The Bargain
Authors: Vanessa Riley
Coming to London has Given Precious Jewell a Taste of Freedom...
Prologue: London, February 4, 1816
Chapter One: London, February 4, 1819
Chapter Two: Danger in The Streets
Chapter Three: A Painful Peace
THE BARGAIN
A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode I
Vanessa Riley
Dear Beautiful Reader,
The Bargain is a serialized story or soap opera told in episodes. Each episode averages from three to eight chapters, about 15,000 to 30,000 words. Each episode resolves one issue. Emotional cliffhangers may be offered, but the plot, the action of the episode, will be complete in resolving the main issue.
My promise to you is that the action will be compelling, and I will tell you in the forward the length of the episode. This episode, Episode I, is four chapters long, 15,000 words. Enjoy these Regency Tales set in South Africa.
Vanessa Riley
Coming to London has given Precious Jewell a taste of freedom, and she will do anything, bear anything, to keep it. Defying her master is at the top of her mind, and she won’t let his unnerving charm sway her. Yet, will her restored courage lead her to forsake a debt owed to the grave and a child who is as dear to her as her own flesh?
Gareth Conroy, the third Baron Welling, can neither abandon his upcoming duty to lead the fledgling colony of Port Elizabeth, South Africa nor find the strength to be a good father to his heir. Every look at the boy reminds him of the loss of his wife. Guilt over her death plagues his sleep, particularly when he returns to London. Perhaps the spirit and fine eyes of her lady’s maid, Precious Jewell, might offer the beleaguered baron a new reason to dream.
The Bargain
is the first Port Elizabeth Regency Tale.
Illustrations
A portion of the Portrait of Catherine Worlée, Princesse de Talleyrand-Périgord (1762-1834) inspired the portrait of Eliza Marsdale set on the cover. The work of art, Portrait of Catherine Worlée, is in the public domain and can be found at Wikicommons.
The cover is an inspired work of Sanura Jayashan commissioned for this book.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my copy editor supreme, my mother, Louise, my loving hubby, Frank, and my daughter, Ellen. Their patience and support have meant the world to me.
I also dedicate this labor of love to critique partners extraordinaire: June, Mildred, Lori, Connie, Gail.
I give special thanks to Piper, the lady who held my hand and led me to discover Precious Jewell’s fire.
Love to my mentor, Laurie Alice, for answering all my endless questions.
And I am grateful for my team of encouragers: Sandra, Michela, Kim, and Rhonda.
Books by Vanessa Riley
Madeline's Protector
Swept Away, A Regency Fairy Tale
The Bargain, A Port Elizabeth Tale, Episode I-IV
Unmasked Heart, A Regency Challenge of the Soul Series
Sign up at
VanessaRiley.com
for contests, early releases, and more.
Copyright © 2015 Vanessa Riley
Published by BM Books
A Division of Gallium Books
Suite 236B, Atlanta, GA 30308
All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9907437-3-6
Cast of Primary Characters
Baron Welling (
the second Lord Welling): the late uncle of Gareth Conroy.
Precious Jewell:
a slave brought from South Carolina in 1821 as the personal maid of the late Eliza Marsdale Conroy.
Eliza Marsdale
of Charleston, South Carolina, married Gareth Conroy. The marriage was arranged by the (2nd) Baron Welling and Eliza’s father, a wealthy cotton plantation owner.
Gareth Conroy
: the third Baron Welling, succeeded to the title upon the death of his uncle. He has been commissioned to lead the colony of Port Elizabeth, South Africa.
Jonas Conroy:
the son born to Eliza Marsdale. She died shortly after childbirth.
Mr. Palmers:
the butler for Gareth Conroy. He runs the staff at Firelynn Hall.
Old Jack:
a groom employed by a neighbor to Firelynn.
Her mistress’s groans pierced the air, breaking Precious Jewell’s heart again. The birth had gone all wrong. Eliza wasn't going to make it.
Precious coddled the newborn in her arms, smoothing linen about his tiny body. He looked mighty content for all the ruckus his early comin' caused.
Lowering her gaze to the sweat-dampened bedsheets, the spatters of crimson swaddling the blanket by Eliza’s stomach, only questions remained. Why Eliza? Why now?
The doctor shifted from his post at the door. “There’s nothing more to be done."
His starched tie fell asunder. He looked very different from the know-it-all who’d arrived hours earlier. If the man had only listened and taken the babe sooner, Eliza wouldn't be so weak now.
"I'll get the vicar.” The cowardly man left the bedchamber.
The butler stalked away from the bed, and passed Precious as if she weren't there. He rounded to the window. Palmers’s old stone face looked broken. “How will we tell His Lordship?”
Useless menfolk; thinkin' of other men, not Eliza.
They should be encouraging her mistress, not counting the seconds for the reaper to appear. “She ain't gone yet. Maybe you should send prayers to that Sunday God of yours.”
Palmers returned to the canopied bed. “Watch your tongue, Jewell. There’s no need for your opinions.”
“Stop, you two.” The weak cry slipped from Eliza. “Let my final moments be of peace.”
Tears pressed on Precious's eyes. Oh, how flushed her poor friend looked. “Let me give you something to drink, Miss Eliza. You might get strength from water. Don't you want some…?”
Eliza’s head slowly shook. Her pinkie shifted and waggled. It was her way when she wanted to appear demure, but still show disapproval. “Not now. Something more important.”
Precious moved to the head of the massive bed frame. “Open your eyes, and see your son. You gotta fight for him. Your husband needs you, too.”
The lady’s pinkie started to shiver like it would fall off. “He's made his choices.” The kitten-like voice bore a sharpness, a biting pain. “Let him burn for going off to his uncle. Tell him that.”
Palmers spun and clutched his dark mantle. “He’s to be the baron tonight. He had to be at his uncle's last breath. Duty claimed him, mum. You will be the next Lady Welling.”
At this, Eliza’s eyes opened. Red-rimmed pupils flashed before settling on her son. “For a few minutes, I have a title. Write my father of it. He's paid for it."
"Hush now, Miss Eliza. You should save your strength. In a few days, we'll be getting you styled for another cluster of parties. You'll be the new Lady Wellin' Welling."
Gasping, as if her lungs leaked, Eliza closed her eyes. "What’s that worth? No more promises on things… can't touch.” She clenched her teeth together as her body vibrated, her fingers latching on to the mound of bedclothes.
Precious turned. The babe shouldn't witness his mother’s passing.
“It's fine, friend." Eliza's voice became softer. "Let me see him one more time.”
Wiping a tear on her emerald sleeve, Precious rotated the babe to a secure position within the crook of her arm, and slipped back to the mattress. "He’s beautiful. Your son’s beautiful."
Eliza's hand moved as if to touch the boy, but then dropped to the bed. “Promise me, Precious. Love him for me. You must do this.”
“I’ll do what I can for him. Now, hush with this fever talk.”
“I free you, Precious. Let everyone know that I freed you. And you will mother this child for me.”
Was this one of Eliza’s jokes? She needed to be careful. That Sunday God might be watching. “Do you want to try to hold him? Maybe the warmth of his little body would keep warmth in yours--”
“I’m serious. You’re free if you will love my son.”
The solemn vicar and the doctor stepped into the room. The clergyman started reading from his Bible.
Eliza screamed, then took a breath. "Precious Jewel is a free woman. No more my slave. She will care for my son, Jonas."
Palmers stepped backward and moved to the window. “His father should name him and, as his heir to the barony, perhaps he should be Gareth, the lord’s namesake.
“It shall be Jonas.” With a shaking limb, Eliza lifted a weak hand and brushed the foolscap on the baby’s crown. “Promise me. I’ve done some bad things. Giving you freedom is a good thing. Promise, P.”
Even as Precious nodded, Eliza’s hand fell with a slap onto the bedsheets.
Her eyes closed, never again to see the morning.
The baby squirmed, then started to cry.
Tears leaked from Precious’s eyes, too, for Eliza would never hear Precious yell, "Yes!"
London, February 4, 1819
L
ightening crashed about the great windows of Firelynn Hall, but that didn't frighten Precious Jewell none. No, it was the tinkling of broken glass coming from downstairs that set the hair on the back of her neck in a tizzy.
She stilled her vibrating fingers against the stark white apron of her dark-emerald maidin’ outfit. The feel of the cloth, so starched and formal, so different from the plain hand-me-downs she'd gotten in Charleston filled her middle with something, not quite pride, not joy either. Something. Reckon three years in London offered better treatment.
Angered mumbles floated up to the echoing hall, sending more trembles to her spine. The master fumed again, but time was running out. She couldn’t put off her request any more. A drunken set down or slap couldn’t be any worse than what she’d suffered. That was England’s benefit. She hadn't been lashed for slapping a fresh footman or coal boy.
Yet.
Pushing herself forward, Precious forced her feet to work and crept until she made it to the edge of the stairs. Her body froze, with toes dangling over the thick tread. She had every right to approach the master like the other servants.
Nodding like a twit, she tried to hold that sentiment in her tummy, clenching it tight within her middle, but the grand mirror exposed a small brown face with quivering lips. Lyin’ to yourself in your head was as bad as lyin’ out loud.
And she weren’t …wasn’t a servant, not without papers.
Thunder moaned and set the house to shaking. A wail sounded, shattering the little bit of courage she possessed. Little Jonas must be taken with fright. He must need her.
Her slippers turned a little too easy and Precious pattered back to the nursery. It was better to see about the baby than tend to herself. Well, that weren’t a lie. It just felt heavy like one. Excuses had a way of piling up on your back until you fell over. Right now, Precious would tumble with the slightest wind.
She pushed open the wide paneled door. Sure enough, Jonas stood in the middle of his bed covers. He cried, but this time the noise was muted. She’d heard him cry for hours like a banshee, but he must know his Pa was in a bad way. She came closer, her voice set to a whisper. “Jonas, darlin’, brave boy. You must settle.”
The whites of the two-year-old’s eyes loomed large. Tears puddled, too, but the little man didn’t let them go. He must know silence was better.
Heart aching, she picked him up from his crib. “Birthday boy, all will be well.”
Thunder groaned, and light blazed through the thick glass panes. For a moment she fingered her apron to see if the Lord above had smote her for fibbing. Surely, a good God knew you couldn’t tell a babe the truth, that his father was demented with grief. “Jonas, sweetheart, go back to sleep; shut those blue eyes. You have your pappy’s crystal blues, but all of Eliza’s blonde locks. And she’s looking upon you smiling and singing. But she sure would get me for letting you fidget.”
When his mouth puckered, letting out a low spittin’ sob, Precious held him closer. Having him shouting would add more upset to the household. No, this little angel needed to be spared his father’s wrath. Lord knows, Jonas hadn’t seen enough of his pa, and viewing the man drunk or yelling wouldn’t be good.