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The Girl in The Gatehouse

The Girl in The Gatehouse

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An excerpt from The Girl in the Gatehouse by Julie Klassen, published by Bethany House Publishers.

Mariah Aubrey lives in seclusion with her secrets. Will an ambitious captain uncover her identity... and her hidden past?

Banished from the only home she's ever known, Mariah Aubrey hides herself away in an abandoned gatehouse on a distant relative's estate. There she supports herself and her loyal servant the only way she knows how--by writing novels in secret.

When Captain Matthew Bryant leases the estate, he is intrigued by the beautiful girl in the gatehouse. But there are many things he doesn't know about this beguiling outcast. Will he risk his plans--and his heart--for a woman shadowed by scandal?

Intriguing, mysterious, and romantic, The Girl in the Gatehouse takes readers inside the life of a secret authoress at a time when novel-writing was considered improper for ladies and the smallest hint of impropriety could change a woman's life forever.
An excerpt from The Girl in the Gatehouse by Julie Klassen, published by Bethany House Publishers.

Mariah Aubrey lives in seclusion with her secrets. Will an ambitious captain uncover her identity... and her hidden past?

Banished from the only home she's ever known, Mariah Aubrey hides herself away in an abandoned gatehouse on a distant relative's estate. There she supports herself and her loyal servant the only way she knows how--by writing novels in secret.

When Captain Matthew Bryant leases the estate, he is intrigued by the beautiful girl in the gatehouse. But there are many things he doesn't know about this beguiling outcast. Will he risk his plans--and his heart--for a woman shadowed by scandal?

Intriguing, mysterious, and romantic, The Girl in the Gatehouse takes readers inside the life of a secret authoress at a time when novel-writing was considered improper for ladies and the smallest hint of impropriety could change a woman's life forever.

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Published by: Bethany House Publishers on Oct 29, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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12/14/2012

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Where she could be placed became a subject of most melancholy and momentous consultation.
 —Jane Austen,
 Mansfield Park 
chapter 1
s
ePtemBer
1813
T  
he end of the only life I’ve known,
thought Mariah Aubrey, lookingback through the carriage window at the shrinking figures of her mother and sister. Nineteen-year-old Julia stood in the foreground,
shoulders heaving as she wept. The sight seared Mariah’s heart. Their
mother stood behind, hand on Julia’s arm, in consolation, in empathy—
perhaps even in restraint. And there came their father, down the stepsof Attwood Park. He had not come out to bid her farewell. He would
not, he insisted, “sanction vice, nor seek to lessen its disgrace.” But now
he draped one arm around his wife and the other around his younger
daughter, turning and shepherding them back inside, back into the only
home Mariah had ever known. And might never see again.Mariah turned back around. Miss Dixon, on the opposite bench,
 
8
 J
ulie
K
lassen
quickly averted her gaze, feigning interest in the fringes of her reticule,
as if she had not noticed any tears.Mariah bit the inside of her lip to control its trembling. She staredout the side window, despite knowing it would make her ill. She barely
saw the passing countryside as events of the last month whirled through
her mind. She winced, but the life-rending scenes neither altered nordisappeared.
“Long journey ahead, Miss Mariah,” Dixon said. “Why not try
to sleep? The miles shall pass more quickly.”
Mariah forced a smile, nodded, and obediently closed her eyes. She
doubted she would sleep, but at least with her eyes closed she wouldnot see the pity on the face of her last ally in the world.
a
They traveled for two days, stopping at various coaching inns
to change horses, stretch limbs, and take hurried meals. Late in the
second day, Mariah fell into exhausted sleep at last, only to be jostled
awake when the hired post-chaise careened, sending her slamming
into its side.“What happened?” she asked, righting herself.
Dixon straightened her hat atop blond hair threaded with silver. “I
believe the driver swerved to avoid a lamb.” She surveyed the pasturebeyond the window. “We are definitely in sheep country.”
Mariah rubbed her offended shoulder and looked out the win-
dows on either side of the post-chaise. They were following a gentle,sparkling river on one side, and on the other, a rolling meadow dotted
with white-faced sheep and nearly grown lambs. The river curved
before them, and they crossed it on a stone bridge, passing a pair of red-brick mills on its bank. They entered a village of blond-stone cot-
tages, with an inn, apothecary shop, stonemason’s, and steepled parish
church clustered around a triangular green.“Is this Whitmore?” Mariah asked.
“I hope so.” Dixon sighed. “My bones have had more than enough

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