Authors: Samantha Garman
Clamping her jaw shut, Ivy’s green eyes narrowed in resentment. She would not give the woman the satisfaction of an outburst, which would only prove Ivy’s hoyden tendencies.
“Perhaps you will not be hopeless in society after all,” the Duchess intoned loftily, her gaze resting on Ivy. “Dinner will be at eight. Benson will show you to your rooms.”
With no choice but to take their leave, the girls rose and moved slowly to the door. Willow stopped abruptly and turned. “Thank you for taking us into your home.”
“I am glad at least one of you is diplomatic and pragmatic.” The Duchess glanced at Ivy. “It is best not to be ruled by emotions.” She looked out the window in resolute dismissal.
“Thank you for my first lesson,” Ivy echoed tonelessly. She did not want to be penniless, but being a lady of society did not appeal to her either. She was trapped in the middle of two very different lives. She knew when she booked passage to England that she and her sister would be thrust into a foreign world, a world of guidelines and restrictions, but she had no idea what to expect until now. Her head was a jumbled mess as she left the drawing room and made her way upstairs.
When the Duchess was finally alone, she sighed deeply. She had not expected this at all; a feeling of reluctant admiration and hope was spreading through her. Willow could be molded, but Ivy was already formed. She was forceful and steadfast in her anger. She was magnificent.
She reminded the Duchess so much of herself.
Chapter II
Hampshire, England
A winsome blonde pushed a bottle of fifty-year-old brandy in front of her family’s middle-aged butler as he reclined in a scarred wooden chair in the kitchen.
The man had been employed as Lord and Lady Fitzgerald’s butler for more than twenty years. He managed to give everyone who came to call the impression that he was upright, good at his job and even happy to do it. Little did they know that Cartwright was easily bribed for sensitive information, and it only took a bottle of good liquor. He seemed to know something about everyone, and footmen and maids rarely spoke in jest around him, afraid he would report everything to the master and mistress of the house.
He was loyal to no one but himself.
“Now, what could this be for?” Cartwright drawled, touching the bottle of brandy.
The young woman’s hazel eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. “You know
what
, Cartwright. Father had a meeting with the Earl of Stanton, and I want to know what happened!” she demanded. She pursed her lips in obvious irritation.
The butler smiled. “Seems to me they were discussing betrothals.”
Hazel eyes shifted from sparks of ire to warmth and delight. “Really? Anything else, Cartwright?” she asked hopefully.
He raised an eyebrow.
This woman will make her future husband miserable
, he thought derisively. Though she was beautiful and well bred, she was incredibly spiteful, and when riled she had a temper that rivaled an asp’s. She would not make for a welcome bed partner.
“If all goes well, you might find yourself engaged in a few weeks.”
Tossing an errant blonde curl over her left shoulder, she haughtily inclined her head and left the kitchen without saying another word. She went to the salon, thinking of her pending engagement. Though it would not do well to get ahead of herself, she did not believe for an instant that it would not come to pass.
Emily sat on a couch with her skirts fetchingly spread around her and opened a book. She hoped to lose herself in it while she waited for her friends to arrive for tea.
She thought of the girls she would ask to be her bridesmaids. Not her cousin, Lucy. She was awkwardly rotund and would throw off the entire bridal party vision. Maybe her cousin Victoria…she was tall and graceful, but not very attractive. She would not steal focus away from Emily during the procession. And then there were the two girls coming for tea, Mathilda and Alyssa.
They would love to be bridesmaids
, Emily thought.
Both would look just a
trifle
washed out in yellow
. She smiled cruelly.
“Miss Mason and Miss Alexander are here, Miss Emily,” Cartwright articulated in a perfectly docile tone from the entrance of the salon.
“Send them in, Cartwright.”
A moment later, two young ladies entered. After they all exchanged pleasantries and Emily had tea served for them, Mathilda, a petite brunette said, “I understand you are going to Paris for a few weeks?”
Emily nodded. “I am. I will be staying with my favorite aunt for a spell. My parents are allowing me a full French wardrobe for the Season this year.”
Alyssa’s blue eyes twinkled inquisitively. “Are you leaving soon?”
Emily smiled and shrugged. “Soon enough.”
Mathilda and Alyssa exchanged looks. “What does that mean?” Alyssa asked.
Emily took a deep breath and then decided she had to confide in someone, and it might as well be her two closest friends.
“I believe I will leave after my betrothal to the Earl of Stanton is arranged,” Emily said simply. She tried not to smile, but an errant grin crossed her face. She was like a cat that had just eaten an entire bowl of cream and had gone back for seconds.
“The Earl of Stanton?
Truly
?” Mathilda cried out, knowing Emily had her heart set on becoming titled.
Emily nodded. “He was here visiting my father this morning.”
“He must be on the verge of offering for you,” Alyssa agreed.
“Can you imagine? Emily, you are going to be the next Countess of Stanton!” Mathilda said, trying in vain to hide her jealously and obviously doing a poor job of it.
Emily could no longer keep from boasting. Her hazel eyes danced merrily as she blurted, “He has been here to see Father numerous times in the past month!”
Mathilda reached over and grabbed Emily’s hand. “Have you thought about your wedding?”
Emily attempted to rein in her satisfaction, but it was difficult. The Earl of Stanton was one of the most eligible bachelors of the year. He had eluded the clutches of numerous young women and their matchmaking mothers, and now Emily was on the verge of becoming his fiancée.
I will have everything I have ever desired,
she thought gleefully.
She would become the Countess of Stanton.
It was all but settled.
***
Cyrus Corbin Archibald, the fifth Earl of Stanton, waited for his solicitor to take a seat across the massive oak desk. Nathan Crosby was barely over five feet tall, yet he managed to convey a formidable presence when he wished. He maintained that rare ability when imparting bad news. Usually admiring of Nathan’s talent, at the moment Cy abhorred it, since he was about to be subjected to it directly.
“You cannot continue paying the debt this way, My Lord. If you go on much longer, you will have to sell everything you own. The interest alone is a small fortune,” Nathan said, shuffling papers and laying a few on the desk in front of the Earl.
Cy did not even glance at them; he already knew what they said. Looking at them would just annoy him further. “I am aware,” Cy voiced blandly, adjusting his long legs in the plush leather chair. He sighed resolutely. “I have no choice but to marry for wealth.” The idea made his throat tighten, and his stomach burn.
Nathan Crosby had been the Earl’s solicitor since Cy had come of age. Though the title was hundreds of years old and full of prestige, Stanton heirs never seemed to possess any sort of business acumen, including Cy’s father. After inheriting the family title, Cy quickly realized that he had the elusive talent for business, and more importantly, he actually enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, Cy did not have the chance to double a stout inheritance. He barely had two pence to scratch together, not to mention the matter of repaying the debt his father had left him, along with hefty interest for such a lengthy delay in remittance.
Only a select few knew of the debt or how it had been incurred, and Nathan Crosby was one of them. The late Earl had borrowed money from the late Duke of Cavehill. The man had a weakness for gambling and cards, but no good fortune. Mortgaged and indebted up to his ears, and with the family estate nearly on the auction block, Cy’s father borrowed money to save the family estate for his only son. The Duke of Cavehill died only four years later, and the Earl of Stanton died two years following.
At the age of six and twenty, Cy inherited his title, along with an enormous debt between two men who were no longer living.
Cy vowed to repay the debt, restore the family fortune and marry a woman of quality. These things alone would restore the family title to respect and honor and enable him to finally live the life of a true gentleman.
Possessing a strong desire to right his situation, Cy believed himself completely capable of doing so. Thinking that if he had inherited wealth instead of debt, he would have already tripled his family fortune, but because he was financially crippled by such a colossal debt, Cy could only invest small amounts at certain times, and the returns never came close to matching the interest that was owed. His existing land, estate and investments made him appear to be a wealthy man, but in actuality, he was barely solvent.
It angered him to no end. He pledged that no future generation of his family would suffer from his father’s reckless choices. The debt would end with him, even if that meant selling his title on the marriage mart to snag himself a wealthy wife.
Cy’s morning had been rotten. First, his favorite stallion slipped a shoe. Then, his perfectly fitted brown jacket sleeve ripped. And now he was forced to discuss marriage plans to prevent imminent financial ruin, almost as if he were discussing the weather with a passerby.
“You could mortgage some of your smaller properties,” Nathan suggested. “Or sell your investments in the shipping companies.”
Cy shook his head. “Both options are out of the question. I will not do as my father and mortgage my lands, leaving me penniless. If I marry a woman who has a large enough dowry, I can wipe the debt clean, start turning a profit from my existing investments, and build back my rightful wealth. I want this debt cleared without leaving me destitute, landless and with no hope for the future. Besides, it is past time I marry and produce an heir,” he stated sardonically.
“Is it to be Miss Emily Fitzgerald then?” Nathan asked, knowing his employer had been spending a great deal of time with the young woman’s father.
Cy thought of the attractive blonde. Though she was beautiful and the daughter of a baron, she inspired no deep emotion in him. She would be perfect, but more specifically her dowry would cover his inherited debt in full, including interest. They both would lead separate lives; he had no qualms about shackling himself to a well-bred woman who would act as his hostess and provide him with an heir.
Sitting back in his chair, Cy pressed his fingertips together in thought. “I will send correspondence to Miss Fitzgerald’s father. Have the marriage contract drawn up.”
“As you wish.” Nathan took off his glasses and polished them for a moment in silence. After he put them back on, he looked at Cy and with complete sincerity said, “Congratulations.”
Cy smiled ironically. “Thank you, Nathan. You always know just what to say.”
***
London, England
Lord Brandon Caldwell stepped off the cobblestone street, adjusted his cravat and straightened his brown overcoat. Walking down Bond Street for a few minutes, he then turned down a narrow alleyway littered with scattered garbage and other refuse. A dirty orphan boy, who was inadequately clad for the English winter, darted out in front of Caldwell. His big, brown eyes pleaded for a handout. Lord Caldwell sniffed in disdain and peered down at the child as if he were vermin. The boy recognized the look and scampered off through soiled snow, glad he had not received the back of the gentleman’s hand.
When Caldwell reached the end of the alley, he knocked on a chipped red door, and a moment later a middle-aged woman with a heaving chest and wearing far too much rouge answered. She smiled in greeting and quickly ushered him inside. A dark hallway opened into a large, dimly lit room decorated in red silks and plush brocade.
“Good afternoon,
Monsieur
Caldwell,” the woman purred with an engaging smile. “It is such a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you today?”
“Is Angeline available?” Caldwell asked.
Madame Rousard did not care for the pompous gentleman, but he came to her brothel on a regular basis nonetheless. Caldwell paid well in return for clean girls and the utmost discretion. Angeline was available, but it would cost him, and Madame Rousard had no doubt he would pay.
“
Mais oui
, anything for you,” she cooed flirtatiously.
Caldwell inclined his head and followed Madame Rousard down the squeaky wooden hallway. Sounds of ecstasy and the scent of heavy perfume filtered through thick doors on either side of the hall. When they came to a dead end, Madame Rousard knocked on a door to the right and opened it.
The room was decorated in pastel lavender and white, and a young woman lay on the bed wearing a white, silk robe. Her long, brown hair was straight and covered one eye. She kept her gaze lowered, her youthful cheeks stained with a woman’s first blush.
“Angeline,” Madame Rousard announced, glancing at the girl. She knew Lord Caldwell preferred his women on the brink of womanhood. He liked them nubile and young, receiving his cruel pleasure with a feigned cry of desire. The Madame closed the door, a warning knell of what was to come.
He slowly took off his coat and walked towards Angeline. He grabbed her right arm, pulled her towards him forcefully, and then parted her robe and slipped his hands inside. She looked up and watched him with calm eyes, but her heart raced, and he smiled maliciously when he gripped her delicate wrist in a painful grasp.
“Will you beat me again tonight?” Angeline ventured, her voice trembling in a faint Irish lilt.
Madame Rousard had given all her girls French names, claiming that the French were better lovers, hoping men would pay more for their services. Angeline tried not to think of her given name, or her dead parents and brother buried in Ireland, and a life she should have already forgotten. Best to leave it in the past, dead, for there was no hope to ever return to it. She had no one now, except a man whose incredibly handsome face hid his twisted cravings.