A Lady for the Forsaken Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “You would bet one of your own daughters? Have you no sense?” the Earl asked.

  Harry hesitated to answer. Was he going too far? Not if I win.

  “Not my daughters, My Lord, my niece. She is of age and a beauty.”

  The Earl raised an eyebrow. “If she is of age, then why was she not introduced during this past Season? If I am correct, your daughters were present throughout the Season, why not your niece?”

  Harry squirmed in his seat. “There were ... money constraints, My Lord. But she is a beauty … I assure you.”

  He hoped that the Earl would not see through his lies. No, Madelene was a wealthy young woman – his brother had made sure of it. However, he could not go against the wishes of his wife; his niece was not allowed to join his daughters during their first appearance during the past Season – Cornelia was jealous of the girl. The Earl scratched his jaw, bringing attention to the long scar across his right cheek and jaw. There had been stories about how the Earl had acquired the injury. Some had spoken of his ambush during the War, others swore by the fact that he was a spy and was caught by Bonaparte’s men, and yet others believed it to be a gash from an angry husband’s knife. Whatever the reason may be, it gave him a fierce countenance. But Harry had no time to be intimidated; he needed the Earl to agree to his notion. Once he did, the others would as well, and then he would be back in the game.

  “Okay, Huntington, I’ll sponsor you a few chips. If you win, you keep your winnings, but if you lose ...” He let the words hang in the air.

  Harry’s face lit up. “Yes, My Lord! I understand perfectly.”

  The Earl pushed a couple of chips towards him, and he lunged for them, greedily scooping them up. The other gamblers shook their heads but joined the table once more. Two cards were dealt to each man, and they placed their bets.

  “This is my lucky hand, gentlemen, you mark my words,” he said.

  *****

  A woman grabbed Madelene’s hand, her eyes full of suffering.

  “Me son, miss, he has a terrible cough. He be only four, miss.”

  Compassion filled her heart as she looked at the harassed woman. Madelene didn’t mind the stench that seemed to seep from every pore of the woman. She had smelt far worse before and was not so unfeeling as to remove herself from the woman’s firm grip. Instead, she brought her other hand to rest on the woman’s hand. Giles, her father’s right hand and now her protector, signalled that it was time to leave.

  “We have to leave, Miss Madelene. Maria will have my head if I don’t bring you back on time.”

  Madelene sighed. She would much rather stay and help the needy, but neither did she want to give her abigail a reason to worry. She dug into her little purse and pulled out a few coins for the woman.

  “For your son,” she said, placing the coins into the woman’s hands. “Go to Doctor Roxwell– he will help you.”

  The woman raised Madelene’s hands and kissed them, tears streaming down her dirty face.

  “Thank ye, miss, thank ye. God sent, ye be. Now me Tom can get some help.”

  Madelene patted her hand. “You’re welcome, Anne. Just make sure that you take your son soon.” She turned to the other woman who was clamouring to get to her. Her heart cried out to each and every one of them, but there was only one of her and so many of them. How could she possibly help them all?

  “Miss Madelene,” Giles warned.

  “Yes, alright, Giles, just a moment.” She turned to address the women. “Ladies, please, I have to go.”

  Words of dismay ran through the crowd. One woman shouted out from the back.

  “When will ye be back, miss? I be suffering, I am. Me husband has disappeared, and the little ones be needing some food.”

  Madelene looked helplessly at the crowd, at a loss at what to do. She had asked the Reverend Binkley to send word to the poor to meet her at the little church, but she had had no idea that there would be so many. Giles stepped in front of her when the women started to crowd her, all shouting out their ailments and money woes. The Reverend, who had been silently watching her interaction with the women, stepped forward.

  “Ladies, your silence, please.”

  He was a slender man that possessed a voice so powerful that it was enough to subdue the women. He waited for the last of the chattering to stop before continuing.

  “I know that you are suffering, and many of you are desperate, but nothing can become of this behaviour! Miss Madelene came here with the purpose of helping as many women as she could, but there are too many of you. Now, she has engagements elsewhere, but I am sure that she will be back soon.”

  He looked at her then, and she nodded– she had every intention of returning. He gave her a quick smile and returned to the crowd.

  “Please, return to your homes, and I will send word of when next she will come again.”

  There were some murmuring and unhappy faces, but he fixed them with a stare that soon dispersed the crowd. Giles only stepped away when the last of the women had left, allowing her to approach the Reverend.

  “Reverend Binkley, I cannot thank you enough. I will be sure to return soon, but now I must hurry.”

  He took her hand and dropped a feather light kiss, bowing.

  “It is an honour, Miss Madelene. It is not often that we have a woman as beautiful as you are grace our humble church. You have a beautiful heart to match your outward appearance.”

  She smiled, but it was somewhat strained. “Thank you, Reverend … Giles?” she said, turning to him.

  Giles gave a short nod and whistled, alerting the carriage driver to come closer. She pulled her hand out of the Reverend’s grasp and felt some tension in his hands. It appeared that he did not want to let go of her hand. She gave a last tug, and he released her, smiling into her eyes.

  “I hope to see you soon, Miss Madelene,” he said.

  Madelene opened her mouth but was at a loss at what to say. Discomfort settled in as time elapsed and the silence grew longer. The Reverend was sending her strange looks that set her on edge. One of the women had informed her that he was looking for a worthy wife, and Madelene just hoped that he didn’t have any designs on her. When she saw the carriage approach them, she couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Farewell, Reverend. I’ll send word of my next visit.”

  Madelene all but ran to the carriage, only relaxing when she was well ensconced in its walls. Giles sat up front in his usual seat, conversing with the driver. Usually, she would insist that he join her in the carriage, but today she was grateful that she was alone to think. If she didn’t know any better, she would believe that the Reverend had a tendre for her.

  “But that’s preposterous! He is a man of the cloth, a respectable man whom the community respects. Surely he wasn’t communicating his interest in me?”

  If that were so, then the Reverend would be added to the list of the many men who had set their hearts on her but were rejected. Madelene had no interest in being the wife of an English gentleman. She was forced to reside alongside them, but her real home was upon the sea. No respectable Englishman would allow her the freedom that she so desperately needed. She untied the ribbons below her chin and removed her bonnet, glad to be rid of the troublesome contraption. Maria insisted that she wear it whenever she went out, but she found it hideous. She would lief have her curls loose and free from any contraptions that the Directoire cooked up in their little meetings.

  “Well, at least the clothes aren’t all that stifling,” she said. “I quite enjoy the lighter materials, but these undergarments are a bother.”

  However, if not for them, then any lucky person would be able to see straight through her dress and get an eyeful. Madelene begrudgingly accepted her clothes, but she would much rather be wearing the men’s clothing that she had hidden away in her trunk. Only Maria and Giles knew of them; if her aunt were to catch her, that would be the end of her night-time escapades. She sighed and leaned back against her seat, already weary of th
e conversation she was to have with her aunt, Cornelia. That is if she discovers my absence.

  “How unfortunate my uncle was to have married her.”

  From her very first day at Grosvenor House, Cornelia had made it clear that she expected her to toe the line and abide by her rules, but Madelene refused to give up everything that she enjoyed. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she would sneak out of the house and go horse riding, sitting astride her horse rather than the dreaded side saddle, or swim in the stream that ran through her uncle’s property or even assist the poor with provisions.

  Her eyes drifted closed, and before long, sleep had overtaken her, plunging her into a world of adventure and freedom.

  *****

  Much to her chagrin, Madelene was unable to slip into the house undetected.

  “You wretched girl!” her aunt screeched. “What do you mean by sneaking into this house like this? After all we have done for you?”

  Madelene kept her gaze lowered, knowing that any direct eye contact would be misconstrued by her aunt. She had learnt that the hard way when her aunt’s hand had connected with her cheek some months ago. It had taken all that she had not to retaliate in kind, but Maria had grounded her with a single touch to her arm. She now stood behind Madelene, quietly supporting her.

  “Is this what you learnt on those godforsaken ships?” her aunt continued. “Well, not in my house young lady! I shall see you out on the streets before I let you dishonour this family!”

  Madelene rolled her eyes, her gaze still lowered. Her aunt was given over to theatrics at the smallest of incidents; no wonder her uncle spent his days in gambling houses. As it was, he was currently in London on a supposed business meeting with fellow merchants, but Madelene had strong reason to doubt this. She had witnessed her uncle remove money from the safe, along with trinkets of varying value. Madelene suspected that her aunt knew of the severity of her uncle’s gambling problem.

  “That was never my intention, Aunt Cornelia. I simply wished to pay the Reverend a visit and pray for this wonderful family. The Lord has truly been good to me to have placed me in this home.”

  She heard Maria cough behind her and stifled a smile. Her lie was far-fetched, but she knew that her aunt would not begrudge her a trip to the church. Mrs Cornelia Huntington believed that she needed to be saved from the fiery pits of hell for all of her insolence. If anyone were in danger of the pits of hell, it would be her aunt.

  Mrs Huntington sniffed, pursing her lips as she studied her niece for any deceit. The girl had been a bother from the moment her husband had brought her home a year ago, and she was all but ready to send her packing. However, the handsome sum that her father had given to them for his daughter’s well-being was too significant an amount to ignore. She grimaced as she thought about the gambling debts her husband had attained. Harry was a weakling of a man who had no trouble gambling their savings away, so much so that her daughters were denied a sizeable dowry. But Cornelia was a woman who knew how to deal with whatever life threw at her. Madelene had come with a large dowry that was practically indecent. A slap in the face; that is what it was. Here were her darling daughters, practically penniless, and this uncouth wild girl arrives at her house with money to put a family in comfort for the rest of their lives. It had only been fair that she had used Madelene’s dowry for her daughters – not that she had informed her husband of her decision. No, Harry was too busy with his latest courtesan to worry about his family. It was solely up to her to uphold the family name. The girl stood there wide-eyed and innocent looking, but Cornelia knew that there was deceit hidden behind those sapphire blue eyes. However, she could not spend any further time on this girl, for they had visitors about to arrive any minute.

  “There is no time to tarry, girl. The Wickhams and Pevenseys are due to arrive any minute. I trust you to go up to your room and think upon what you have done.”

  The girl looked up, and Cornelia could have sworn that there had been a look of joy before she masked her expression with a carefully closed look.

  “Yes, Aunt Cornelia. May I take my leave?”

  Cornelia flapped her hands. “Go, go, and let me not catch you anywhere near my guests.”

  She didn’t need this golden-haired siren seducing her daughters’ suitors away from them. The girl nodded and took off towards the stairs, rushing like the wild child she was.

  “Do not run! It is unbecoming!”

  Madelene’s steps slowed to a fast walk, her abigail trailing behind her at a more leisured pace. If it were up to her, Cornelia would have driven that woman from her house. But she couldn’t as she had come as a package deal with the young chit, along with that great oaf. However, Cornelia kept her eye on her – she refused to be outdone by a simple maid. She had worked far too hard to get to where she was now. She was no longer the drunkard’s daughter who used to beg at the docks for food to eat. Neither was she the daughter of a whore who sold her body for her next bottle of gin. No, she was Mrs Cornelia Trentham, a respectable woman who held her head up high in society. She may not have married a man with a title, but his fortune had more than made up for it.

  “Or what’s left of it.”

  She shook her head and walked to the kitchen to ensure that the feast for their honoured guests was well underway and nearly complete.

  Maria closed the door behind her slowly, letting her anger come under control before yelling at the beautiful girl that stood before her. No, not a girl, a woman. Madelene had indeed grown into a beautiful woman and had even surpassed her mother. But she didn’t seem as smart as her mother.

  “You will be the death of me, child! You had me in high fidgets waiting for you – what notion was in your head to make you prolong your activity?”

  Madelene removed her gloves, throwing them on her bed. Next was her bonnet, then removing the pins in her hair that held the hairstyle Maria had so carefully created. She shook out her waist-length hair, combing through it with her fingers as she plonked onto her bed.

  “Well?” Maria asked. “I had a devilish time trying to convince your aunt that you were on a simple errand and had not been gone for long. Four hours, Madelene! I daresay you have an affinity for working me up so.”

  “Oh, Maria,” said Madelene. “I do offer up my sincerest apologies for making you worry so, but there was nothing to be done about it.”

  She suddenly jumped off the bed and came towards her, grabbing Maria’s hands in her own.

  “You couldn’t imagine the suffering happening right beneath our noses! How can England boast of its achievements when its people are living such a terrible existence?”

  Maria sighed. Madelene was not yet old enough to understand the ways of the world. Maria had seen horrors in her own country, horrors that remained in her mind and made her grateful to be far away from the War. Madelene’s father had carefully sheltered his daughter, only allowing her to see what he believed necessary. It was merely by chance that she had come across the suffering of men, women, and children in Jamaica during her fifteenth year. She had endeavoured to help them, many a time against her father’s wishes. What would her father say to her latest escapade? He would no doubt blame her and Giles for allowing such a thing to happen. But one did not allow Madelene to partake in any activity; she was a law unto herself.

  “I am well aware of the suffering of the masses, ma cherie, but you cannot help them all. Let their country help them. That fat Prince Regent is sitting on his throne, living lavishly and throwing grand balls that leave little in the way of helping the poor. He should be helping his people, not you.”

  Madelene leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on her cheek.