Harriet was always happier outside. From an early age, much to her mother’s distaste, she had been content to run and frolic about in the fields, climbing trees with her closest friend, Bryce Maxwell, the youngest son of Lord Maxwell.
While the other girls were busy gossiping and talking about the latest fashions, she would rather be getting her skirts dirty in the gardens.
At just twelve years old she found herself skimming pebbles across the surface of the pond at the end of Lord Maxwell’s estate, laughing at Bryce who seemed unable to do it.
“Just flick your wrist, like this,” she said, showing him once again that she was an excellent pebble skimmer.
Bryce scowled and screwed up his face in concentration as he tried once more, and failed.
“I don’t think I will ever be able to do it.” Bryce sighed and dropped down onto the pebbly ground, bringing his knees up to his chest. Harriet shook her head and adjusted her skirts to sit beside her friend.
“If you give up now, you’ll never be able to do it,” Harriet pointed out and handed him another stone from her own collection that she’d picked up well before starting. She had selected it for its perfect smoothness and slender proportions, knowing that it would be one of the best stones for skimming. She had been saving it for last, sure that it would go further than any of the other stones. But seeing Bryce’s lack of confidence, she would do anything to try to boost his morale.
Instead of taking the stone, Bryce ran his fingers through his tussled brown hair and looked at her with grateful blue eyes.
“Even if I manage it, I’ll never be as good as you,” he said. “I’d rather you give it a good go for me.”
Harriet shrugged and stood up. She pulled back her arm to skim the stone across the surface, in the same direction she had thrown all the others.
It bounced on the surface, one, two, three times, before sliding beneath the water.
Even as it disappeared Harriet could hear the sound of footsteps coming up the path behind them. The voices and chuckling that ensued as they drew closer told Harriet everything she needed to know. Bryce’s older brother was coming and he wasn’t alone.
“Oh, look! It’s the girl who wishes she was a boy.” The female voice was cold and hard, making Harriet cringe even as she glanced over her shoulder to see the four older children had stopped at the end of the path. Every single one of them was staring at her as though they had never seen anything quite like her before, all of them except Bryce’s brother.
Byron was taller and more athletic than his younger brother with jet-black hair and grey-blue eyes that reminded Harriet of a stormy winter sky.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s unladylike to skip stones?” the other boy in the party asked. Harriet had never liked him. She had always thought that he was snarky and unpleasant. And she liked him even less now as he laughed at her with open amusement.
“Byron, what are you doing here?” Bryce asked, seeming to ignore the boy’s taunts. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to face his brother’s party. Harriet followed him, brushing the dirt from her skirts, knowing that she would never be able to get it all. Her mother would probably scold her for getting yet another good dress dirty.
“We came to see what the animals were doing,” the first girl practically purred. She glared at Harriet as though she was nothing better than something one might find on the bottom of their shoe.
“I do believe we’ve found a couple of lovers instead,” the second girl, a mousy, petite brunette, chuckled. “I mean, who else would wish to court a dirty wildflower like you, Harriet?”
Harriet’s stomach clenched at the comment and she glanced at Bryce, wondering whether he might stand up for her.
Harriet was surprised by the way that Bryce’s older brother stepped in. He never took his eyes off Harriet as he added, “I’m sure there are plenty of young men who would find Harriet’s adventurous side endearing.”
“If that’s what you can call it.” The first girl laughed and her female companion chuckled along with her.
“They may as well look in the kitchens for a scullery maid,” the other boy said. “I mean, look how dirty she is.”
Harriet’s cheeks began to redden then and she glanced down at herself, able to see for the first time what she must have looked like. The hem of her blue dress was torn and tattered and there were mud splatters all the way up her skirt, stopping just above her knees.
“Come on, Harriet.” Bryce gripped hold of her forearm and began to pull her away from the rest of the group. “You don’t need to listen to this.”
“Why must you always be so unpleasant towards her?” she heard Byron ask his friends as she allowed Bryce to lead her away.
She might have run if not for the fact that she knew they would see it as a weakness. She had learned a long time ago not to show weakness of any kind. Her father had always warned her to be strong and follow her heart, even when she didn’t wish to follow the usual paths laid out for those of her gender. It was yet another thing that her mother disliked. She simply wanted Harriet to be like all the other girls, worrying over her looks and spending time on her needlepoint.
They didn’t stop until they came to a thicket of bushes. As soon as they were out of eyeshot, Harriet gently pulled her arm out of Bryce’s grip and asked, “Do you think that they are right?”
“What do you mean?” Bryce asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Do you think we will one day be married?” Harriet asked. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought though not with longing.
Bryce laughed at that and shook his head.
“I’m sure you will have plenty of suitors when you are older. We are much too young to think of marriage now,” he pointed out. “Besides, we are friends. I could never risk our friendship like that.”
Harriet was relieved by his answer though she couldn’t help but wonder whether the others had been right. Nobody would want to marry her in the state that she was in. Boys liked frilly girls who never let their hair fall out of place and spent time picking out the most beautiful dresses in the morning.
“Don’t look so worried,” Bryce insisted. “You’ve got plenty of time to start worrying about marriage. Until then I like you just the way you are.”
And that’s exactly why they think we’ll be married someday, Harriet cringed. Although she would have been happy to spend the rest of her life with Bryce, she couldn’t ever imagine loving him the way that she had read about in the romance novels she’d snuck peaks at in her father’s library.
The other children’s taunts seemed to have sapped all of the fun out of the day and Harriet was just leading the way back to the house, getting ready to leave, when she heard hurried footsteps come up behind them on the main path.
Her heart skipped a beat and she felt herself cringing as she wondered whether the older children had come to give her another round of name-calling.
But when she turned, she found that Byron was totally alone, his face set in a grim expression as he slowed near them and came to a halt.
“Harriet, I’m glad I caught you.” He panted as though he had run all the way from the pond. If Harriet listened hard enough, she could hear the rest of his party laughing and having a good time down by the water.
I hope they stay there, she thought.
“What do you want, Byron?” Bryce grumbled as though he was in no mood for it either.
“I just came to apologise to Harriet on behalf of my friends,” Byron said and his words left Harriet shaken with surprise.
“Why would you do that?” Bryce demanded. “It’s obvious they hold no remorse for treating her the way that they do otherwise they would have come to apologise themselves.”
Harriet knew that her friend was right but still, she couldn’t help but be grateful to Byron for at least trying.
“Don’t worry about it.” She shrugged her shoulders and tried not to meet his eyes as she realised her cheeks were beginning to flush a bright, crimson red.
Byron had always had that effect on her. She had always been so calm and collected around his brother but Byron held a different air about him, one that made all the other girls swoon. Harriet always tried not to let him get to her but it was difficult. She couldn’t help but admit that he was handsome though she’d never let him know to his face. His head would grow far too big if he knew the truth.
Byron seemed to ignore his brother’s angry words and instead turned to Harriet. She was surprised when he reached out and took hold of her hand.
“They shouldn’t have spoken to you the way that they did,” he said softly, squeezing her hand until she felt a jolt run up her forearm and into her chest.
“I still don’t know why you are friends with those nincompoops,” Bryce shook his head but Harriet could barely hear him. She was too caught up in Byron’s grey-blue eyes. They seemed to hold her in place, forcing her to look back at him as he leaned down and pressed his lips to her hand in a way that made the skin of her knuckles tingle.
“You’ll make a good marriage one day and if that just so happens to be my brother, he will be a lucky man indeed,” he said, looking up from where he was still bowed over her hand. Her heart skipped yet another beat and she opened her mouth to reply but found that words had quite escaped her.
With that Byron straightened up and turned to leave. He left her standing there, trembling even as Bryce rolled his eyes at his brother’s constant need to be charming.
“He’s just as stupid as the rest of them,” Bryce grumbled and turned back in the direction of the house.
Although Harriet found herself nodding in agreement, inside she couldn’t help but feel as though he was wrong. Byron was not like the other children who teased and bullied her. He was a gentleman and she knew that no matter what his friends said, he would always stand up for her. Maybe it was loyalty to the fact that she was his brother’s dear friend but she couldn’t help but wonder whether it might be something else, something deeper than that.
“We should really get home,” Bryce suggested then even as Harriet found herself watching Byron as he headed back to his friends. “Your parents will be most displeased with me if I don’t get you home in time for dinner.”
As though the mention of her parents had triggered good sense in Harriet, she nodded and began to follow Bryce as he continued up the path.
Byron always felt at his best whenever he was riding. The freedom of galloping over the fields on his black stallion, Thunder, left him feeling refreshed.
A cool breeze swept in from the south, the smell of grass and wildflowers carried into his nostrils as he breathed deeply.
The sound of a bird’s wings swooping high above his head caused him to look up and he suddenly realised that the sun was almost at its highest point.
He was due to meet his tutor back at his father’s manor at midday. Both his father and his tutor would be scolding him for the rest of the week if he didn’t get back in time.
Pulling up on the reins, he slowed Thunder before turning him back in the direction of the estate. Breaking into a gallop once more, he didn’t slow down until he came to the path that led up to the stables.
As he drew closer to the yard, he began to get a sense that something was wrong. The entire estate seemed quiet—too quiet.
Pulling his horse to a halt, he slipped down from the saddle and handed the reins over to the servant who stepped out from the stables.
“Is something going on?” he asked the boy who could have been no more than fourteen, around the same age as his younger brother. “It’s very quiet.”
“You haven’t heard my Lord?” the boy looked a little sheepish as he spoke, a worried flash in his brown eyes.
Byron still couldn’t get used to being called ‘lord’ even though they’d called it him that practically since he was born. Although he had been given the courtesy title, it was his father who was the real lord.
“You haven’t heard, my Lord?” the boy asked and Byron felt his patience beginning to run short.
“What is it?” he asked through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his composure.
“I think that perhaps you should go up to the house, my Lord,” the boy said, his cheeks flushing as though he was embarrassed that he might have said too much.
Still gritting his teeth, Byron nodded and instructed, “See that Thunder is fed and watered. I’ll be taking him out again tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, my Lord.” the boy gave a small bow before beginning to lead the great black stallion into the stables.
Byron waited until he was gone before he turned to the house and began to walk, picking up speed with every step.
Before he knew it, he was running up the back steps into the house and through to the back drawing-room.
He stopped in his tracks the moment that he found his brother sitting on the very edge of the couch. His brown hair that was usually combed back from his face had fallen down over his forehead and Byron could barely see his face but the trembling in his shoulders told him that he was crying.
“Brother? What’s wrong?” Byron asked, moving to sit down beside his little brother. In all his years he had never once seen his brother cry, at least not since he was a toddler.
Bryce jumped as though he hadn’t noticed his brother’s presence and when he looked up Byron could see that tears were streaming down his cheeks.
Bryce gave a quick sniffle and wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, a guard suddenly placed over his expression as though he hadn’t meant to show any weakness in front of anyone.
“It’s mother,” he said in a voice that was still strained with tears and he seemed as though he was trying to hold in a sob.
“What do you mean?” Byron asked. “What about her?”
Byron’s heart stopped for a second as he waited for his brother’s answer.
A wave of relief washed over Byron. The way his brother was crying, he had half expected to hear that she had passed away.
What was I thinking? Byron told himself, struggling not to laugh, People don’t just pass away like that.
He remembered breakfast that morning when his mother had been coughing. She’d passed it off as something in her throat but Byron had known from the paleness in her usually rosy cheeks that it was probably more than that.
“Is that all?” Byron struggled not to chuckle.
“No, Byron, she’s very ill.” Bryce shook his head and when he looked at Byron again there was obvious worry in his blue eyes.
“Where is she?” Byron asked. He was sure that his brother must be overreacting. He needed to see for himself.
“She’s in bed. The doctor has just arrived,” Bryce explained. “Byron, she doesn’t look well.”
Byron placed his hand on his little brother’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine,” he promised him.
After a moment, he pushed himself back to his feet and began to make his way through the house.
Even as he drew to the top of the stairs, the smell of sickness began to clot in his nostrils. Unlike the smell of grass and wildflowers, this scent was sour and musty and it made his stomach churn.
Turning down the hallway to the east wing of the house, Byron drew closer to his mother’s bedroom, the smell growing ever stronger.
The sound of voices came from inside the bedroom as he slipped into the shadows opposite the doorway.
“Is there anything that can be done for her, doctor?” His father’s voice was filled with worry. He stood just inside the door, watching as the doctor leaned over his wife, even as Byron watched them both.
He remained silent, holding his breath as he waited for the doctor to answer.
“I’m afraid that all we can do is make her comfortable. The rest she must do on her own,” the doctor explained and when he straightened up, giving a clear view of his patient, Byron realised that his brother had been right.
His mother looked worse than he had ever seen her.
With skin so pale that she looked like a ghost and thick black smudges beneath her sunken eyes, she barely looked like his mother at all. Byron might not have even recognised her if not for the silver necklace that held a single pearl that nestled against her throat. It shuddered as a gut-wrenching cough erupted from her.
“Help me to put her on her side,” the doctor instructed and a maid appeared out of nowhere as though she had been standing silently at the edge of the room.
She and the doctor tilted her onto her side as though she weighed little more than a child and her coughing began to ease.
When they finally allowed her back onto her back, the maid propped her up on several pillows.
“Good. Let’s try to keep her from lying flat,” the doctor suggested. “Offer soup and water throughout the night and we shall see where we stand in the morning.”
“Is there nothing else you can do for her?” Byron’s father’s voice was almost frantic now and it clawed at Byron’s gut. He had never heard that kind of tone in his father’s voice before. If even he was worried, maybe Bryce was right.
The doctor never got the chance to answer because Lady Maxwell began to cough all over again. This time it wracked her entire body and she shook as though her limbs were not her own.
The scene caused Byron to gasp and even as the doctor and maid began to turn the mistress of the household back onto her side, his father’s head whipped around.
For just as second their eyes met. Byron could see the defeat in his father’s eyes, mixed with worry and heartache.
“He should not see this!” the doctor exclaimed.
Byron’s father hurried across the room to close the door without speaking a word.
Standing there, unable to move, Byron remembered what he had told his brother and suddenly he realised he had been wrong. All was not going to be well.
That morning was to be the morning when everything changed. Harriet couldn’t have known it when she got dressed that morning but at just fourteen years old, who could blame her?
She dressed as she always did, with the help of her mother’s lady’s maid and she calmly walked down the hallway to the stairs even though everything in her urged her to run.
Young ladies don’t run. Her mother’s constant reminders of how she was supposed to act echoed in Harriet’s mind whenever she got the urge to do something that her mother would disapprove of. When she was younger she might not have cared as much, but the more the older children began to point out her downfalls, the more she began to listen.
She clasped her hands in front of her and gracefully took the stairs one at a time even though she could have leapt two at a time to get to the bottom twice as fast.
She could feel her mother’s lady’s maid watching her from the top of the stairs, standing in the shadows as though she was spying, just waiting to be able to tell her mistress of her daughter’s latest antics. Harriet would not give her the satisfaction.
Instead, she reached the bottom of the stairs and turned a sweet smile upwards in the maid’s direction before continuing on to the dining hall where she knew she would find her parents at breakfast.
As soon as she entered the room she recognised that the tension in the room was far greater than usual.
Her parents were always known for doing things the proper way but their silence was eerily extreme.
Usually, she found her father reading the morning paper at the head of the table with her mother sitting silently beside him. The only thing to break the silence would be the sound of her mother’s cutlery as she began her breakfast or the sound of her father flicking to the next page.
Today the room seemed utterly silent as though everything had stopped. Harriet had to glance out of the window and see the birds fluttering about the rose bushes to be sure that time had not stopped entirely.
“Good morning Father, Mother,” Harriet said politely as she entered the room, standing in the doorway to wait for her father to gesture for her to join them.
“Good morning, Harriet,” her mother responded in her usual polite yet guarded tone. Harriet’s hearing was keen and she sensed something else in her mother’s voice that morning. Something that reminded her of concern. Although it usually accompanied her mother’s tone when she was about to scold her for something unladylike, Harriet couldn’t help but feel that this morning was different. She had barely been out of bed for half an hour. How could she possibly have done something coarse in such a short time?
“Harriet, please come and sit down. There is something we need to tell you.” Her father gestured to her seat opposite her mother and fear crept into her stomach as she realised her father was folding up his paper. He never did that until he was finished reading through every page. Something serious must have happened for him to break a routine he had been practising for as long as she could remember.
“Please Graham, she doesn’t need to know. She is much too young for such things,” her mother insisted even as Harriet came to sit.
She placed her hands in her lap and tried to ignore the way that they trembled as her father ignored his wife and turned his full attention on her.
“Harriet, I received a letter from Lord Maxwell this morning with grave news,” he said with a sigh.
“What? What is it? Is everything alright? Has something happened to Bryce?” Harriet blurted out. Sudden concern for her friend made her loose-lipped and her mother scowled at her as though it was yet another thing to add to her list of unladylike qualities.
“I told you, she is much too young to handle these kinds of things,” her mother insisted but her father shook his head.
“She will hear of it soon anyway and it is best that she is prepared,” her father’s words left her feeling less prepared than she ever had been.
She braced herself, scrunching her fingers up into the fabric of her dress, as she waited for the awful news about her dearest friend.
Has he had an accident? Is he gravely injured? Am I going to lose my only friend? Have I lost him already?
The questions whizzed like fireflies in her mind even as she breathed deeply to try and control herself.
“What is it, Father?” she asked, attempting to sound mature even though she could already feel the tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
“Yes though I fear he and his family are in for a rough time of it over the next few months,” her father said and his eyes became affectionate and filled with concern. “We received word this morning that his mother, Lady Maxwell, is gravely ill.”
Harriet felt her heart lift in a moment of relief to know that her best friend was well. Then guilt clawed at her gut as she remembered how close he and his brother had always been to their mother. She had always envied their relationship, wishing that her own mother could be more accepting of her.
Perhaps if I had been a boy. She thought even as she pushed herself to her feet.
“I must go to Bryce,” she insisted but her mother was the first to shake her head.
“Absolutely not!” she said in such a harsh, loud manner that it took Harriet by surprise. Her mother was usually calm, collected, and quiet, all the things that Harriet was not.
“I forbid you to go anywhere near that house until we know that it is safe,” her mother added.
Harriet turned to her father, begging him with her green eyes to listen to reason. “Please father, let me go to them. Bryce will be in need of a friend right now.”
“Bryce has his father and brother to care for him and they do not need a silly little girl getting under their feet at a time like this,” her mother practically snarled. She picked up the napkin from her lap and folded it before placing it on the table. “Now, eat your breakfast and join me in the drawing-room for morning reading.”
With that, her mother pushed herself to her feet and gave her husband a much friendlier farewell before she swept from the room.
“Father, please,” Harriet practically begged as soon as her mother was gone. She knew her father was much more willing to listen whenever her mother wasn’t around. “Let me go to him.”
She held her breath as her father seemed to think for a moment.
Then he sighed and nodded. “I will have one of the servants take you once you have finished your breakfast, but you must promise me that you will go along with whatever else your mother has planned for you today.”
“I will, father, I promise,” Harriet gushed.
The Maxwell house was not at all how Harriet usually found it. There was no sign of servants in the yard keeping the place spotless. She listened and couldn’t even hear the usual sounds of horses coming from the stables that were set just a little way back from the main house.
The only sound was that of the wheels of her carriage turning and when it stopped at the steps that led up to the main building, the place seemed unnaturally silent.
Taking in a deep breath, she could at least recognise the familiar scent of the flowers that grew beneath the manor windows, mixed with the musky scent of horses coming from the stables.
“Allow me, Miss Harriet,” her father’s driver said as he opened the carriage door and offered her his hand to help her down.
“Thank you,” she responded politely as she allowed him to help her.
“Your father has given me instructions to wait until you are ready to return home,” the driver explained and she gave him a nod and a grateful smile.
“I am not sure how long I will be,” she admitted.
“An order is an order, Miss. I shall wait for as long as you need,” he said, giving her a small bow.
Harriet smiled at him again before she began to ascend the steps of the house.
Even as she came to the top, the door was pulled open as if the butler had been made aware of her arrival.
“May I take your cloak, Miss Harriet?” Ivan, the butler asked, as soon as she entered.
She shrugged off her cloak and handed it to him with a smile, noticing the passive expression on his face where usually there was a warm smile waiting.
The air in the house was heavy with grief and as she turned she found out why.
Bryce was perched on the bottom step of the staircase with his head in his hands. His hair that was usually combed perfectly into place, was mussed up in a way that told her he had quite forgotten to brush it.
He looked as though he had dressed in a hurry if he had even dressed at all. Looking closer Harriet realised that he was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the morning before when they had taken a stroll over the fields in the sunshine.
There was definitely no sunshine in him now. In fact, Harriet could almost believe that she could see a heavy cloud hanging above his head.
“Bryce?” she said softly in an attempt not to startle him.
His head whipped up at the sound of her voice and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the red rims that encircled his blue eyes.
“Bryce, what is the matter?” she asked as she drew closer, dropping down into a crouch to take hold of her friend’s hand.
“She’s dead, Harri. My mother is dead.”
The words washed over Harriet like a freezing cold torrent and she shivered as the weight of it landed upon her shoulders.
“She passed in the middle of the night. Not long after my father sent word out.”
Those words were not Bryce’s. They came from further up the staircase and Harriet looked up to find Byron walking down to meet them.
His face was strained and he looked tired although he seemed to be holding himself together far better than his younger brother.
“I am so sorry,” Harriet said the words to them both but found herself clutching Bryce’s hand just a little tighter.
“The doctor says there was nothing that could be done,” Byron explained though his voice was edged in a way that told Harriet he did not believe the doctor.
“Do they know what it was?” Harriet asked, more out of concern than curiosity.
“Fever,” Byron replied.
His answer made Harriet shiver all over again. She had heard terrible things of fevers sweeping through entire households in a matter of hours.
“Are the two of you well?” she asked, looking from Byron to Bryce and back again. The elder brother seemed to be the only one who was holding himself together enough to answer her.
“I don’t believe you have any reason to fear.” Byron shook his head.” The doctor didn’t seem concerned for our wellbeing.”
Harriet could only feel partly relieved by that.
“Harriet, would you accompany care to accompany us into the drawing-room for some tea?” Byron asked as he came to stand beside his brother. He hooked his arm under Bryce’s and helped him to his feet. “I believe we are all in need of something to drink.”
Harriet nodded and moved to Bryce’s other side. She never once let go of his hand as she helped Byron guide him into the drawing-room.
Her friend seemed like an empty shell of his former self. He was overcome with grief.
“Is there anything I can do?” Harriet asked even as she helped Bryce down onto one of the couches where they had so often sat to read and play card games.
Although she sat beside Bryce, she couldn’t help but watch Byron as he moved to the fireplace to pull the cord that would ring a bell in the kitchen to alert the servants to their needs.
The grief was clear on his face but he held himself in such a manner of self-control that Harriet couldn’t help but admire him.
“There isn’t much we can do, save for funeral arrangements,” Byron said with a sigh and Bryce began to tremble at the mention of it.
As though sensing his brother’s internal turmoil, Byron came to crouch before him, gripping his free hand while Harriet still clutched hold the other in both of hers.
“Everything is going to be alright, brother,” he said softly.
Bryce’s head whipped up then and he glared at Byron in such a way that it made Harriet shrink back a little.
“That is what you said last night!” Bryce snapped at him. “You said all would be well but it is not, is it? Mother is dead.”
Harriet watched Byron closely as he sucked in a deep breath and she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he had grown over the years. The obvious concern he held for his brother lent a softness to his features that she had never seen upon him before.
“I was wrong then but I must believe now that I am right,” he said softly. “All must be well because we must carry on. It is what she would have wanted for us. She would not have wished to see you like this. We must be strong for her.”
Harriet could see tears glistening in his eyes then, lending a light to his blue-grey irises that caused them to look as though there was a storm rolling into the wintry sky of his gaze.
Admiration for the older boy filled Harriet’s chest and she suddenly knew that she need not have come. Byron would do whatever it took to take care of his younger brother.
“A Wildflower for the Wounded Lord” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!
Harriet Howard has always been a rebellious soul and hard to tame. Much to her mother’s distaste, she has never had any interest in the commodities that other girls desire and has always detested the idea of getting married. However, everything is about to change after she comes across her best friend’s brother, who re-enters her life after a fateful twist of luck. From that point on, she is captured by his presence and starts believing that a chance at love may be within reach. While her heart secretly dreams of a happy future with the charming gentleman, her parents have other plans for her, and Harriet has to escape before it’s too late. Will Harriet find the courage to stand up for what she truly wants and take the leap of real love? Will she trust her heart and go against everything that is threatening to destroy her happiness?
After the unexpected death of his mother, Lord Byron Maxwell escapes to his father’s estate in France. Always avoiding his grief and scared of getting hurt, he has been dismissing every chance to match with an eligible wife, in fear of losing her, like his father did. When his father becomes tragically ill, he rushes back home as soon as possible. To his own surprise, that’s when he meets a woman who will change the course of his life by helping him overcome his previous fear and believe in soulmates. However, it will be an uphill struggle to find happiness by her side and he will have to defy everyone who is against his new love. How far will Byron go to claim the only woman who managed to mend his broken heart? Will he survive the sudden storm and cherish the sunshine of his one true love?
Byron and Harriet soon realise that their real happiness has been right under their noses all along and it’s nowhere else but in their blooming connection. There’s only one problem though; their fathers have always dreamt of another future for them and do not intend to back down until they achieve what they want. However, Byron and Harriet know that their life has no meaning without each other and are determined to break down the walls that tend to keep them apart. Will they find a way to overcome the challenges and have their happily ever after? Or will they both be destined to a doomed fate that will throw them into an endless and loveless sorrow?
“A Wildflower for the Wounded Lord” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.