“You see it now.”
“Why, though? Why all the pretense?”
“For you, of course,” Jasper said.
Her heart leapt high. “Me…”
Jasper stroked her jaw with his thumb. “I have to have you in my life, Lilly. It was you who pulled me out of my memories that night. I overcame it, to save you. The thought of winning you for myself, of finding a way to keep you in my life, has kept me going for two weeks, now, facing down statesmen and peers and Northern Yorkshire farmers, who are quite possibly more terrifying than all the rest put together. You have made me whole again.”
Her breath trembled.
“I love you, Lilly,” he said, his voice low. “I have done all this to be worthy of your love. Say you will marry me and in a week or so, when the speed of the engagement doesn’t shock all of London, we will announce it and disappoint every debutante in the ballroom behind us.” He took her hand and stroked the back of it, making her tremble more. “Please say you will.”
“Only if you kiss me,” she breathed. “I don’t care who sees. I just want to kiss you and tell you I love you. Please, please, just kiss me.”
He did.
1860 Great Family Gathering
Innesford, Cornwall. October.
When Sharla and her family arrived, Ben arrowed toward the pavilion where they first gathered, trying to make it look as nonchalant as possible.
The odious Lady Laceby was standing by her daughter’s side as Ben ducked under the opening of the tent on the croquet field side and ambled toward the top of it, where the Wardell family were standing talking to Natasha and Raymond.
Natasha was looking down at Sharla’s hand as Lady Laceby smiled with a pleased expression. Then Natasha hugged Sharla.
Ben halted, his heart dropping to his stomach.
Sharla held her hand out for Raymond to see and this time, Ben could see the glitter of diamonds on it.
He bent over the table, propping himself up, trying to breathe.
A hand hooked under his elbow and hauled him outside the tent through the opening on the side. Jack and Will held him up.
“What are you doing?” Ben asked, his voice hoarse, as they carried him backward.
“Getting you drunk, cousin,” Will said.
“You saw…” he breathed.
“All of it,” Jack said and patted his shoulder. “My mother spent whole nights talking Sharla into agreeing to the match. I think my sister gave in because she could not think any more without sleep.”
Ben hung his head. “Christ save me,” he groaned.
“Brandy will taste better,” Will said.
* * * * *
Jasper found Lilly sitting on the bench outside the maze, with Elisa’s littlest daughter, Emma, next to her. They were chatting like old friends.
Jasper slid on the last few inches of the bench. Lilly met his eye, then bent to talk to Emma. “Have you met Mr. Thomsett yet, Emma?”
Emma turned around to look at him. “Hello.” Her smile was angelic.
And familiar.
Jasper’s breath stalled, as he looked from Lilly to Emma. Lilly lifted her hand to the girl’s hair and stroked it nervously, the ring on the third finger glinting in the morning sun.
He found breath to speak. “Hello, Miss Emma. You look like a grown-up lady to me. How old are you?”
“I’m nearly seven,” Emma told him proudly.
As Jasper stared, mentally staggering under the weight of a truth that had been sitting in front of him for the two years he had been serving the Great Family, Lilly’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked, not letting them fall.
“Emma! Emma, where are you?” Elisa’s voice.
Lilly lifted Emma down onto the grass. “Go and speak to your mother, Emma.”
Emma ran off, around the corner of the house.
Lilly stayed where she was in the corner of the bench, watching him. Waiting for judgement.
Jasper closed his eyes, marveling at the strength of women and the lengths they would go to protect those they loved. Then he reached out and drew Lilly to him. Silently, he held her as she trembled.
Not for the first time, he blessed the day Lilly had come into his life.
MARRIAGE OF LIES
About Marriage of Lies
Guilt about their love for each other is steadily destroying their lives…
Since Sharla married the Duke of Wakefield, Ben’s life has slowly crumbled as the knowledge that he is a mere commoner and can never have her eats at his soul.
Sharla hides the truth about her disastrous marriage from everyone, shamed by her failure.
When Ben glimpses a fragment of the awful truth, he knows he must do what he can to help her…and in the process he might just be able to pull his own life from the gutter.
Marriage of Lies is the third book in the spin-off series following the historical romances of Scandalous Sirens. Scandalous Scions brings together the members of three great families, to love and play under the gaze of the Victorian era’s moralistic, straight-laced society.
Praise for Marriage of Lies
Incredible additions to the series. Lies, corruption, secrets, and abuse, suspense and legal challenges all are overcome with the love and fortitude of an amazing extended family.
One of the things I really enjoyed were the constant pranks they play on each other just as though the intervening years had never occurred.
The author has once again given us beautiful, but at times tortured characters, an author who writes with all her feelings, who lets her creative juices lead the way. I recommend this book and series to lovers of historical romance that includes twist, turns, humor, danger and grand, sensual love. Oh I can't wait to read the next book.
In a world where filial obligation is supposed to trump love, it's difficult to imagine the desperate longing that many couples must have suffered, in order to please the family. Cooper-Posey, however, practically makes you live through that agony yourself, as you read about it.
The ending is just perfect.
I loved the characters and by the end, I felt like I was leaving some new friends.
I could see no possible resolution, and when I thought I was onto the answer this creative author proved me wrong.
Tracy is the master of historical romances. Every time I read one of her books I am amazed, once again, at the honest feel to her stories. There is a depth to the story line and characters that I don’t usually find in historical romances.
Every book in this series instantly becomes one of my favorite reads! Sharla, Dane, and Ben are so well written, the story so engaging, I had to force myself to stop reading in order to sleep!
Tracy Cooper-Posey is an amazingly talented author that can pull you into a story so completely, it feels like you are interacting with the characters.
A truly well-written book with spark and humor and another great story from Tracy's Great Family.
I have great faith in Tracy. She never lets me down! I love it, when love is the most important thing in a relationship!
I was certainly not expecting how this novel played out.
Wow! What a story! This third entry of the Scandalous Scions has just about everything you could think of. Strong characters, a plot with enough twists and turns to keep you engrossed all the way to the end and a very interesting ending finale make this one a winner.
From the first paragraph you will be immersed in marriages of convenience, characters that surprise, shame, love, unique family dynamics, the underbelly and back alleys of London, strictures of 'society', and more. You will see characters you already know and love. The intricacies that Ms. Cooper - Posey weaves into her characters and stories is truly amazing.
The Great Families
Elisa and Vaughn Wardell
Marquess of Fairleigh, Viscount Rothmere
1825 Raymond, Viscount Marblethorpe (stepson)
1839 William Vaughn Wardell
1839 John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes
(fostered in 1846)
1842 Sarah Louise Wardell (D)
1843 Peter Lovell Wardell
1844 Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell (adopted in 1848)
1844 Patricia Sharla Victoria Mayes (fostered in 1846)
1849 Blanche Brigitte Colombe Bonnay (adopted in 1851)
1853 Emma Jane Wardell (adopted at birth)
Natasha and Seth Williams
Earl of Innesford, Baron Harrow (Ire.)
1839 Lillian Mary Harrow
1840 Richard Cian Seth Williams
1841 Neil Vaughn Williams
1843 Daniel Rhys Williams
1846 Bridget Bronte Williams & Mairin May Williams
1849 Annalies Grace Williams
Annalies and Rhys Davies
Princess Annalies Benedickta of Saxe-Weiden, of the royal house Saxe-Coburg-Weiden, Formerly of the Principality of Saxe-Weiden.
1835 Benjamin Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)
1842 Iefan William Davies
1843 Morgan Harrow Davies
1843 Sadie Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)
1846 Bronwen Natasha Davies
1848 Alice Thomasina Davies (adopted at birth)
1849 Catrin Elise Davies
And their children:
Natasha and Raymond Devlin
Viscount Marblethorpe
1857 Vaughn Elis Devlin (Raymond’s heir)
1861 Richard Seth Devlin
Lilly and Jasper Thomsett
1862 Seth Eckhard Thomsett (heir)
Chapter One
Wakefield, West York, September 1863.
It was a shock when Wakefield spoke to her directly, so much so that Sharla could not compose a polite reply. In her mind, a single phrase repeated itself. My husband spoke to me!
It was her shock that made her do what she did next, which changed everything. After all, it had been…how long since he had addressed her? Three, no, four weeks. Yes. Four weeks and three days, since Dane Balfour, the Duke of Wakefield, and her husband of two years and four months, had met her gaze.
Before she could recover enough wit to stutter a bodiless “Th-thank you,” to his comment that she looked “quite charming this morning,” Wakefield moved on. He strode across the gravel to the group of gentlemen—lords, all of them—who stood in a loose cluster discussing the merits of horse and rider.
There were eighteen horses strutting restlessly about the imposing front façade of Wakefield Manor. They blew heavy billows of steam as they pranced, for the morning was crisp. The air thick with wreathes of mist that muffled the chink of harnessing and the low conversations as the hunting party waited for the call to hunt.
The Wakefield butler, Mayerick, moved among the hunters, handing up mulled wine to riders, his footmen following him with trays of cups.
There was even one lady among the riders. Clarissa, Lady Carstairs, was sitting with perfect stillness upon her mare, sipping tea, her dark riding habit arranged decorously around her limbs.
Hounds circled the horses’ legs, fretful and eager to begin. They knew this annual ritual as thoroughly as the riders, who had traveled from as far afield as the Orkneys to attend.
Sharla’s gaze drew back to Wakefield. Dane, she reminded herself, for sometimes it was an effort to recall his first name. He had been “Wakefield” in her mind since he’d slid her engagement ring into place.
The Duke stood with his hands on his hips, his jacket open and pushed aside, laughing with the other gentlemen. Even though he did not hunt, he wore a hunting outfit every bit as natty and refined as those the others were wearing, for he was the host of this hunt. His boots gleamed, his cravat was perfectly tied, the cloth of his breeches was immaculate.
Sharla let her gaze wander over Wakefield’s face. The high cheekbones and black brows over sky blue eyes. The curly, dark hair that framed it. The sharp chin.
As she had asked herself many thousands of times, Sharla wondered what had gone wrong. How had her marriage grown stale and moribund, barely a moment after the wedding?
What had she done, or failed to do? There was surely some feminine secret of which she was ignorant that would relieve her of this unhappy state? How would she ever know what that was? She could not ask Elisa as she might once have, for Elisa was beyond her reach. Elisa’s two friends and confidantes, Natasha and the Princess Annalies, who might have helped Sharla with frank wisdom, were also out of bounds for the same reason.
Sharla smoothed her hands over the folds of emerald blue sateen skirt she wore. It was a wrapper, yet so cunningly designed no one would guess just how casually she was attired. The hoops were the newest kind that projected further behind than in front. The hem of the wrapper featured a twelve-inch deep border of red and gold braid and panels of embroidered flowers. The braid also cinched about her waist.
The sleeves were the new kind with the tight wrist and wide elbows, which made them very comfortable to wear.
Did she really look charming? Certainly, no one outside the inner-most circles of London was wearing these hoops, yet.
She glanced at Wakefield once more. He was speaking with Mayerick as the gray-haired butler held out a glass of the port that Wakefield preferred. Had she done something to encourage Wakefield to speak to her, just now? If only she knew what that was! She would repeat the action a hundred times over.
The skittish horses sidled. As sometimes happened, they moved in unison, a collective body prancing sideways, shying from some imaginary threat as the mist rose around them.
The group of men, her husband among them, took a step out of the way. The closest rider snapped his whip against the withers of his mount, bringing the stallion back under control. The horse bridled at the whip, its eyes rolling. The application of discipline was not calming it at all.
The rider applied the whip with even more resolve.
Unlike the other men standing around him, who merely laughed, or watched with interest, Wakefield flinched backwards at the snap and whistle of the leather. His eyes narrowed and a furrow grew between them. His hand came up defensively before he caught himself and put it back by his side.
He glanced around to tally who had noticed his reaction.
Sharla dropped her gaze, even though he had seen her.
The horse was still sidling, not responding to the whip. Instead of trying something different, the rider cursed and applied the whip even harder, his face red as the creature refused to obey.
The stallion’s rear legs were too close to Wakefield. The horse was swinging about, tossing its head, oblivious to anything but the terrifying fingers of mist climbing its legs and tickling its chest.
Sharla acted before consciously making a decision to do so. She brought her hand up as she moved forward and caught the stallion’s cheek strap as it swung its nose against her raised hand. The stallion tried to throw its head up to loosen her grip. Sharla had expected it to do just that. She hung onto the leather, all her weight holding down the creature.
She patted and smoothed its nose, murmuring reassurances.
With a soft snort, the horse grew still.
Still patting the smooth nose, Sharla looked up at the rider. “Do not use the whip again.”
The rider, a middle-aged man she thought might be the Baron Macy, spluttered, his face turning red once more. “How dare you—”
“Your attempts to discipline your mount are endangering those on foot,” Sharla said, overriding him. “Contain yourself and your mount, sir, or retire from the hunt.”
Macy gawped at her. “Of all the cheek!” he managed, at last.
“You heard my wife, Macy.” Wakefield stepped up beside her and looked up at the man. He didn’t have to crane his head nearly as much as Sharla did. “The hunt is about to begin. Settle the animal, or you’ll ruin it for everyone.”
The hunt master gave a low call and the horn sounded. The dogs brayed an eager chorus.
Macy hitched the reins and tapped his heel into the stallion’s side. He clicked his tongu
e. The stallion wheeled about, tearing the bridle from Sharla’s hand. With a dip of its rear, the stallion shot off, following the pack as it raced across the field toward the woods, where the hunt would begin.
A dozen or more men holding broken-open shot guns ran across the field after them, the dogs with them.
Mayerick and his footmen hurried back inside.
The area in front of the Manor was empty of all but the two of them.
Sharla dared look at Wakefield. He was following the hunt party as it disappeared, leaving swirling mist behind. His hands were fisted by his sides. When the last hunter vanished from view, he turned and stalked inside, leaving Sharla alone with the cold fingers of mist.
The tiny moment of détente was at an end. She moved back inside and made her way through the morning rooms on the warmer, southern side of the Manor, to her own private morning study.
With a heavy heart, she settled behind the desk to read her letters. That was where Wakefield found her, twenty minutes later.
He barely met her gaze. As usual, he examined the room, the floor, his hands. The view through the window was a particular favorite.
“Your Grace?” Sharla asked, putting her pen down.
“It occurs to me…” He cleared his throat. “You have not had a single member of your family here to visit. Not once.”
“No, your Grace.”
“Nor have you visited them.”
“My place is here.”
“Your place is a lonely one. Even the most devoted and hard working wives find time in their schedules to visit family.”
Scandalous Scions One Page 38
