The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (3 page)

The Gibson girls simultaneously shook their precious blonde heads. He had to admit, they
were
adorable. As cantankerous as he seemed, Lord Randall wasn’t immune to beauty. “No, my lord! You aren’t old at all!” one of them protested.

“No! You’re very young!” the other Miss Gibson added. “I’ve danced with men who are
much
older than you!”

“Somehow…” he said with a chuckle, “that doesn’t make me feel better.”

And with that, Lord Randall’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground.

Chapter Three

“You’re… dying, I’m afraid.”

As he listened to Andrew utter those words, Tristan wondered why he didn’t see it coming. He had been spending more and more time in his bed, but he didn’t think anything of it. He thought his problem was lethargy, not something lethal. He didn’t think anything like this could happen to him.

Dying.
Him? Himself!

“Dying,” Tristan repeated the word. “As in… putting me in a box and lowering me to the ground sort of dying?” When he saw Andrew’s quivering lip, he knew it had to be true. “Hmm.”

Tristan thought about all the signs he somehow managed to ignore. The weakness. The shortness of breath. The dizziness. The palpitations of his heart. He should have guessed something awful was bound to happen to him. “So,” Tristan spoke again, “what exactly is my infirmity?”

When he spoke, Andrew’s voice was very soft. “I-I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this. The doctor should be returning shortly. He should be the one to tell you…”

“You’ve told me enough already, Andrew. If I’m going to hear some bad news, I’d rather hear it from a friend.”

Andrew leaned forward in his chair, clutching his head in his hands. “The doctor would do a better job explaining this.”

“I’m asking
you
to tell me,” Tristan insisted. “I don’t think it’s fair that you know more about my condition than I do at the moment. Do you?”

Andrew raked a hand across his lips. He had never been in this situation before. Tristan was like a brother to him, and this was the most dreadful news he ever had to deliver. How could he possibly find the strength to look his friend in the eye and tell him why he would cease to exist? “It has something to do with your heart, Tristan. It’s enlarged… a-and it’s not working as it should.”

“My heart.” Tristan closed his eyes.

“You’ll have to ask the doctor if you want to know more. He seemed to know what ailed you as soon as he saw you. He did a bit of poking around and… that’s when he told me the severity of your condition,” Andrew went on. “I, um… you’ve been unconscious for many hours. When you fainted, I didn’t know what to think! You gave me quite a scare, you know. Miss Gibson almost fainted with you!”

He appreciated Andrew’s attempt at humor, but nothing seemed humorous at the moment. “Well, there’s nothing scarier than finding out you’re dying. How long do I have, anyway?”

“To live?” Andrew asked, hoping he didn’t sound insensitive. If he was in Tristan’s shoes, he didn’t think he would want his friend pitying him. Therefore, Andrew was trying to act as normal as he could. “Several months, I think. The doctor wouldn’t answer with certainty. With your symptoms, you could have anywhere from two months to two years. Whatever happens will probably happen suddenly.”

Tristan’s eyes were still closed. When he thought about how quickly the last two years had gone by, he shuddered. Had he done anything worthwhile in his entire life?
No.
He had nothing, he had no one, and he would die a nobody.

Tristan clenched a fist beneath his blanket. “Leave me,” he said.

Andrew, who had been staring at the floor, redirected his gaze to meet his friend’s. “You want me to go?”

Tristan nodded. “I need some time to myself. I need some time to think about all this.”

“I understand.” With a sigh, Andrew rose from his chair and retreated from the room, leaving Tristan alone in his bed.

Unfortunately, his respite didn’t last long. The doctor entered his bedchamber shortly after Andrew’s exit, repeating everything his friend just told him. Lord Randall didn’t have long to live. His condition was very serious, and there was no way to predict how long his heart would last.

Only one thing was certain: he
would
die. And his life expectancy was far shorter than he would like it to be.

Ever since he opened his eyes on this dreadful morning, Tristan felt like he was living a nightmare—one from which he couldn’t wake himself. Everything felt unreal. Fatality didn’t seem like something that could happen to him. He never gave any thought to the idea that his world would end. Someday soon, he would close his eyes and never open them. No one would see his face again. No more thoughts would cross his mind, because he would be dead.

His life.

Over.

If nothing else, it was a humbling thought.

Several hours after Andrew delivered the terrible news, Tristan finally rose from his bed. But he didn’t stay on his feet for long, for fear that his heart could explode from overexertion. Yesterday, he would have thought it was an illogical, ridiculous fear. Now, unfortunately, an exploding heart seemed like a very possible possibility. As he moved across the room, Tristan didn’t feel too terrible. He didn’t feel woozy or sick. Was it possible the doctor had misdiagnosed him?

Tristan pulled the curtains, covering his bedchamber in darkness. It was still light outside, but he favored the dark. A dim room seemed more appropriate for his dim mood. As he rolled back in bed, he wondered if he’d been too curt with Andrew. After all, Andrew was his only friend, and likely the only person who would miss him when he was gone.

“No one else will care,” Tristan said aloud as he rolled back in his bed. “No one else will be impacted by my death.”

Actually, he could think of more people who might even be
pleased
by his death. At the moment, some distant cousin stood to inherit Lord Randall’s title and estate. His cousin, as well as his cousin’s wife, had every reason to be delighted by the news. And why should they feel sad? They didn’t know Tristan well enough to care about his passing.

“I’m so… worthless,” Tristan sighed, realizing how little value his life had. He made no mark on the world—none whatsoever. Now he had the audacity to feel sorry for himself. “I should have done something worthwhile when I had the chance.”

As he sat in absolute silence, surrounded by darkness, Tristan concentrated on his heartbeat. His heart was beating rapidly, perhaps a bit painfully, but it was beating nonetheless.

He wasn’t dead yet, was he?

All of a sudden, Tristan sat up in bed and shouted, “Dubois!”

A few seconds later, his French butler appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern. “Oui, my lord?”

“You must send for Andrew Lamb. I must speak with him at once!”

Dubois lifted an eyebrow so high, it nearly reached his scalp. “But… my lord… do you not know?”

“Know what?”

“Monsieur Lamb has been here all day,” Dubois explained. “He is in zee parlor as we speak.”

Tristan’s eyes fluttered when he heard the news. How long had it been since he sent Andrew away? Three hours? Four? Even if he had no other friends in the world, at least Andrew cared about him. “Will you fetch him for me, Dubois?”

“Oui, my lord. Of course.” With a bow, Dubois swiftly exited the room.

When the butler was gone, Tristan threw back his blankets and rose from bed. He didn’t want to be bedridden when Andrew returned. As of yet, Tristan didn’t have much difficulty moving around. He reopened the curtains, lowered himself to a chair near the window, and waited for Andrew's arrival.

Lord Randall was done with self-pity. He didn’t want to spend another moment feeling sorry for himself. He needed to do something worthwhile, and he hoped Andrew could help him with that.

A few minutes later, Andrew popped his head in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Andrew. Come in,” Tristan responded, waving for his friend to enter. “Look, I’m not in bed anymore! You should be proud of me.”

As Andrew stepped inside, he lowered his eyes to the floor. Ever since he learned about Tristan’s condition, he felt awful for criticizing his friend’s idleness. “I… well…”

“Come on. Don’t be sheepish with me!” Tristan exclaimed. “Everything you said about me the other day was completely and utterly true. I know I’ve been wasting my life—what little of it I have left—in a bed. That’s why I need your help, Andrew. There’s no one else I can turn to.”

Andrew lifted his head, taking a long look at his ill-fated friend. For the first time, he saw the deep, dark circles below Tristan’s eyes. It wasn’t the face of a healthy man. “What would you have me do?” he asked. “If there’s anything I could do to help you, you know I would.”

“Good.” Tristan actually cracked a smile as he spoke. “I need you to help me find a wife.”

Chapter Four

Her life was over at two and twenty. The more she thought about what she let herself become, the more she hated herself. For one night’s pleasure, she traded her virtue. And she would pay for it for the rest of her life.

Now that she was with child, Leona Lennox spent most of her time crying, or considering what few options she had. She was, without a doubt, a fallen woman. She had disgraced herself. She could no longer call herself a lady, show her face with pride, or spend time in decent company.

She had yet to tell anyone of her little indiscretion, or what that indiscretion had resulted in. When she built up the courage, Leona knew she would have to tell her father. And she would pray he wouldn’t flog her, throttle her, or strangle her in her sleep. She had seen him lose his temper over the most trifling things. She shuddered to think of how he would react when he found out she was carrying some man’s baby.

Leona studied herself in front of the looking glass. She crushed her dress against her body, trying to see if there was an increase in her stomach. How long had it been since she was with Lord Wintergreen? Two months? It was too soon to see any change in her appearance. Fortunately, most of her dresses had very high waistlines, which would conceal her for some time. If she didn’t see a change, no one else would. .

Leona sneered at her reflection. She couldn’t stand to look at herself, because it reminded her of wasted opportunities. When her mother was alive, she said her daughter’s pretty face would bring her good fortune. Her mother might have been right, had Leona not wasted herself on a tryst with a man who cared nothing for her.

She thought about writing to Lord Wintergreen, but what good would it do her? He didn’t exactly seem like an honorable man. What could she possibly say in a letter?
Lord Wintergreen, I am carrying your child? Please help!
It shamed her to think she didn’t even know his given name. He was practically a stranger!

As much as she wanted to blame Lord Wintergreen for her unfortunate circumstances, she couldn’t let it all fall on him alone. The seed was sown by her own hand as much as his.

Leona continued to stare at the looking glass as her eyes filled with tears. “What is wrong with you??” she screamed at herself. “How could you do that!? Why?!” She turned away from the mirror, sickened by the sight of her own face. She fell onto her bed and buried her head in a pillow. “Why…?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Miss Lennox?” a tiny voice called to her from the other side of the door. “Miss Lennox, are you alright?”

In an attempt to stop her nose from leaking, Leona snorted. “I’m fine, Mary,” she answered her maid.

“Are you sure, Miss Lennox? I heard you shouting just a moment ago, and now you sound like you might be crying.”

“I assure you, there is nothing out of the ordinary!” Leona insisted.

“Alright, Miss. If you say so…”

When she thought she heard the maid’s footsteps retreating, Leona sat up in bed with a gasp. “Oh! Mary?”

The footsteps halted. “Yes, Miss?”

“Do you know where my father is? I… I would like to speak with him.”

“I believe he’s in the drawing room, reading the London Post,” Mary answered. “Will you be going down to see him?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind, will you tell him I’ll be coming down shortly?”

“Of course.”

Mary’s footsteps receded, and Leona spun toward the mirror. Good God, she looked awful! Her eyes were redder than they had ever been, and her nose was dripping uncontrollably. She needed to compose herself. She couldn’t face him with crimson eyes, could she? No matter how pitiful she looked, it wouldn’t help her cause.

Leona spent enough time poring over her options. There was nothing she could do to fix her situation. Her only choice was to tell her father everything and try to appeal to his merciful nature.

“Merciful nature?
My
father?” she said aloud. “Well, that’s certainly being optimistic…”

Leona could feel her shoulders stiffen as she left her room. She felt like she was marching toward a hanging. Her
own
hanging. She would be lucky if her father
didn’t
hang her after everything was said and done.