I suppose.” She placed a hand over her heart. “He will come take care of the estate, won’t he? Make his home here?”

  “I am confident he will take care of things properly.” If he could be found. The solicitors were having a problem tracking this Dr. John Turner down. The address her uncle had left was incorrect, and the city in which he was supposed to live, Philadelphia, was large. But Mr. Smith had assured them they would find him in quick order.

  “We’ll have to see then, won’ we? And let’s hope he doesn’t come with a wife.” Mrs. Phillips leaned toward her. “We would miss your visits.”

  This wasn’t the first time that particular issue had been raised. Hannah, their housekeeper, had voiced the thought just the night before. If Lord Turner were to bring a wife or even a sister with him, she would become the lady of the Hall and be expected to take up a certain role in the community, such as visiting tenants and those in the village. The role Penelope had been performing for several years now. The duty had fallen to her under unique circumstances and was accepted by most, but there were a few in the community who thought it unconventional.

  Hopefully, the new lord would not take their view—wife, sister, or no. Nothing was fixed yet. He had to be located first, and even then he may decide to leave things in Thomas’ hands. He was a doctor and in all likelihood had a thriving medical practice. Besides, even if the worst should come about, it was certain the woman in question would be in want of a friend, being in a new country.

  And if that should fall through, Penelope’s visits were by no means her only link to the estate or the community.

  “I’m sure things will work out for the best, Mrs. Phillips.”

  Thomas approached and took her aside. “I’m sorry, old girl, but there’s a problem at their farm I must see to.”

  His tone sounded flat. So much for his day off, poor man. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, but I need to go with them now. Would you mind driving back? I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. I’m sorry you won’t have the day to yourself as we intended.”

  “Hall matters can’t seem to wait. Mr. Phillips said he would drive me home when we’re through.”

  “Should we wait luncheon for you?”

  “Probably not.” Aggravation melted from his face as he turned to the farmer. “I’m ready when you are. Miss Howard is willing to drive herself home.”

  Penelope lingered at her uncle’s grave for only a few minutes more before leaving. As unfortunate as it was that Thomas had been needed elsewhere, it gave her time to stop someplace which had haunted her thoughts since their period of mourning had confined her movements. She guided the small horse-drawn dogcart down a tree-lined path which gradually rose until she cleared the shade and a tall, crumbled ruin greeted her.

  It had fascinated her since she was a little girl. Part of the Ashford Hall estate, it lay at the top of a hill which overlooked the entire property and the village of Woodley. Known locally as “the Castle,” it had been the home of the original baron, built in the era of knights, their ladies, and holy quests. She could almost hear her and her brother’s youthful laughter as they pretended the fairy folk lived among the broken rocks. And the sketches Thomas had drawn of their musings! If only he still had them.

  Those times were long since gone. The Castle was different now.

  She halted the cart before the stone bridge that had been built across the old moat and climbed down. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Perhaps she should stop coming here and put it all in the past. To return week after week, year after year was irrational. But a primal urge pulled her forward, across the bridge and into what once had been the courtyard.

  A green swath of grass had replaced the flagstones, and all that lingered of the stronghold were the remains of
the great hall and two other towers. An ancient stone wall, which time had worn down, loosely connected them.

  Not far from the wall, she ran her fingers down the bark of an oak tree as she knelt at its base. She swept back tall grass and found it. The stone marker engraved with the image of an angel.

  Her angel. She would be nearly five now. Old enough to help Hannah in the kitchen, old enough to squeal in delight whenever her Uncle Thomas swung her up in his arms, and yet young enough to still be afraid of thunderstorms and run to Penelope to be comforted.

  Why had she come here? It was like this every time, and what good was it? It wouldn’t bring her back. Her angel nestled safe in the arms of the Lord. He had kept her for the past five years and always would.

  Penelope strode away. She had little time for heartache. Hannah needed help preparing the luncheon and would notice any hint of emotion, then ask questions Penelope couldn’t answer.

  But as she walked, the marker called to the maternal part of her that could never fully abandon her child.

  CHAPTER 2

  Philadelphia, August 1868

  Dr. John Turner sat in an elegant parlor, sipping tea as if nothing disastrous had happened. A sort of soft numbness had stolen over him, despite the fact that just a few hours ago, he had fallen on his own sword. How long this anesthetizing effect would last was uncertain. That his actions had been necessary, however, was without a bit of doubt. He stared into his cup. The amber liquid released tendrils of steam which melted away into the air.

  “You know members of the press were there.” Dr. Robert Matthews, his oldest friend and colleague—no, former colleague—frowned, his arms crossed like a reproving father.

  “So, you’re finally speaking to me?” John asked.

  Robert ignored his question. “How did they even know to be there to begin with?”

  “Probably an anonymous tip.”

  His friend ran a hand through his hair. “Every newspaper will publish the minutes of that meeting—including your statement!”