Prologue
Shropshire, England
December 1832
She hadn’t expected it to be so cold. Troth Montgomery shivered as shestepped from the shabby hired carriage, pulling her cloak more closely againstthe bitter December wind. She’d known that Britain lay far to the north,but a life spent in the tropics had left her ill-prepared for this bone-chillingclimate.
Though she had yearned to reach the end of her long journey, now she wasfrightened at the prospect of meeting these strangers. Delaying, she asked thedriver, “This is really Warfield Park? It is not what I expected.”
He hacked a cough into his gloved hand. “Aye, it’s Warfield, rightenough.” He hauled out her single carpetbag, dropped it onto the drivewaybeside her, then wheeled his horses to make a fast return to his home inShrewsbury.
As the carriage rumbled past her, she caught a glimpse of herself in the window.Though she wore a sober navy blue gown, the most respectable and English-lookinggarment she owned, the reflection she saw was still hopelessly ugly, her darkhair and Oriental eyes blatantly foreign.
But she could not turn back. Lifting her carpetbag, she trudged up the steps ofthe sprawling, gabled structure. In summer the gray stones might appear mellowand warm, but in winter twilight, Warfield looked stark and unwelcoming. Shedidn’t belong here—she didn’t belong anywhere.
She shivered again, this time not from the wind. The owners of this house wouldnot welcome her news, but surely, for Kyle’s sake, she would be granted abed for the night, if nothing else.
Reaching the door, she banged the massive knocker, which was shaped like afalcon’s head. After a long wait, the door was opened by a uniformedfootman. His brows arched at what had turned up on his doorstep. “Theservants’ entrance is on the other side of the house.”
His scorn made her raise her head in a show of defiance. “I am here to seeLord Grahame, on behalf of his brother,” she said icily, her accent at itsmost Scottish.
Grudgingly he admitted her to the hall. “Your card?”
“I haven’t got one. I have been . . . traveling.”
Plainly the footman wanted to throw her out, but didn’t quite dare.“Lord Grahame and his wife are dining. You shall have to wait here untilthey are done. When his lordship is free, whom shall I say is calling?”
Her numb lips could barely form the name that did not seem as if it reallybelonged to her. “Lady Maxwell has arrived. His brother’swife.”
The footman’s eyes widened. “I shall inform him immediately.”
As the servant hastened away, Troth pulled her cloak about her and paced theunheated hall, almost ill with nerves. Would the brother have her whipped whenhe heard? Great lords had been known to pun-ish the carriers of bad news.
She would have bolted from the house and taken her chances with the evilnorthern winter, but in her head she could still hear his rasping voice: Tell myfamily, Mei-Lian. They must know of my death. Though Kyle Renbourne, tenthViscount Maxwell, had some fondness for her, she didn’t doubt that hisghost would haunt her if she failed to perform his last request.
Bracing herself, she pulled off her gloves to expose the Celtic knotwork ringthat Kyle had given her, since it was the only evidence of her claims.
Steps sounded behind her. Then an eerily familiar voice asked, “LadyMaxwell?”
She turned and saw that a man and woman had entered the hall. The woman was aspetite as a Cantonese, but with a glorious sweep of silvery blond hair that wasstriking even in this land of foreign devils. The woman returned Troth’sstare, her expression curious as a cat’s, but not hostile.
The man spoke again. “Lady Maxwell?”
Troth tore her gaze from the woman to look at him. Her blood drained away,leaving her chilled to the marrow. It wasn’t possible. The man was leanand well built, with chiseled features and striking blue eyes. Waving brownhair, a hint of cleft in his chin, an air of natural authority. The face of adead man. It wasn’t possible.
That was her last, dizzy thought before she fainted dead away.
Chapter One
Macao, China
February 1832
Kyle Renbourne, tenth Viscount Maxwell, concealed his impatience as he politelygreeted dozens of members of Macao’s European community who had gatheredto meet an honest-to-God lord. Then, his social duty done, he slipped outside tothe veranda so he could contemplate the last, best adventure that would beginthe next morning.
The sprawling house stood high on one of South China’s steep hills. Below,a scattering of lights defined the sweep of Macao around the eastern harbor. Anexotic little city at the southeastern corner of the Pearl River estuary, Macaohad been founded by the Portuguese, the only European power to find favor withthe Chinese.
For almost three centuries the enclave had been home to merchants andmissionaries and a rare mixing of races. Kyle had enjoyed his visit. But Macaowasn’t really China, and he was eager to be on his way to Canton.
He leaned against the railing, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. Perhaps itwas his imagination, but the wind seemed scented with unknown spices and ancientmysteries, beckoning him to the land he’d dreamed of since he was a boy.
His host, friend, and partner, Gavin Elliott, came through the shuttered doors.“You look like a child on Christmas Eve, ready to burst withanticipation.”
“You can afford to be casual about sailing to Canton tomorrow.You’ve been doing it for fifteen years. This is my first visit.”Kyle hesitated before adding, “And probably my last.”
“So you’re going back to England. You’ll be missed.”
“It’s time.” Kyle thought of the years he’d spent intravel, moving ever eastward. He’d seen the Great Mosque of Damascus andwalked the hills where Jesus had preached. He’d explored India from thebrilliantly colored south to the wild, lonely mountains of the northwest. Alongthe way, he’d had his share of adventures, and survived disasters thatmight have left his younger brother heir to the family earldom—andwouldn’t Dominic have hated that! He’d also lost the angry edge thathad marked him when he was younger, and about time, since he’d bethirty-five at his next birthday. “My father’s health has beenfailing. I don’t want to risk returning too late.”
“Ah. Sorry to hear that.” Gavin pulled out a cigar and struck alight. “When Wrexham is gone, you’ll be too busy as an earl to roamthe far corners of the globe.”
Excerpted from The China Bride by Mary Jo Putney. Copyright © 2001 by Mary Jo Putney. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Copyright © 2001 by Mary Jo Putney. All rights reserved.