When Two Lonely Souls Unite (Preview)

Chapter One

The morning light shone straight into Matthew’s dark eyes, and he squinted to get a better view of his opponent. Theodore’s cold blue pupils stared right back, and Matthew felt a chill run down his spine. This was an evil man standing before him, who clearly felt nothing resembling guilt or remorse for the pain and heartbreak he had caused. Matthew wiped the sweat off his palm before replacing his hand on the hilt of his blade. The heat beat down on him, and he wondered if there was time to undo the top buttons under his collar.

“Gentleman, if I may address you as such, you find yourself on the green here today, swords in hand, as it seems you can find no other way of settling the discord between you. Once more, I am obliged to ask if peace may be achieved somehow. Theodore, can you find it within yourself to apologize for your reckless behaviour, and Matthew, could you forgive such an apology?” Simon Chatwell asked nervously, his voice only barely reaching the small crowd that had gathered to watch the duel, despite the early hour. 

“I have said from the start that if Theodore removes himself from England’s shores and agrees to never communicate with my sister henceforth, then I will leave his head as is. Attached to the rest of his body.” The words come out of Matthew’s throat with an uncharacteristic strength. Normally a fairly quiet man, the nearness of his dear sister’s ruin at the hands of such a cad inspired vengeance in his heart.

“How may I agree to never communicate with Tess if she cannot keep herself from me? You accuse me of stealing your sister away, sir, but she’ll be the first to tell you, she loves me better than any woman before her has,” Theodore said with a knowing smirk. 

Matthew’s chest seized with anger to hear him speak of Tess so, but Simon put a hand up and quieted both the men. 

“Very well. It is clear that no agreement will be reached with words. You must let your swords find the justice necessary to carry on. If Matthew should be the victor, then Theodore, you will be thus forth banished from England. If Theodore should win, then Matthew must hold no objections to his marrying his sister, Tess of Surrey. Is that understood?” Simon’s question laid out the stakes clearly, and Matthew found himself swallowing a bit of blood released from the tight grip his teeth had on his lip. 

Both Matthew and Theodore nodded curtly.

“Gentleman, en guarde,” he ordered, and the duellers took their places, drawing their swords slowly so that the sound of metal on metal echoed over the empty field. Matthew could hear the ladies watching gasp, and he imagined the terrifying steel piercing his unprotected skin. Still, there was no going back now. His sister’s virtue had to be protected at all costs. Should Theodore get the better of him, he could only hope that Tess would see the true evilness in his spirit and resist the urge to run away with the good for nothing grifter. 

Swords at the ready, there was no more reason to wait. Simon gave the allez, and soon the sound of clashing blades overpowered the moans of the mourning doves. 

Matthew got the upperhand almost immediately, sending Theodore clambering backwards, almost tripping on the uneven ground that he could only assume was formerly a garden patch. A call from the sidelines interrupted his concentration and Matthew looked up to see that Tess was running towards them, sobbing with frustration and begging the men to put down their arms. The pain of seeing her so distraught clenched at Matthew’s heart, and he barely felt Theodore’s blade grazed his arm. It wasn’t until the warm blood trickled down to his wrist that he realized he’d been injured. 

Galvanized by fear, Matthew parried towards the grinning Theodore. Behind them, Simon held back the hysterical Tess, still crying that she didn’t want to see anyone hurt. 

“You see, there’s nothing you can do about it, Matthew. She loves me, and I will love her money just as well,” Theodore hissed into Matthew’s ear, swords pressed up against each other. Unable to resist the temptation, Matthew spat into his opponent’s face, and pushed him away with the strength of ten men. 

“She sees right through your simpering compliments to the dark, money hungry soul that lies beneath,” Matthew shouted, hopeful that their entire audience would be able to hear the anger in his words. “Tess simply is too good to wish death upon you, no matter how you have betrayed her. Luckily, I am not so forgiving.” 

With that, Matthew ducked around Theodore’s latest swing and hooked elbows around his, using his own momentum to pull him to the ground. Before Theodore knew what was happening, he was on his knees, and the point of Matthe’s sword was threatening to pierce the skin of the traitor’s neck. 

“Please,” Theodore begged, “please spare me.”

Matthew laughed. “Ah, how quickly your spiteful words have turned to pleading ones. My witnesses, what do you think? Should I show this man mercy, though he intended to show none to my sister’s good name?”

The small crowd buzzed with chatter, and a small round of applause broke out, followed by a louder call to “kill the man,” to which Tess once more broke into tears upon hearing, falling to her knees. Her heartbreak was too much for Matthew to take. 

“Get out of this land. Know that if any of my men hear your name spoken in these parts henceforth, you will pay with blood.” Matthew put a boot to the man’s heaving chest, and kicked him to the ground but pulled his sword away, leaving Theodore alive, if gasping for breath. 

Matthew turned to his inconsolable sister just as Simon let go of her arm, and she fell into his arms, sobbing. As her tears soaked through his billowing shirt, he put a protective hand around her warm head and whispered into her ear.

“Marvellous job, my dear. Most convincing.”

She looked up and smiled at him before turning towards the applauding onlookers, and dipping into a pretty curtsey as Matthew simultaneously bowed, the performance now complete. Theodore, (not an enemy at all but a friend with a very strong sword arm) joined them, and together with Simon the four players enjoyed the praise for their spectacle.

“That blood works rather well, doesn’t it?” Matthew noted to Tess. 

“I could see the red from quite a ways away! Half gave me a heart attack. You know, you ought to share your knowledge with the Capital Shakespeare Company in London. I saw a production of the Scottish Play just last month, and they were still using red ribbons to signify blood. As childish as a school pageant if you ask me!” Tess giggled just before the crowd of well wishers descended upon them.

“My dear boy, that was shockingly convincing! I’m very glad that the days of sword duels are behind us now, but my goodness it is fun to see it all happen like this. And so historically accurate no less!” Matthew heard one viewer say to Theodore.

Before Matthew had met Simon in London not six months beforehand, he’d never come across anyone besides himself who was so interested in history and play acting. When Simon asked Matthew, (who was well versed in fencing) to participate in the duelling event, he was very excited by the notion and thrilled to have been consulted. 

“What do you think, Matthew? Was the scene well constructed enough to make an appearance in your next novel?” Simon asked once the throng of well wishers had moved aside, and tea was being served in the garden.

“It’s certainly ignited my imagination. I think I will have to include a duel in my writings.” Matthew didn’t bother to correct his friend in his assertion that there would be a next novel; he had yet to publish even one, but it was his greatest dream to write a book. 

 

—

 

The next day, Matthew replayed the duel over and over in his head, recalling the excitement and invigoration of the morning as he sorted through new arrivals in his small, London bookshop. The shop had two windows in the front in which he placed the latest titles, blocking a good deal of the light coming in, but Matthew didn’t mind. He liked the smell of the books and the feeling that his shop was a secluded oasis from the hustle and bustle of the city. Most young men his age were busy getting into trouble, making their fortunes, and falling in love, but Matthew had different priorities than most. 

Every morning, Matthew sat at his desk before the shop opened and tried to put pen to paper in an attempt to write a manuscript. Characters and scenes floated around in his head and he wrote them out in great streams of inspiration until the large grandfather clock in the corner would strike nine, and he’d open the doors to the shop in the hopes of attracting some foot traffic. 

There were his regular customers who would come by, asking for the latest Thackery, or wondering if he could order an old text as of yet unavailable in the university libraries. He knew most of his customers by name and they knew his. Everything about Matthew’s life was warm, familiar, and comfortable, which is how he liked it. As far as he was concerned, adventure was for reading and writing about. That being said, there was hardly anything he enjoyed more than play acting. In another life, he might have been an actor, but writing was truly his greatest passion.

Matthew shook his dark curls from his eyes as the door to the shop opened, and in walked an older gentleman, a flood of sunshine behind him. 

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning indeed. Here you are stuck in this dark corner, when it’s a rare sunny day in London. What a shame,” the man announced, his voice overly loud for the small room. There was something familiar about his portly nose and slow gait, but Matthew couldn’t quite place him.

“Ah, I’m more than happy to be right where I am. Is there something I can help you with?” Matthew asked, turning the conversation away from himself. He had no desire to defend or explain his choice of profession to this stranger.

“I’m looking for a copy of Experiments and Calculations Relative to Physical Optics by one Thomas Young. A good English scientist, and yet I haven’t been able to find a copy of his work anywhere. Might you have it?” The man put his meaty hand on Matthew’s cluttered desk as if he owned it himself.

“Let me have a look. I don’t carry too many books of science, but it’s certainly a section I’m interested in growing.” Matthew went to turn towards the Science section, but the man stopped him before he could.

“Say, you do look awfully familiar. Are you a member of the Antiquarian Gentleman’s Club? Perhaps that’s where I’ve seen you.” 

“Ah, no I’m not. There might be someone who looks like me who is a member, however,” Matthew said, dodging the question and ducking behind a shelf.

“No, no, I’ve definitely seen your face somewhere. I just can’t quite place it. What’s your name?” the man asked.

Mattew sighed. He didn’t want to reveal his identity, but from time to time there was no avoiding it. “My name is Matthew Nathaniel.”

The look of recognition on the man’s face was immediate and very familiar to Matthew. His father happened to be a notable gentleman in society and known to many of London’s upper crust. Matthew had done everything possible to disengage himself from his birthright, but his name betrayed him at every turn.

“Matthew Nathaniel! Of course, I remember you. Samuel Terrence, pleased to make your acquaintance. I knew your father back when we were but young bucks riding around the Yorkshire countryside, hunting to our hearts content. I say, odd to find you in a shop like this. Is your father quite alright?” Samuel’s face turned from pleased to have landed on the answer he was looking for to disconcerted at the shop’s dowdiness. This again was a reaction Matthew was overly familiar with. It made no sense at all to London’s upper crust why he had distanced himself from his family name and fortune. 

“My father is quite well, from what I’ve heard. He has maintained his wealth, if that is what you are asking after. We do not speak often,” Matthew said quietly and curtly, still looking for the book about optics. Samuel bristled at the coldness of the young bookseller’s response.

“I shouldn’t like to think of your father’s opinion of your chosen station in life,” Samuel snapped back. 

“As it happens, it is none of his business, nor is it any of yours. I have not chosen to sell my love or my name to the highest bidder, as others are wont to do. I regret to inform you, Mr. Terrence, that I do not have a copy of the book you requested. I can write away for it and see if I may order a copy to the shop. If you would like me to do so please leave your name and I will send word once I have more information.” Matthew kept his eyes firmly on Samuel’s as he spoke, trying to feel the same bravery he had felt coursing through his veins the previous morning as he held the hilt of his duelling sword.

Samuel’s eyes narrowed, and he huffed an inaudible response before straightening his top hat and leaving the shop abruptly. 

As soon as the man was gone, Matthew sunk down into the hard wooden chair behind his desk, and ran his hands through his unruly hair. Defending his life choices so continuously was not a pleasant experience, and to make matters worse, there were times when he was not so sure they ought to be defended.

Was estranging himself from his father after he married an insufferable but rich woman the right thing to do? By focusing all his energies on his writing and the shop instead of engaging in more social activities was he robbing himself of all the joy life had to offer him? Many other writers wrote more of love than anything else, yet Matthew had never experienced it himself. He’d seen many of his childhood friends find wives and start families, but they only ever seemed to complain about the inconvenience and the distraction it caused. The kind of love he read about in novels and poems seemed to have nothing in common with the relationships he saw forming around him. Perhaps that kind of fairy tale love only existed on the pages of adventure novels, and he was right to focus on other things that brought him joy.

Still, the heroines of Lord Byron haunted him as Matthew fell in love with every fair-haired maiden he read about. There was a chance such a love might exist in real life for him, but he hadn’t the faintest clue about where to find it.

Chapter Two

“Astrid! Astrid, have you seen my- oh, there you are.” Vivien’s volume quieted as she stormed into her older sister’s room, but her energy did not lessen in the least. Her perfect golden curls bounced up and down even when she stopped moving.

Astrid slammed shut the book she was reading and tucked it under her skirts, but it was too late. Vivien had already seen what she was up to.

“What are you doing cooped up here reading? You should be in the parlour. You know mother doesn’t like you reading when there’s socializing to be done.” Vivien sidled up to where Astrid was sitting by the window, a mischievous look in her eye.

“Yes, I was reading. Please don’t tell mother. You know I can’t abide pushing a needle through a useless piece of cloth over and over again just so mother may show everyone how ladylike I am,” Astrid admitted, pushing her plain, light brown hair from her hazel eyes. She was certainly not the great beauty that her sister was, with her sparkling blue eyes and dazzling complexion, but Astrid had a quiet delicacy and elegance to her that anyone who paid close enough attention noticed. There was an intensity to her attention and gaze that could be intoxicating, though Vivien’s vivaciousness usually distracted most who came across the Burgess sisters.

“Astrid, you know I hate embroidery as much as you do which is why you simply must get out of the house with me today. Lord Farrell is coming to call on me, and we’ll need a chaperone. What do you say?” Vivien clutched at Astrid’s hand with a desperation she could hardly refuse. Astrid didn’t mind Lord Farrell, per se, but she would much rather have spent the day indoors, nose deep in her book. There was an unspoken threat in Vivien’s words that Astrid was well aware of; if she refused to be their chaperone, there was a decent chance Vivien would make some kind of ill-timed comment over dinner about Astrid’s voracious reading habits. Such a comment would doubtlessly spark outrage from Lady Burgess, and Astrid might be forced to give up her books for weeks. 

On one hand, there was no refusing Vivien’s request. On the other hand, Astrid knew that her sister and Lord Farrell were depending on her to accompany them. With no chaperone, they would not be allowed to walk out together. They needed Astrid as much as she needed Vivien’s silence. 

“Very well,” Astrid relented.

Vivien squealed. “Oh how wonderful! Now, let’s give some thought to what you might wear.”

Astrid bristled a little at the thought that the dress she was wearing wasn’t acceptable, but she brushed aside her sister’s insulting assertion. 

“If I am to be your chaperone, however, I would like to make a request of my own.”

Vivien’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Oh? And what might that request be?”

“There’s a bookshop I’ve heard about in Finsbury Square. It’s not too far away from here, and a pretty walk at that. I should like to stop in,” Astrid announced bravely. Vivien smirked a little, clearly a bit impressed by her sister’s uncharacteristic assertiveness. 

“Fine. If you will agree to be our chaperone, we can visit this bookshop you’re so enamored with. You’d best not let mother see you prancing about with even more novels, however. If you miss one more ball because of some illness you’re feigning just so you can read another few chapters, mother will catch on to your antics sooner than later. Come, let’s find a dress for you to wear.” 

With that, Vivien started going through Astrid’s dresses, pulling out everything that she thought might compliment whatever she was planning on wearing. Astrid played along patiently, though her mind was far away as she dreamed of bookshelves lined with exciting worlds she could delve into. 

Astrid considered it unfortunate that she and her sister had such a transactional relationship, but at the very least they were cordial with each other and that had not always been the case. Growing up, Vivien had oftened bullied her older sister for her bookish, unfeminine ways. It pained Astrid and there was a time when she attempted to stand up for herself. Over time, Astrid had carefully developed a different way of relating to her sister, and her cunning grew stronger. The older and more intellectual Astrid learned to bide her time, and consider her responses to Vivien’s teasing ways. Now they were able to get along in a superficial sense, though Astrid never forgot the fact that Vivien was always looking out for herself above all else.

Once Vivien settled on the day’s wardrobe for the both of them, the sisters paraded down the stairs of their London house. The Burgess estate where the family resided during the summer months was located in Surrey, but they always came to London for the season. Though Astrid had been out in society for two years already, this was Vivien’s first proper season, and everything about London excited her. 

For her part, Astrid was less interested in the balls, handsome gentlemen and ladies’ teas than her sister. Astrid was fascinated by the history of London, and she loved frequenting the museums and galleries that the country was devoid of. That being said, the fall season meant that she was obliged to put her best foot forward and satisfy her mother’s dreams of finding a suitable husband. Astrid was far more comfortable dreaming of fictional chivalrous knights than conversing (let alone dancing) with real gentlemen, who she found to be overwhelmingly vapid at best and unnecessarily aggressive at worst. 

“Lady Burgess, Lady Vivien, Lady Astrid, you are all visions of perfection on this fine afternoon,” Lord Farrell said as soon as the housekeeper announced his arrival. The Burgess sisters and their mother curtseyed appropriately, and Astrid rolled her eyes as her sister batted her eyelashes shamelessly. 

“How is your family?” Lady Burgess asked Farrell, a simpering smile splashed across her face. 

Astrid watched in silence as her mother and sister fawned over the tall, handsome Farrell, anxious to get on their way to the bookshop. The longer they lingered in the parlour the higher the chances that Lady Burgess would want to join them for a promenade around the square. If she joined them, then Astrid could bid farewell to all hopes of visiting the bookshop. 

“I hate to take leave of you, mother, but I worry that the clouds might overtake the sun if we later we wait to leave,” Astrid murmured quietly. 

“Yes, and we know how much you worry about us in the cold,” Vivien added, clearly anxious to be alone with Lord Farrell. When they had a common goal, the Burgess sisters could be quite a team. 

Lady Burgess acquiesced immediately, sensing that her presence might inhibit Vivien’s abilities to secure Lord Farrell’s affections. Astrid had sat through many an insufferable dinner conversation as the rest of her family discussed the many virtues and vast riches of Lord Farrell. He seemed a pleasant enough man, though Astrid had no interest in scheming with her mother and sister as to how they might assure a future marriage proposal from him. 

Before they could leave however, Lady Burgess took Vivien by the arm and whispered hurriedly into her ear.

“Do not stand too close by your sister and Lord Farrell. We must give your sister as much time as possible to secure an engagement and your presence might …” 

Astrid watched as her mother tried to find the right words to explain how detrimental her unfortunate presence might be to Vivien’s ability to engage in flirtatious behaviour without being insulting before finally filling in the thought for herself.

“Might interfere with the courtship?” 

Lady Burgess nodded enthusiastically. “Precisely so. Your character can be a bit …melancholy, and I wouldn’t want your sister’s effervescence to be dulled.”

Astrid let the indignity of her mother’s comment wash over her, remembering the promise of an afternoon surrounded by all the books her heart could dream of.

“I’ll do my best to let them be,” Astrid agreed, taking another step towards the open door.

“Yes, but do keep up appearances! I mean to say, we wouldn’t want anyone gossiping about Vivien and Farrell stepping out on their own. You must be visible to onlookers at all times.” 

“Yes, mother. I must go now, I can’t keep them waiting,” Astrid said with a sigh, wrestling her hand away from her mother’s grip. 

By the time she finally stepped out into the sun Vivien already had her arm hooked around Farrell’s, and the two of them were walking quickly away from the house. Astrid skipped to catch up with them, but stayed true to her word and lingered a few feet behind them. 

“I hear we’re venturing to Finsbury Square,” Farrell said politely, turning his head back to acknowledge Astrid. Before she could respond, however, Vivien jerked him towards her once more.

“Yes, we’re going to indulge Astrid’s little fantasy of running into some brooding poet between bookshelves,” Vivien teased. Astrid’s defensiveness got the better of her and she quipped back before she could stop herself.

“That’s not true.”

“Ah, right. I forgot, you would prefer to marry a book than a real life man, isn’t that right?” Vivien giggled up at Farrell.

“Most books have stronger spines than the men you associate yourself with, Vivien. Yourself not included of course, Lord Farrell,” Astrid added quickly, not wishing to offend the gentleman who was, in Astrid’s opinion, far too kind for Vivien’s scheming nature. 

“I find I must agree with you on that count, Lady Astrid. One cannot be too harsh upon my sex,” Farrell said agreeably. 

“Well, when one hardly speaks to any save the footmen and our father, then you can hardly claim to have an opinion on all men.” Vivien’s stinging retort caught Astrid off-guard and she tripped slightly on the hem of her skirt, sending her sister into a fit of giggles. 

 By the time she found her footing once more there was a small crowd of people between her and Vivien. Perhaps it was for the best, however, as Astrid couldn’t think of anything in particular to say. 

It wasn’t that Astrid never dreamt about romance, but it simply seemed to her that no man could ever live up to the kind of men she read about in books. As far as she was concerned, novels had ruined her for all men. In that regard perhaps she and her mother were in accord. 

By the time Astrid caught up with Vivien and Farrell once more the conversation had moved on. Vivien was gossiping about some loose acquaintance who had come back from a trip to Italy engaged to a lowly classics tutor she was trying to pass off as an exotic nobleman. Farrell was listening patiently, and Astrid resisted adding that she thought that sounded far more romantic than simply marrying the richest man who would take her. 

“My, Vivien, your appetite for gossip is insatiable,” Farrell teased. 

“You don’t have the slightest idea how insatiable,” Astrid whispered to no one but herself. 

“Fear not, Lord Farrell, I have a great respect for those who I speak of. Those who find themselves embroiled in scandal bring me endless entertainment and I am very grateful to them, though I hope to never count myself in their ranks,” Vivien responded playfully.

“God forbid,” Farrell added sincerely.

“Yes, it is my chief aim in life to be spoken of constantly yet perpetually admired. I’m aware that this is very difficult to achieve, but I am confident that if anyone is capable of such a social standing, it is I.” The glint in Vivien’s eye told Astrid that she was quite genuine in this ambition, though Farrell seemed to choose to believe it nothing more than impish banter.

“You are incorrigible, aren’t you, Lady Vivien?” he said flirtatiously. “I must admit, I find your disposition to be quite diverting, if slightly insidious.”

Vivien’s jaw dropped with faux outrage. “How dare you call me such a word, Lord Farrell! I prefer to think of myself as captivatingly devious.” 

Rather than wait to hear what witty retort Farrell would banter back with, Astrid let her mind drift to more important matters as they approached the steps to the bookshop. Astrid stood before it in awe, already imagining the familiar and comforting smell of stacks of unopened books, countless adventures pressed between their pages. 

Peering inside the window, Astrid saw warm candles illuminating the book spines that lined the tall shelves, with a rolling ladder leading up to racks of books beyond human reach. Looking down again, she saw a young man standing behind a regal desk, a slim volume of something open in front of him. His dark curls hung over his eyes, but Astrid couldn’t help but sense a tenderness about him, perhaps in the gentle slope of his shoulders that seemed too broad for a man who cared about poetry. 

All of a sudden, he looked up towards her and met her eyes through the window. A pang of nervousness ran through Astrid’s heart, though she didn’t look away. For a full breath, they held each other’s gaze and Astrid stared into his dark eyes shining out from under thick brows. She thought she saw a hint of a smile cross his lips, but before she could tell for sure Vivien nudged her elbow aggressively. 

“We didn’t come all this way for you to simply stare at the shop sign. Go on, Astrid! Open the door. Farrell and I will be waiting right here for you, but you needn’t rush out.” Vivien whispered, though not quietly enough to go unheard by Lord Farrell.

“Nonsense, Vivien. Of course we’ll join you inside, Lady Astrid. Besides, I have a feeling that I know the owner. Good man, by all accounts, if a bit odd. Come,” Lord Farrell announced, opening the door for the ladies. Vivien huffed playfully before acquiescing, and swanning through the open entrance. Astrid followed quickly, her heart still beating from the man’s lingering look. 

Once they were inside, a familiar shyness overtook Astrid, and she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at the man with the book. Likely the window was too dusty for him to have known what he was looking at let alone who, she thought to herself. Doubtless he was simply smiling at the sentence he’d just read and was gazing off into the distance, thinking of some other pretty young lady. 

Just to be sure, Astrid turned back to the window, only to find that it was crystal clear with a perfect view of the street outside. It had been her he was looking at after all.

---

“When Two Lonely Souls Unite” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Lady Astrid Burgess is the quiet sort of girl who enjoys reading about adventures and the epic exploits of storybook knights and princesses, rather than actually living her own out in the world. Under the shadow of her vivacious sister, Astrid never believed she is worth the kind of romance she routinely read about. In a sudden stroke of luck though, she meets Matthew, a dashing bookshop owner, in Finsbury Square and reality itself comes and shakes her to the core. Although all Astrid wanted was to stay out of her sister’s way during the social season, her days as the thoughtful, well-behaved sister suddenly end when Matthew comes along. Will she be able to find a fulfilling balance between her family’s expectations and this new encounter that swipes her off her feet?

Mr. Matthew Nathaniel, while the son of a nobleman, has chosen a simple life. He prefers diving into books, when not actually writing them himself, and never shied away from work. When he sees the first girl that is enchanted by make believe worlds as much as he is, he immediately falls head over heels for her. Dreaming his way into a life he never imagined as potentially real, he invents marvelous disguises in order to conceal their clandestine meetings. However, he knows that pursuing their love would be a fruitless endeavour, as the Burgess family would never allow their eldest daughter to wed a penniless, though noble-blooded book merchant. How far is he willing to go to prove he is worthy of their trust and Astrid’s love?

The social obstacles do not stop the star-crossed lovers from writing poetry inspired by one another, and daydreaming about their idyllic, book-like romance. The reality of their frowned upon encounters though, abruptly hits them when Astrid receives a marriage proposal by another man. The thought of his beloved lady spending her life with another, tortures Matthew’s enamoured heart, but they both find themselves bound by their respective circumstances. Does Matthew have the strength to surpass the past, ask his father for forgiveness, and finally receive the inheritance that will end their suffering? Will Astrid uncover the bravery she will need to go against her family’s wishes, for the love of her life?

“When Two Lonely Souls Unite” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Get your copy from Amazon!