by Aubrey Wynne
Earl of Darby
(Once Upon a Widow #4) (Wicked Earls’ Club Round 2)
Aubrey Wynne
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Afterword
Sneak Peek
About the Author
More Historical Romance
Dedication
To the wonderful and talented authors of The Wicked Earls’ Club: I am honored to be a part of this unique series. I have found my niche and will be forever grateful.
Copyright © 2019 by Aubrey Wynne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-946560-17-9
Created with Vellum
Prologue
There is a fountain fill'd with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners, plung'd beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
"Praise for the Fountain Opened" Olney Hymns, 1779
* * *
Mayfair, London
December 24, 1814
“I must admit, Mama, you were right.” Nicholas tugged at his cravat, snowy white against the dark blue of his waistcoast. “She is a diamond of the first water.”
“Of course she is. The betrothal benefits both families. Lady Henning and I will have beautiful grandchildren, and you will not lose your inheritance. I will never forgive your father for his recklessness, gambling away such a sum.” Lady Darby’s expression hardened as she spoke of her husband, but her tone was that of a doting mother. “You are the most handsome viscount in London. What an earl you will make one day.”
“Let’s not wish Father away too soon. It was not all his fault.” Nicholas took a final look at his own reflection, a mirror image of his mother’s that peered back at him. They had the same burnished-gold hair and clear, light blue eyes. But the lines around her mouth had deepened, and more worry lines creased her forehead. Their gazes held for a moment and then she busied herself, brushing imaginary specks from the back of his waistcoast.
“The Duke of Colvin cheated. Granted, Father should never have staked so much on a hand of cards, but the man is a blaggard. And his son is no better, perhaps worse if the on-dits are true.”
“Yes,” she muttered, still avoiding his eyes. “I’ve heard the same. Now, it’s your wedding day, and we should speak of happier times to come.”
“Agreed, it’s been a trying year, but I believe the darkness is behind us now.” His father, the Earl of Darby, had lost an enormous amount to the blackhearted nobleman. It had been a night that still haunted his dreams. Colvin’s taunting, the slow anger that had built in the earl, the vicious smug smile when that extra ace had been laid on the table. Nicholas knew the man had cheated but could not prove it. One didn’t accuse a duke without proof. Even then, it would have been dangerous.
They’d had to sell most of their property to settle the debt of honor and avoid scandal, barely holding on to the estate. The debacle had taken a toll on his father’s health. “You seem to have come to the rescue, Mama.”
“Nonsense. Lady Henning wanted her daughter to move up in rank. As a baron’s wife, this is quite a feather in their cap. Alice will be a countess when you assume the title. And we needed the dowry.”
“And the lady was willing?”
“You asked her yourself, did you not?” His mother studied the evergreen garland that decorated the hearth mantel, fingering the sprigs of rosemary and ivy leaves. “What woman would not be happy for such a match? Handsome, titled husbands are hard to come by.”
“I beg to disagree. Penniless titled husbands are more easily found, handsome or otherwise.” He smirked at his mother’s pursed mouth.
“I could not ask for a better Christmas celebration than having a new daughter enjoying our Yule log. I realize the banns were read rather hastily, but our family shall begin a new chapter with the New Year.” She smiled up at him, her blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight that slanted through the gauzy curtains. On tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “I must go. We leave for the church within the hour.”
As Nicholas watched her leave, the image of his own children playing in front of the Yule log crossed his mind. He wanted children. Several, at least. Would they be dark like Alice or fair like himself? His stomach inexplicably tightened at the thought, and he attributed the discomfort to the approaching wedding and loss of bachelorhood.
* * *
Nicholas and his best friend from university, Gideon, the future Earl of Stanfeld, stood before St. George’s, Hanover Square. The giant columns towered over them as they stood on the steps of the church. Complete opposites in looks and temperament, they had made quite a name for themselves during their time at Cambridge.
“So, did Lady Darby attach the leg shackles or was this of your own making?” Gideon grinned, his black hair shining in the morning light, deep-blue eyes twinkling with laughter. “Though I admit Miss Alice would tempt the staunchest of bachelors.”
“Let’s just say I don’t mind making the sacrifice. And with any luck, it might turn into a love match.” Nick adjusted his cravat for the tenth time since leaving the manor. “Is Pendleton coming?”
“He’ll be here.” Gideon slapped his friend on the back. Viscount Pendleton was the third member of their infamous university trio. “Nervous?”
“I wouldn’t call it that, more a sense of foreboding.” He shook his head. “I’ve been listening to Sarah and her fairytales too much of late. The Grimm Brothers have her mesmerized.”
“Your sister doesn’t need anything to spark her imagination.” Gideon reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. “A flash of lightning to steady the hand?”
“Gladly accepted, my friend.”
“Calm yourself, Alice. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.” Nick smoothed back her rumpled dark hair, tipping up her chin. Deep shadows below those shimmering coffee eyes made her pale skin almost glow. She was magnificent, ebony upon ivory, docile and pliant. Or had been until he realized she’d been taken before their wedding night. While consummating their union, he found there was no barrier within her to breach.
“I was just surprised you weren’t a…”
“A v-virgin.”
“There is someone else? You’ve already given your heart to another?” A first love, an infatuation perhaps that would fade in time. He was confident enough in his own looks and lovemaking skills to overcome the first attempts of a clumsy boy.
She sniffed and shook her head, raven waves bouncing against her bare shoulders. “I can’t continue this charade any longer. I am so sorry, so so sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?” An icy finger of dread skittered down his spine.
She lifted a tear-stained face to him. “I am with child.”
He froze, the muscles of his face paralyzed. His mouth hung open, but no words would emerge. Heat washed over him as her perfidious words sunk in. Trying to pull his thoughts together, he tied his shirtfront closed. Hell and damnation…
&
nbsp; An annulment. He would get an annulment.
“I was forced.”
“Raped?” He blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. Had she led on a previous suitor? A flirtation gone badly? This was not how his wedding night was supposed to play out. “Who is he?”
“A nobleman’s son. Mama said it would be his word against mine, that he would never be brought to justice, but I would be ruined.” She grabbed his arm as he tried to stand. “Please, our mothers came up with the idea. I was against it, but I was pregnant. I—”
“Thought it would be easy enough to pass the whoreson off as my child. I was in need of funds, and you were in need of a husband.” The spark of anger ignited, flames burning his stomach. What an imbecile he’d been. “Whose bloody child am I expected to raise in order to keep my estate?”
“Mama said it must be kept secret. He must never know. He’s a vicious, despicable man. We don’t know what he would do.” Her eyes went wide with fear, those full lips he’d just kissed, trembled. “Please, don’t make me tell you.”
“By God, you will.” Nicholas grabbed her narrow shoulders, pressing into the smooth skin, his fingertips creating red imprints in the creamy flesh. “I’ll know whose by-blow I have beneath my roof.”
Alice began to sob in earnest, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe, her fingers clenching his hands. “I am so sorry. So sorry…” Her head moved back and forth as she muttered her apology over and over.
He wrenched free and stormed across the room to open the window sash. He needed air; he couldn’t breathe. Pressing his head against the upper windowpane, he looked out onto the dark landscape and let the chilly breeze cool the angry fire consuming him.
Alice let out a low wail, a sickening moan of pain and anguish, and clutched her belly, sinking to the floor on her knees. The light from the fire highlighted her wet cheeks and cast long, incongruous shadows off her small, delicate form. “Forgive me, please. Forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” His hand curled into a fist, and he punched the wall, needles of pain searing from his knuckles through his wrist. “I am betrayed by my own mother, then my wife on my wedding night.” He laughed, the sound ugly and grating. “I believe I’ve reached my limit of absolution.”
His entire body went taut as a wire. He had to get out, away from her tears, away from this hoax of a marriage. He’d been used. Nick pushed away her clinging hands as he dressed, barely registering the crimson smear his bloody knuckle left on the sleeve of her night rail.
“Don’t leave me. Please, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do anything,” she whispered, her voice tinged with panic. “Where are you going?”
“Away. Anyplace I won’t have to look at another conniving female.” He yanked on his boots and threw open the door. “When I return tomorrow, we will sit down with both our dear mothers. By Christ, I will learn the truth.”
Storming down the stairs, he bit out orders to the footman to bring round his carriage. “No, have my horse saddled instead.” He needed to get away. He needed to get drunk. He needed to wipe this nightmare out of his mind.
Nicholas rode out of town, his mind whirling, cold sweat dripping down his back, his face hot with temper. Women. If his own mother betrayed him like this, how could he ever trust another female? He thought of his sister, her innocent face, and wondered if she would also grow duplicitous with age.
As he entered the outskirts of town, he squeezed his gelding’s sides, sending Arthur into an easy canter and breathing in the chilly night air. The stars were bright in the black sky and twinkled merrily, mocking his mood. No snow tonight.
With a sharp kick, they galloped on, white puffy clouds trailing behind them as Nicholas left his wife and that horrid scene behind. The pounding of hooves seemed to beat in the same rhythm of the curse echoing in his mind. Bloody hell! Bloody hell! Bloody hell! By the time the horse tired, his anger had eased. Calmer and more rational, he turned his mount around and headed back toward the lights and noise of London.
Yes, Alice had deceived him, but she’d been as much a victim of their mothers’ scheming as he had been. The poor girl had been raped, packaged off to a convenient husband, and never had the chance to look for love or even affection. Never had a say in the matter. At least he’d had a choice.
It would take time to adjust to the fact she was with child. But they had consummated the marriage, and he needed her dowry. Without it, his family would be on the rocks. His pride had been dented when he’d seen himself as hanging on Alice’s sleeve, the arrangement too one-sided for his liking. But now it seemed they were even; they were using each other. So be it.
He’d deal with his mother later. For now, he’d go home to his wife and tell her they would come to an agreement and move on with their lives. He’d pray to God she had a girl. There was no way he would acknowledge a bastard as his heir.
Nick arrived back at the terrace house, a sleepy groom waiting on the steps to take the reins. “He needs a good cooling down. I rode him hard.”
He took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door to his rooms, his chest heaving with the effort of the ride and two long flights of stairs. “Alice…” It was cold. Had the servants let the fire die?
In the sitting room of their apartment, a note lay on the table next to the door. He collected it from the silver tray, recognizing his name written in flowing letters.
* * *
Nicholas
* * *
With the envelope in hand, he entered the bedchamber. “Alice—”
An invisible iron bar hit him full force. He stumbled toward the bed, his body teetering before he sank to his knees, the letter drifting to the carpet. His eyes never left the petite body swaying from the upper rail of the four-poster bed.
Her white gown fluttered from the light breeze of the still-open window. Delicate satin slippers swung lazily before his eyes. Slowly, his gaze rose past the hand wearing his emerald wedding ring, the limp arms, to the vacant eyes of his dead wife. Her head tilted at an awkward angle, her delicate chin resting against the linen sheet tied around her long, slender neck. The once-porcelain skin he’d stroked and kissed a few hours ago, now mottled and gray.
“NOOOOOOO…” Nicholas clutched his head, rocking back and forth, cursing his wife, his mother, himself. He rose, clutched the bedcurtain, and climbed onto the mattress. Face-to-face with his dead wife, his heart clenched, the breath gone out of him. Nicholas tenderly pushed a damp tendril from her cheek. The coldness of her skin against his scraped knuckles jarred him, and he frantically began to untangle his wife from the bedclothes.
Tears blurred his vision; he cursed his trembling fingers as he tried to maintain his balance on the mattress. Finally releasing her from the linen noose, he fell to his knees and cradled her in his arms, swaying gently side to side. The door opened, and he heard a terrified gasp. He looked into his mother’s horrified eyes.
“What have we done?” he whispered. “What have we done?”
Chapter One
“…In as much as every discovery of what is false leads us to seek earnestly after what is true, and every fresh experience points out some form of error which we shall afterwards carefully avoid.”
John Keats
Wicked Earls’ Club, London
Late October 1819
“It’s just a friendly game of whist. C’mon, Darby, play with us.” The marquess made another unsuccessful attempt to bring Nicholas into the game.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I don’t indulge in gaming.” Nicholas, Earl of Darby, shook his head, an easy smile curling his lips. His gaze swept the crowded room. Several men sat to his left near the fireplace, sipping drinks and engaged in conversation. Flanking the right side of the room were tables where various games of whist, faro, and hazard were in progress. “A friendly wager in the books, whether the heir will be born or a ninth daughter, perhaps whether Stanfeld will marry before he’s sixty, is as far as I go.”
“I’m in the b
ooks?” Gideon, the Earl of Stanfeld, scowled, his bushy dark brows coming together. “How in tarnation did I get in the books?”
“Once a man inherits an earldom, he becomes much more interesting.” Nicholas laughed and slapped him on the back. “Just an example, my friend. You are not a line in the club’s wagers.” He chuckled. “Yet.”
“I think I already regret putting you up as a member in the Earls’ Club.” Stanfeld tapped the golden W pinned to his friend’s lapel. “Your standing improved, and I don’t see you any closer to the parson’s trap than I am.”
A faded but familiar pain grazed Darby’s heart, and he forced another grin. “I escaped that snare once, if you remember.” He stopped a man in livery passing by. “Bring us a bottle of brandy, would you? We’ll be in the billiard room.” He nodded to Stanfeld and took his escape.
Nicholas made his way down the stairs, his thumb rubbing against the W. Wicked. Yes, he was a wicked earl and planned on keeping that title and this pin for many years. His vices did not hurt anyone nor interfere with his title or family.
Stanfeld had recommended him to the elite club. He’d had the requisite qualifications—trusted among his peers and claimed the title of earl and bachelor. The benefits included an exclusive floor of this club, a set of private rooms for each, and almost any vice for the asking. He had utilized the reserved rooms frequently. In fact, this had become a second home ever since the death of his father, a week after Nicholas’s ill-fated marriage.
