An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance)

by Olivia Bennet

  “Not necessarily the Philippines, but away from the life we’ve been living. Somewhere quiet and rural where we can disguise our status until such a time as we would wish to reveal it.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful dream, Owen.”

  “Why only a dream? Imagine raising our children to be the people they are above all other things. Let them be creative, artistic, academic or playful. Let them be curious or boisterous or loud. Let them tell jokes or cause a little mischief. And when they are full and happy people, we can open the doors to a whole new world of opportunity to them, and perhaps they will return and make it better, having been given the chance to grow outside the confines of social expectations.”

  “Do you really mean it?”

  “I do. Scotland, maybe? As we once imagined. I could work for Father from a distance on the legal matters of his imports and exports while conducting academic studies on social injustices within the legal system, which I would publish.”

  “And as for me?”

  “You will be whatever you wish to be, my love. A florist, or a botanist, an artist, or a writer.”

  “Perhaps I could write about the birds and complete those drawings I never became quite good enough to excel at.”

  “Precisely. The world could be ours.”

  “There is only one thing I must tell you before we make our decision, Owen.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I am with child.”

  “Are you?” His eyes widened and he immediately placed his hands upon her stomach with reverence. “We should not have made this journey. It could be dangerous for you!”

  She laughed lightly. “What could be dangerous? I can’t imagine there is a place more perfect in the world for a mother-to-be to rest.”

  “And what of the homewards journey?”

  “I will still be in the early months of the pregnancy, Owen. The journey will be no trouble.”

  Owen stopped fretting for a moment to stare at her in wonder. “How do you feel?”

  “Wonderful.” Phoebe beamed. “Like every dream I’ve ever had is coming true all at once.”

  “I am to be a father.”

  “Yes.”

  He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. “Celebration is in order. I will tell Evan and Matsu at once.”

  Evan and Matsu were equally elated by the news. The evening turned quickly into a celebration unlike any Phoebe had ever experienced. Evan went to the market and came back with fresh fish, which Matsu cooked over an open fire in coconut milk and served with rice. They sat atop the hill in front of the hut beneath the stars and spoke into the night.

  Birds Phoebe had never heard before were singing and the fire crackled, but there were no other sounds to be heard except for their own conversation.

  “It is so quiet here,” she said. “It is strange to be away from other people—not only the socialites, but the servants and staff.”

  “We could afford staff but we’ve spent a long time without any. When Matsu first took me in to care for me, I did not know of my fortune or family name. I was a penniless stranger. It was simply she and I alone, and I believe our bond grew closer for that.” He took her hand and smiled at her with such love in his eyes, it made Phoebe smile too.

  “So you choose to be alone.”

  “There is nobody watching, which gives us the freedom to spend our time as we wish.” He paused. “Speaking of staff, how is Miss Bennet these days?”

  “Oh, I forgot to write! She is wonderful.” Phoebe smiled with excitement. “Do you remember how she was wrongfully sent to her brother before the wedding?”

  Evan frowned. “I recall hearing of it.”

  “Since then she has been keeping much closer correspondence with her brother and visiting him more regularly. On one of the visits, she met a tailor by the name of Mr. Forthwright. They have been courting and sending letters to one another. She is going to relocate to Windermere so they might be married.”

  “That is excellent news!”

  “Heavens knows she deserves to be loved.”

  “And she is loved?”

  “Oh, she is always singing these days. She has such a smile on her face.”

  “Won’t you miss her?” Matsu asked.

  “Dreadfully,” Phoebe agreed. “I’d always imagined she’d be the governess to my own children, but I desire her happiness far more than my own convenience. She will have children of her own to raise.”

  Owen smiled. “Everyone is doing very well in England.”

  “Mother and father?” Evan asked.

  “They are mother and father,” Owen replied with a chuckle. “Our mother causes some malevolent chaos, our father scolds her, and then they do the whole thing again. It keeps them occupied in their old age, I suppose.”

  “At least the business is going well.”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  “We are getting shipments at least fortnightly from England, and our exports from Davao are generating incredible profits, more than I ever foresaw.”

  “Business is exceptional.”

  “What of your career, Owen?”

  “I have been undertaking some legal work for Father regarding his imports and exports, and my plan now is to begin research on social injustices in the law. I should like to have an impact on legislation in England before my time on this earth is done.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Evan said. He smiled at each of them in turn. “Tonight is a good night. A toast—to family and good fortune.”

  The End?

  Extended Epilogue

  Eager to know more on how Phoebe and Owen’s relationship evolved? Then enjoy this free complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.

  Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link: http://oliviabennet.com/s7rc directly in your browser.

  I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥

  But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…

  The Marquess in Her Bed

  About the Book

  He knows life is worth living...because he is ready to die for her.

  Cecilia Baxter, daughter of a well-known carpenter, spends her days assisting her father in his workshop. Never particularly interested in marriage, her life takes an exciting turn the moment a new client sets foot in the shop.

  Nicholas Lymington, Marquess of Clive, is every lady’s dream: young, handsome and...eligible. Complying with his mother’s request to help her choose furniture for their mansion, he finds himself hopeless at the sight of the carpenter's beautiful daughter.

  Drawn to each other, the fiery attraction between them grows by the minute…

  Ηowever, not everyone is on their side and even old debts must be paid. When Cecilia gets kidnapped, Nicholas has just a few hours to save not only the woman he loves but also himself, from an enemy that seems almost intangible...and ready to crush them both.

  Chapter 1

  Cecilia picked up the sanded wooden beam that would become the final leg of the dining table and placed it in the lathe by the window, where the light was best. The warm afternoon sun glowed golden through the panes, and she felt that the wood was coming to life in her hands. She made sure that the object was tightly secured and adjusted the lathe precisely to ensure a perfect match between this table leg and its three companions, before beginning to work the treadle with her foot.

  Slowly, the design she had envisioned began to emerge from the wood. This was the moment that Cecilia loved best of all, turning a simple piece of wood into something that was both beautiful and useful. She imagined the Brewer family, for whom she was building the table and chairs. They would not be just a table and chairs; they would tell the history of the family.

  Perhaps in a few years, grandchildren will join them around the table. Someday their son and daughter-in-law will have this table in their kitchen.

  Although she had done this a thousand times in her father’s small woodshop, Cecilia never all
owed herself to work while her mind wandered. She knew from experience that even a tiny moment of distraction could result in an uncorrectable flaw in the wood, or a bloody fingertip, or perhaps even worse. She turned away from thoughts of the family around the table, and focused on the piece right in front of her.

  It was an unspoken rule in Emmanuel Baxter’s shop, that no one should be interrupted when working, no matter what. So it was that Cecilia failed to notice her father and Archie Mowbray entering the workshop in silence. After a few minutes, her work on the table leg was completed to her satisfaction, and she removed it from the lathe and added it to the pile with the others.

  Cecilia’s father was a stocky man of about fifty, with the calloused hands and sun-weathered skin of a man who had worked hard every day of his life. He had never been called handsome, but as Cecilia looked up at his kind face, topped with thinning gray hair, she felt a surge of affection for the man who had raised her. Most fathers would refuse to let their daughters learn woodworking or any occupation besides maintaining a home, but Emmanuel Baxter recognized Cecilia’s curiosity and helped her develop a talent for woodworking. I’m quite lucky that he let me join him in the shop.

  Her mother had died ten years earlier while delivering a stillborn son. Cecilia and her father had clung to one another in their grief. Her father returned to work after his wife’s funeral, and twelve-year-old Cecilia had joined him every day, building on the skills she had previously learned. In a very short time, she was able to carve wood precisely and join the pieces she carved in perfect right angles.

  Around the same time, Cecilia’s father had taken on fifteen-year-old Archie Mowbray as an apprentice, and he and Cecilia had learned the mysteries of geometry, and the skills of woodworking, both a science and an art, side by side. Cecilia had learned to read from her mother, and she had taught Archie, who was able to write only his own name. Now, Archie was a journeyman carpenter and was soon able to read and write simple sentences, but he continued to work for the Baxter family instead of opening his own shop.

  “Your work looks perfect, Cecilia, shall I help you join the legs to the tabletop?” Archie slid next to her and smiled.

  “I can do the joining, if you’ll help me move the tabletop over to the workbench,” she replied.

  “I can help Archie with that, my dear,” her father insisted, “it’s quite heavy, you know.”

  “I do.” Cecilia gave him a smile. “I did make it myself, after all.”

  Her father laughed. “Yes, you did, and you made it perfectly as always. Still, it is quite heavy.” Then he added, more to himself than to either of his companions, “I just wish I had taught you how to lay a table for dinner in addition to building one.”

  They had had this conversation many times before, and as always, Cecilia rolled her eyes. “Well, we haven’t starved yet, have we?”

  “Of course, you’re right!”

  Everyone present was well aware that the money they had made selling Cecilia’s beautiful furniture had more than paid for the services of Mrs. Williams. Emmanuel Baxter had hired the cook and housekeeper shortly after his wife died, when it became apparent that his daughter would not be taking over the responsibilities of running his household.

  Over the years, Mrs. Williams had tried to take Cecilia on as a sort of apprentice in the kitchen, insisting that she must learn to cook and maintain a clean home if she ever hoped to find a suitable husband. Cecilia had no interest in the prospect of finding a husband, suitable or otherwise, and told Mrs. Williams so in no uncertain terms.

  When Cecilia was thirteen, Mrs. Williams had smiled and said that surely Cecilia would change her mind in time, all the while exchanging a mysterious look with Papa. However, when she continued to say the same thing at seventeen, and then at twenty, and now at the ripe old age of two and twenty, Mrs. Williams scoffed to hear such an unnatural proclamation.

  Still, she was a kind old woman missing the company of her own grown daughters who had married and moved away. Cecilia understood that she had her best interest in mind, so she tried always to think kindly of Mrs. Williams.

  Once her father and Archie had moved the heavy tabletop onto the workbench, Cecilia set to work joining the table legs to the four corners, fitting posts into the precisely-sized holes she had carved the day before. She measured each leg carefully to confirm what she already knew—that they were all exactly the same height—before setting them in place with glue. She placed heavy stones on the foot of each upturned leg to hold it in place while the glue dried. Tomorrow, when the glue was dry, she would reinforce the joints with wooden braces and nails.

  As Cecilia finished joining the legs to the table, Mrs. Williams entered the shop and announced that supper would be served shortly. Cecilia removed her leather gloves and placed them in a pocket of her apron, which she removed and hung from a peg next to the workshop door.

  I shall have to finish my work tomorrow; it will be too dark to continue after supper, and candlelight will be insufficient for such precise work.

  She proceeded into the main house with her father and Archie. They all sat at the simple wooden table that her father had made when he first built this house and workshop and brought his young bride home. Mrs. Williams served them a delicious stew of beef, onions, carrots, and potatoes, with freshly-baked bread to soak up the rich gravy.

  As they ate, Archie asked Cecilia what book she was reading. He knew reading was one of her favorite pastimes when not working in the shop.

  “Right now, I’m reading Reflections on the Revolution in France, by Edmund Burke. It’s quite fascinating, actually.”

  “It sounds it,” said Archie.

  “What a thing for a young lady to read!” Mrs. Williams looked scandalized, “The study of politics and war is best left to your future husband, to be sure, Miss Baxter.”

  “If Miss Baxter’s husband enjoys the study of politics and war, surely he should enjoy having a wife who is capable on discussing those topics with him.” Archie said with a mischievous grin that made even Mrs. Williams walk away with a slight laugh.

  “Well, perhaps you shall have more time to read tomorrow, Cece,” her father said, reverting to her childhood nickname in a way that put Cecilia on her guard.

  “Why is that?” she asked, skeptically.

  Not meeting his daughter’s eye, he replied, “The Duchess of Huxley will be coming to the shop, and she is very proper, and wouldn’t like to see a young woman working at tasks more suited to a young man.”

  Cecilia looked crestfallen, and her father continued quickly, “I hate to ask it of you, but the Duchess is refurnishing much of the Huxley estate, and could provide us with enough work to last for many months. We can’t risk offending her, even if we don’t like her ideas.”

  Cecilia found this attitude extremely frustrating, though she would never say this to her father. Of course, it was hardly surprising. She knew that members of the aristocracy held particularly rigid views about the appropriate roles of young women, and those did not include carpentry.

  But really, why should the Duchess care what I do to occupy my days? I am no relation of hers, not even an acquaintance. Cecilia was tempted to confirm the Duchess’ worst suspicions of her, but she knew this was a huge opportunity for her father. It would serve no purpose to antagonize the Duchess. Besides, one day away from my work can hardly hurt me, after all.

  And so, Cecilia agreed to stay out of the shop the next day and allow Archie to finish her table in her absence.

  * * *

  The remainder of supper was a subdued affair, with Cecilia remaining quiet, while her father and Archie discussed which pieces they would show the Duchess during her visit the next day. After supper, Cecilia helped Mrs. Williams to clear the table. After saying goodnight to her father and bidding Archie farewell as he left to return to his parents’ house, she then took a candle upstairs to her bedroom.

  Upon entering her chamber, Cecilia placed the candle on her writing desk and changed ou
t of her simple work dress and into her night clothes. She let her dark hair fall in waves down her back and picked up an antique silver-backed brush. As she brushed the snarls out of her hair, she remembered sitting on her bed as a young girl while Mama brushed her hair. She picked up the matching looking glass and stared at her reflection.

  She supposed she might be pretty, for she looked very much like she remembered her mother looking, and her mother had been the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. But Cecilia felt she lacked the grace her mother possessed. Her clothes were always dirty from the workshop, and her hands were rough and calloused. Freckles were scattered across her face that had never been present on her mother’s.

  After a moment’s reflection, she returned to her writing desk and removed paper, quill, and ink bottle. For ten years now, she had been in the habit of writing letters to her mother. She would share observations about her life, ask for advice, and imagine what her mother would have said, had she been alive to answer her daughter’s questions. Tonight, Cecilia started her letter right where she had left off the night before

  Dear Mama,

  I nearly finished the table today. All that remains is to brace the legs, and then to stain the wood, but Archie will have to take on that job tomorrow, since I won’t be able to work in the shop. The Duchess of Huxley is coming to the shop and Papa is worried that she won’t approve of my being there. I’m quite sure that he’s right about this, actually, but I can’t seem to stop myself feeling angry.