“You poisoned him?” Kenneth was blinking his one working eye, clearly trying to sort things out.
“I knew we couldn't trust him. He was trying to poison me with the wine with his ring. I had to act first to ensure we would succeed. Please, do not hate me, for I did only what the situation required.”
“Hate you?” Kenneth turned to her now, hauling himself upright at great expense to his own comfort, it was clear. “How could I ever hate you? You who have shown me the truth of the world, who have taken me out of the pits of despair and reshaped my world dramatically for the better, I could never hate you, Leah, never,” and he sloppily slid onto one knee before her, his battered head bobbing up and down, and she felt overwhelming love for him. “I love you Leah, now and always, so if you would be my wife, I would be humbled for the rest of my days.”
“But all the world would balk at us.” Leah protested, batting tears from her eyes. “What would they say?”
“Bugger on them and all.” Kenneth insisted. “I have never cared for their opinion, so why should I now?”
“Oh my.” Leah wiped her eyes clear. “Have you a ring?” Leah smiled, catching her breath, taking his bruising face in her shaking hands.
“I haven't.” he smiled back at her.
“Of bloody 'course I'll marry you,” and she kissed him long and deep, and she felt so flooded with joy that she forgot for a time that she was in fact a person. For a few moments, she existed as nothing but the feeling of pure happiness and love, and then returned to the world as Kenneth withdrew from the embrace.
“Oh bugger.” He winced, lying back on the pier. “I think my jaw is broken.”
“Oh!” Leah exclaimed, laughing out as she began to cry tears of joy. “It is my turn to read at your bedside, it seems.”
“Ha!” Kenneth lay flat. “I think perhaps, I may have more broken ribs than you did.”
“I should have no doubt.” She smiled brightly, caressing his cheek ever so lightly. It was swollen to the size of an apple.
“Fetch us a coach, would you?” Kenneth mumbled.
“I would.” she leaned down and gave him a peck on his forehead. Already she could see people gathering in the docks again, no doubt curious about the recent spurt of commotion.
“I love you.” Kenneth whispered.
“And I you.” She smiled back, and began to hail down some of the new onlookers.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
After several weeks of resting and recovering, of caring and loving for one another, of ignoring the letters from reporters, the time finally came to plan Leah and Kenneth's wedding.
Neither Kenneth nor Leah fancied a spectacle of a wedding, but the Duchess was a force to be reckoned with. After their return to the manor, the newspapers, the stories, and Riphook's trial, Kenneth's mother had changed her tune.
It was as if she had suddenly accepted her family for what it was, and not what she was trying to force it to become. Once she had come to terms with Leah as a daughter-in-law and the crookedness of her late brother-in-law, the old Duchess apologized to Kenneth and Leah.
If they would behave properly, and raise their children properly, then Juliet would be a mother and grandmother to the house with joy in her heart.
A major factor in the peace treaty between mother and son was the wedding, and so, despite the young couple's desires for a small ceremony, the wedding became a major affair.
It seemed all of London had been gathered there on the sprawling gardens of Kenneth's estate that shining day. What's more, the newspapers encamped around the property for some time, hoping to catch bits and pieces more concerning the mysterious Duchess-to-be, her adventurous fiancé, and the late Lord Wilson.
All came around in spectacular ceremony as Digby, primed and primped by the tailors by Piccadilly, walked Leah down the aisle.
Kenneth beamed brightly atop the dais, and all the Lords of London and beyond seemed stunned to see the ruffian of parliament in his finest military attire, standing tall and proud for all the world to see.
The Marquess of Winchester stood beside him, remade by the hardships his mind had briefly endured. No longer was he the laugh of the town and the herald of parties. He appeared quite serious, yet, his face on this day still let out a shine of radiant jubilance.
Kenneth caught himself flinching a tad when Leah slid the ring over his still-healing knuckles. She smiled and softly rubbed across the knuckle with her thumb.
The priest was delivering his piece, yet the both of them were so caught in each other's trance, the both of them done up to their fullest extent, that when it came time for the vows the priest grew quiet, and they continued to stare at one another.
This gave everyone a bit of a laugh when Kenneth shook himself awake and chuckled, although the priest seemed irritated by the disruption of ceremony.
So, they were wed, and the bells of St. Paul’s Cathedral rang out in their encompassing chorus, raining down sweet symphonies upon all of their heads.
Through the great doors they went as flower petals flew, and then both of them were so embarrassed by the attention when they realized just how many people were thronging around them.
Red faced, they ducked their heads, and Leah grabbed hold of Kenneth's hand. Instead of making their way to the waiting carriage that would take them to the Marquess's social rooms for the reception, they barged through the crowd toward the corner.
They were both laughing at the puzzled faces around them as they made clear of the crowd. Kenneth knew not where to turn, but Leah led him by the hand down the street and then around another corner.
There she scampered around the edge of the Carlton House stables, and they arrived on the stretching green of St. James’s Park.
“Have we lost them?” Kenneth laughed and smiled, taking Leah up in her arms much to her sudden surprise.
“I should say so.” She giggled.
“What shall we do with the day, wife? Now that we are away from all of them?” Kenneth carried her a few steps through the park and then set her down, laughing. “I must catch my breath.”
“Whatever we please, husband.” Leah winked back to him. She looked stunning in the elegant wedding gown as the breeze lightly batted by.
“It is fun to say, is it not?” Kenneth looked at her, grinning ear to ear.
“It is.” she agreed, slowing her laugh to a chuckle. “Although I do not know why.”
“Perhaps there is a reason.” he smirked, and she blushed.
“Oh dear.” Leah said, mocking concern.
“What is it?” Kenneth perked up and followed her gaze.
“They've found us.”
“So, they have.” Kenneth squinted over the green to see the wedding goer's beginning to congregate.
“I suppose we shall have to rejoin them.” he eventually said, resting his hand on his hip. “They will begin to walk to us.”
“You are correct.” Leah took his arm and nestled beside him. “Let us do what we must. Your mother will talk of it for years to come.”
“So be it.” Kenneth took in a long, drawn-out breath of air through his nostrils. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and the sun shone brilliantly over the green and then the further clusters of London church spires.
“It's a beautiful day.” Leah commented as they slowly strolled back towards the wedding guests.
“Stunning, one could say.” Kenneth joked, and she stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Well.” He cleared his throat as they reached the edge of the green. “Let us celebrate!” and a roar of approval came up the crowd.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess
About the Book
Changing the past is not an option, but you can always try to define the future...
The poisoned needle that threatens a little child’s life is the only clue for Miss Lucretia Brent to solve the puzzle of a deadly disease that comes upon the Dukedom of Breckenridge.
Sampson Claridge, the fraught Duke of Breckenridge has to manage not only his dukedom but also his little sister. Completely enamored by the new governess, he needs her help to find the way out of the impending tragedy that threatens his kin.
Sins of the past awake and they are all used for blackmail. As time runs short, Lucretia and Sampson have only a few hours to solve the puzzle or forever be gone.
Chapter 1
“Miss Lucretia! Miss Lucretia!”
She glanced up from her task of assisting the three and four-year-old foundlings into their day clothes. Willie, a ten-year-old orphan wearing dark grey woolens and a shirt that used to be white, waited at the door for Lucretia’s permission to enter. He bounced from foot to foot, his round face eager. Picking up a brush, she stroked it through the tiny girl’s thin, scraggly hair, gently tugging out the knots acquired during her restless sleep the night before. The child stuck her thumb in her mouth to suck.
“Now, you are too old for that, Rose,” Lucretia admonished quietly. “You are no longer a baby, am I right?”
Rose pulled her digit from between her lips, her pinched face puckering as though she were about to cry.
“You are a big girl now, sweetling,” Lucretia told her, reaching around Rose’s neck to gently stroke her cheek. “And big girls do not suck their thumbs.”
“I sorry, Miss Luce.” Rose scrubbed her eyes with her small fists.
Lucretia waved for Willie to enter the chamber filled with small, narrow beds. Toys were scattered on the stone floor and thin, colorful rugs. Two children quarreled over a wooden horse, and Lucretia decided it was not yet fierce enough to warrant her interference. “You look as if you need to use the privy, boy,” she said, as Willie stood beside her, still shifting from foot to foot with impatience.
“Mrs. Marsh sent me to fetch you,” Willie said, his missing front teeth clear as he grinned. “I think it is important.”
Lucretia reached out and straightened his collar, tucking his shirt into his breeches tidily. “Have you finished your breakfast, Willie?”
“Yes, Miss. It was stewed apples with cinnamon. I loves cinnamon.”
“Good. Now run back to Mrs. Marsh and tell her I must see these children to breakfast, then I will come to her office.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And then you practice your sums. I will look at your work shortly.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Willie ran through the toddlers’ room and out the door as Lucretia rose from the three-legged stool she sat upon. Breaking up the quarrel over the toy horse, she clapped her hands. “Come now, children. Time to break your fast. Line up at the door.”
At her words, the nine small orphans lined up obediently, waiting for her to lead them to the dining hall. As she was more frail than the others, Lucretia picked Rose up and carried her, then walked briskly down the corridor with her charges giggling and chattering behind her. The small dining room at the Foundling Hospital was on the same floor as the ward for small children, thus she did not have to take them far. Handing them over to the kitchen matron, Lucretia then walked up the many flights of stairs to the upper chambers.
Pausing at a window to observe her reflection, Lucretia tidied her red-gold tresses, coiled into a neat bun at her neck. Wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek, she inspected her light complexion and wished, not for the first time, she could wipe away her scattering of freckles from her nose. Of all her features, she liked her eyes the best – light brown, like new honey fresh from the comb. Most people who met her complimented her on her unusual eye color.
Straightening her pale blue gown trimmed with white lace, Lucretia retied her apron, and decided she appeared presentable before knocking on the Hospital Matron’s door.
“Come in,” came the call from within.
Lucretia opened the door and entered, closing it softly behind her. She curtsied to Mrs. Marsh, seated behind her desk, and waited for her invitation to approach. As one of the administrators of the Foundling Hospital, Mrs. Marsh could often be quite harsh in her discipline. Yet, once Lucretia grew old enough to help with the care and education with the other orphans, she and Mrs. Marsh got along quite well.
“Come here, child,” Mrs. Marsh said, at last looking up from her papers.
As she often did when inside Mrs. Marsh’s private domain, Lucretia gazed longingly as the shelves and rows of books. The matron kept an extensive collection, and willingly loaned them to Lucretia, always with the admonition to return it quickly and without damage. If any of her precious books came back not in the same condition, the lending of books ceased immediately.
“Sit down.”
Lucretia smiledbefore taking one of the chairs in front of the desk. “You wished to see me, Mrs.Marsh?”
“Yes, I did, dear.” Mrs. Marsh gazed at her with sorrow in her pale blue eyes. She folded her hands atop her desk, her full lips thinned, tense.
Lucretia felt a chill creep down her spine. Something was wrong. While a summons to visit the matron in her office was quite ordinary, Mrs. Marsh nearly always greeted Lucretia with a warm smile, and sometimes with a cup of tea. She ran her recent actions and behavior through her mind, thinking she had done something to attract the matron’s ire. If she had erred in some way, she had no idea what that could be.
“I am in receipt of a letter, Lucretia,” Mrs. Marsh said, picking up a piece of parchment. “It appears His Grace, the Duke of Breckenridge, is in need of a governess.”
Lucretia felt her heart stop. Resting in her lap, her fingers twisted together in anxiety.
No, she cannot possibly mean me. I cannot leave here.
Swallowing hard, she stared, unseeing, downward. The Foundling Hospital was the only home she’d ever known. While most young men and women her age left the Hospital with the education necessary to begin a trade outside, she expected to spend her life here, caring for the children. She wanted nothing else – not even marriage and her own offspring.
“Lucretia?”
Glancing up, she forced herself to meet Mrs. Marsh’s eyes. “Perhaps Helen Murphy will make a good governess,” she ventured, hoping Mrs. Marsh had asked her here for her opinion only. Yet, deep down, she knew better. The matron’s tension would not manifest itself if she merely wanted Lucretia’s judgement.
“Helen is seventeen,” Mrs. Marsh said, her tone quiet, kind. “You are twenty, three years past the time you should be out of our care and custody. No, child, you must go to the Duke’s estates in Gloucestershire, and become His Grace’s new governess.”
A sudden flare of anger overrode her fear. She straightened her back. “No.”
Mrs. Marsh gazed at her, her brows lowering. “Do not defy me in this, Lucretia. Your time with us has ended. You must venture out into the world.”
“You cannot make me. I refuse to go.”
“I will not get angry with you at this moment,” the matron went on, her tone hardening. “I know of your fears. However, I will not tolerate this insubordination from you. You will leave this house and go to into the Duke’s service.”
Lucretia merely sat and waited. I will not go. I will not.
“It breaks my heart to see you leave here, child,” Mrs. Marsh went on. “But your only choice is Breckenridge or the workhouse.”
“You need me here,” Lucretia said, her tone as level as she could make it. “I look after the children, I keep them clean, teach them manners, and their letters and arithmetic.”
“And that is what makes you an excellent governess, Lucretia,” Mrs. Marsh replied. “Please do not fr
et. You will have your room and board, clothing, plus a nice salary. In time, perhaps the Duke will arrange a suitable marriage for you. The workhouse is a harsh place, and I would not see you go there unless you leave me no other option. Child, this Hospital is a temporary home only.”
“But you need me.” Lucretia gripped her skirts until her knuckles turned white. Workhouses are terrible places, but how can I leave everything I have ever known behind? Surely Mrs. Marsh will have pity on me.
Mrs. Marsh nodded. “You have done quite well here, too, I will admit. The other orphans are respectful and well-mannered, and during your tenure here many have gone to have good lives because of you. Believe me, you will be missed.”
Drawing a deep breath, Lucretia forced calm into her frazzled nerves, released her anger. “Then there is no chance of my remaining here?”
“None.”
“When must I leave?”
Mrs. Marsh glanced at the letter. “His Grace expects you in six days.”
“Am I dismissed, Mrs. Marsh?”
“Not yet.”
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