Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1)

by Rebecca J. Greenwood

  “I see progress, Florentia,” the marchioness said. “Now, repeat the exercise ten more times.”

  They both groaned.

  “It is like performing the steps of a dance. If you want to perform it perfectly, you must practice perfectly.”

  “Our dear stepmother is correct.” Daniel sat down again with a sigh. “Think of it as doing drills for battle. If you practice enough, your response will be automatic, and you’ll be able to perform it in your sleep. Which, if battle comes upon you at night, you might have to. Yes, my sister, this is important. Now, again.”

  She composed herself, and advanced toward him.

  He kept the kiss brief and perfunctory this time, more like it would be. And she did not wobble.

  On the seventh time, she did. And the eighth, she fell into his lap.

  “I think we need leg strengthening exercises, my young miss.”

  “My leg muscles!”

  “Young lady, you should not mention your legs in front of a gentleman,” Stepmother admonished.

  “But he spoke of my legs first! And he’s my brother!”

  “Indeed.” She sniffed. “You practice in your family how you will behave in public. Now, again.”

  “But Daniel,” Florentia turned to him, clearly trying to evade another round of practice, “you haven’t told us of your trip, or what happened. Was this man truly our lost Uncle Harlow? Is he a nabob? You must tell us.”

  Daniel suppressed a smile, his body filling with excitement at the news he had to share. “He is our uncle, he is a nabob from India, I have very exciting news in connection with him and . . . ” He held out the suspense. “I will only tell you more when Frederick is here as well.”

  Florentia let out a frustrated sound. “But Frederick is always gone so long on Parliament days! He’ll never come home! We must not wait for him.”

  Daniel grinned. His elder brother, the illustrious Second Marquess of Kentworth, did take his Parliamentary duty seriously. “At dinner, Florrie. Hopefully Frederick will be back for it.”

  But his brother had still not returned when the family sat down to eat. Daniel updated the marchioness on the state of Kentworth Manor. She, Frederick, and Florentia had left for London right after Easter to prepare for Florentia’s come out, while Daniel had lingered in the country. He had left Cassandra and the nursery children—his younger half-sibling, the marchioness’s daughter, Mariah, and Frederick’s daughter Caroline—all doing very well.

  The marchioness shared the latest letter from his sixteen-year-old half-brother Matthew, who was at school, and they were well past the soup course when Daniel grew tired of keeping in his happiness.

  He rubbed his hands together, and announced, “I have news to share. Such news.” He waited for the marchioness and Florentia to look at him with expectant expressions. He grinned. “My pockets are the plumpest they’ve ever been. I scarce know what to do with myself.”

  “What’s this? Did you win a bet?” Florentia asked.

  “Florentia, no discussion of gambling at the supper table,” the marchioness said.

  “Your pardon, ma’am.”

  “It was not a bet at all,” Daniel said. “You know I’m rubbish at cards. But I was summoned to meet our long-lost uncle a few days ago. He’s unmarried, and,” he smiled, “he has decided to name me as his heir.”

  He told them all and enjoyed their exclamations of joy.

  “Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!” Florentia bounced in her seat. “Daniel, really? Two thousand pounds a year? Is it possible?”

  “A blessed boon.” The marchioness clasped her hand to her heart. “I am so happy for you, Daniel. What are you going to do with this new state of things?”

  “I do believe the first thing is to sell my commission. After that, well, I have a few ideas.”

  “We will be so happy to have you back in England to stay.” The marchioness gave him a warm smile.

  “Oh, but, no!” Florentia exclaimed.

  “Volume, Florentia.”

  “Your pardon. But Daniel, you can’t sell your commission yet!”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “My come-out ball! You must be in uniform for it, brother!” She waved her hands about, her eyes wide. “It is the very best way to attract ladies, and you do look dashing in it. I want my brother the Captain of the Guards there, not my regular brother in a blue coat.”

  Daniel chuckled. “Very well, I’ll hold on to my commission till after your come-out ball.”

  She sat back, a look of relief over her features. “Thank you, dear brother. Dearest of brothers.” She smiled prettily.

  “Don’t let Frederick hear you talking such.” He grinned back.

  Daniel let the conversation move to other topics, a shot of nerves making him reluctant. He needed to ask the question that had been burning inside him, but he feared to hear the answer. The chances the young lady he had harbored a tendre for was unmarried were very slim.

  He had deliberately avoided news of her, though she had lived in the same county as his family when her grandfather the Duke of Lyonston was alive. He had heard the old man had died, but not her whereabouts after.

  He hadn’t wanted to know if or when she married. Had told Frederick not to send him such news. But now, he must know.

  “Madame, you remember the Duke of Lyonston?” he asked his stepmother.

  “Of course. What a tragedy no claimant to the dukedom has been found. It is still lying dormant since his passing.”

  “The old duke had a granddaughter who sometimes lived with him at Lyon Manor. I was wondering, do you know where she may be found now? With a husband, perhaps?”

  “You are not referring to Eliza Moore!” The marchioness’s eyes widened.

  Florentia’s fork clattered onto her plate, splattering gravy onto her dress. She squeaked, grabbed her napkin and dabbed at the stains.

  “Ah, yes, Eliza Moore is her name, or was, since I’m sure she is long married . . .” Daniel hesitated, not expecting this reaction.

  “Oh, no, she isn’t!” Florentia’s eyes were wide, her mouth open.

  “Florentia, none of that. You know nothing of it.” The marchioness frowned at her.

  “I know enough. All the whispers.”

  “What?” Daniel looked between the two of them, unease building in his gut.

  “We knew Eliza Moore, of course,” his stepmother said. “She lived with her grandfather in his last days, and Cassandra and I made several visits of condolence. She was a lovely girl, acted the perfect lady at the time.”

  “At the time? Is she dead?”

  “No. At least, I’m sure she is not, but, Daniel . . .” The marchioness frowned, appearing uncomfortable.

  “What is this?” He frowned. “I was merely inquiring after an old acquaintance. Why these alarming dramatics?”

  “She’s not counted a lady anymore, Daniel,” Florentia stage-whispered, her eyes wide.

  “Florentia, stop that ill-bred hissing at once.”

  Daniel held himself still, hiding his pounding heart and tamping down the alarm racing through his veins. He would not lash out at his stepmother and younger sister.

  “What is this? She is the granddaughter of a duke, no matter the status of the dukedom. How can she be counted anything but a lady?” He tightened his jaw and held back the anger rising in him.

  “Oh, Daniel, it is all over town.” The marchioness’s face was grave.

  He waited for further explanation. Florentia looked between the marchioness and himself, back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match, her eyes wide and lips tight.

  “She was living with a cousin . . .” The marchioness trailed off.

  “Yes? Where is she now?”

  The marchioness cleared her throat. “No one rightly knows, Daniel. And most are saying good-riddance.”

  “What? Why would they say that? She was well-admired a scarce few years ago.”

  “They are saying terrible things of her, Daniel.”
Florentia’s whisper was a loud hiss.

  “I hope those terrible things have not crossed your ears, Florentia.” Their stepmother looked sharply at her. “The young ladies in your circles should not be speaking of such things.”

  “Oh, no details, Stepmama. Only that she is ruined. Several mamas have made an example of her.”

  “Yes, to never put yourself into any situation that could come near such behavior. What is said of her actions is quite beyond the pale.”

  “Yes, Stepmama.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry to bring you such news, Daniel, but Eliza Moore has ruined herself, and is no longer welcome in polite society.”

  His heart pounded in his chest. His Eliza? This couldn’t be. “What happened?”

  Stepmother shut her mouth, glanced meaningfully at Florentia’s avidly listening face, and turned back to her food. “I’m sure I couldn’t say.”

  Daniel bit back caustic words. Innocence hadn’t protected Eliza from whatever had happened to her! Was keeping Florentia in the dark the best strategy to protect her?

  Was Eliza truly ruined? Had she done something all society found abhorrent in a young lady?

  He glanced at the herring on his plate. His stomach tightened. Food no longer appealed. He swallowed. “Nevermind. I’ll seek answers from those who will admit to worldly knowledge.”

  He stood too quickly, the chair scraped the wooden floor, and almost toppled.

  “Daniel!” the marchioness protested.

  Florentia gaped at him.

  “Excuse me.” He bowed to them both and hurried from the room.

  Chapter 5

  Five weeks before April 24, 1817

  Eliza followed the flickering candle of the assistant matron as she led her to a long room lined with narrow beds. Each was occupied, and eyes, some sleepy, others alert and watchful, followed their movement down the room. Hushed whispers rustled behind them as they passed.

  Exhaustion weighed her down, threatened to pull her shoulders forward. She forced herself to stand straight.

  That they admitted her into the Magdalen Hospital was a miracle. The chaplain Mr. Prince and the head matron Mrs. Wiggins had each spoken to her separately and had her tell them what had happened. Then they had left her to confer together. She’d waited over an hour as they made their decision.

  It was highly irregular, they told her, to admit a young woman without the agreement of the entire governors’ committee, which only reviewed and accepted applicants once a month. They had agreed to allow her in as an emergency probationary measure, pending approval from the committee when it met next week.

  The matron informed her that they were only allowing her in because a bed had opened up unexpectedly this week as one of the inmate’s family had reconciled and accepted her back, and because they knew her grandmother. The Duchess of Lyonston had been a staunch supporter of their cause, and had donated much and often to the maintenance of the Home.

  “This is the bed that is to be yours,” the assistant matron said to Eliza. She indicated an empty bed at the end of a long row. “You may lock up your things here.” A chest, with a key. “Here is the uniform you are to wear.” She handed her a neatly folded pile of clothing.

  “As it is late, we will go over all the rules and what is to be expected of you tomorrow. Pauline?” The assistant matron spoke to the girl in the bed beside Eliza’s, who had been watching them.

  “Yes, ma’am?” The girl pushed aside her covers and stood. She was no older than sixteen, with a pretty face and a pert nose.

  “Pauline, this is Eliza. She has been newly admitted and will need to be shown the routine here at the Home. Will you assist her in that?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Pauline said with the dip of a curtsey.

  “Thank you. Now, two of the rules before I go. We know each inmate only by her first name, Eliza. We ask you to not share your family name, nor ask the family name of any other.”

  Eliza nodded.

  “And look up here. See the inscription?” The assistant matron raised her candle and illuminated a line of words that had been painted on the wall over the door. In the dimness, Eliza could scarcely make out their lines and shapes.

  “Tell no one your story,” the assistant matron recited. “This is for your protection, as well as it does not do to dwell on past sins. We ask that you abide by this command.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eliza answered.

  “Very good.”

  In the days that followed, ones of unaccustomed toil, Eliza struggled to find her new place and her new stride.

  The work at the Home was different than any she had been called upon to do before. The practical needlework, creating useful, simple garments, she found familiar and soothing, but she had to force herself not to balk at working in the laundry. It was dirty, hot, and smelly. The lye from the rough soap and the boiling hot water left her hands red and smarting.

  But despite an exhausted body and aching hands, she fell into her narrow bed at night with a full belly, and secure in the safety of her person. It made any toil or indignity worth it.

  Her neighbor, Pauline, proved friendly and talkative. She had been in the Home, as they called it, for six months.

  She and Eliza whispered their stories to each other in the dark, despite the injunction against it.

  Pauline had been seduced by a pretty rogue, and when her father had discovered it, he had cast her out.

  She gasped in sympathy when Eliza told of her own experience in being cast out and seemed to believe Eliza when she said she had not been involved in the activities she had been accused of.

  Pauline reminded Eliza of the youngest Broughton daughter, Margaret. Not in looks but in age and manner. Both were young and eager to please.

  Eliza tried to avoid thinking of her cousins: the jovial but ineffectual Mr. Broughton, her deceased father’s nephew and heir, and his wife Mrs. Broughton who had grown cold towards Eliza in recent months.

  When her mother died soon after her grandparents, Eliza had been forced out of Grandfather’s Lyon Manor. The Broughtons had taken her in.

  The eldest daughter Henriette disliked Eliza from the start. She was a golden-haired beauty who resented the incursion of another comely young woman. Eliza always strove to ignore her petty jabs.

  But Eliza missed the youngest daughter Margaret. Eliza had taken on the role of governess for her, and had spent many hours teaching her on the pianoforte, guiding and instructing her.

  Eliza worried about Margaret now, facing her first Season without Eliza there to steady her, with no one to temper her girlish enthusiasm but the disinterested selfishness of her mother and elder sister. She might fall into scrapes!

  But hopefully not—surely not—as bad a scrape as the awful one Eliza found herself in now.

  No, for the sake of Margaret’s reputation, it was better that Eliza had been banished.

  While the only people of the Broughton household who had been warm to Eliza had been Margaret and poor, dead Charles, Eliza had lived with them for three years. She had relied on them, helped them, had tried to make their lives easier.

  It hurt—she was surprised how much it hurt—to be so quickly and coldly abandoned.

  Chapter 6

  Three days before April 24, 1817

  “It’s bad, Ashton.” Daniel’s friend Major Nelson’s face was grave. Daniel had found him at home at his Dover Street lodgings. “Some of the worst, I’m sure, are exaggerations.”

  Daniel clenched his fists hard enough that his leather gloves creaked. Nelson eyed him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Miss Moore was a childhood friend. I’m not happy to hear such things said of her.”

  “She was caught kissing Lord Crewkerne in a darkened room at a private card party. And after that, the whole story came out, that she had been making herself available to several men in exchange for money.” Nelson told Daniel further details of what was being said that made his face flush and his stomach roil.

  “Wh
y would she need money that much?”

  “Was left destitute by her family, as I understand. Her cousins took her in as a poor relation they felt an obligation to. When all this became known, they rightly threw her out, and she hasn’t been seen since.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No, probably taken up with one of her paramours, I’m sure. The man must not be advertising it.”

  “Who are these men whose names have been tangled with hers?”

  His friend eyed him. “Now you can’t be calling out half of London just because you don’t like what they’ve been saying about a young lady you fancy, Ashton.”

  “I don’t intend to call them out.” Though they’d deserve it, if the story was even half true. “I need to find her.”

  “And when you discover her in her protector’s arms, solidly set in her new place as another lovely cyprian, what will you do?”

  A sharp pain went through him at that thought.

  “I will . . .” Kill the man who drove her to this. “Be grateful she isn’t lifeless and cold in a ditch.” He spoke through the knot in his throat. “And ask her what she wants. If she doesn’t actually want this type of life, I will take her out of it.”

  “How? Marry the girl? A fallen lady, that’s the only way to bring her back into any semblance of society, and even then, you won’t be getting Almack’s vouchers, not for her, and probably not for your daughters.”

  Daniel’s face tightened, and he swallowed down on the roiling of his stomach.

  “Oh, I see.” His friend’s eyes were wide and he closed his mouth from gaping at Daniel.

  Yes, Daniel fully intended to offer marriage to her to save her from this ruin. He didn’t care what society thought, what his older brother would say, or that he would lose the inheritance he so recently gained over it.

  If he could just find the girl, all the rest of them could go hang.

  “Well, good luck to you, Ashton,” Nelson said.

  “The men whose names have been bandied with hers?”

  He looked most uncomfortable, but he nodded. “Right, right. George Mowbray, a few others I don’t remember, sorry, and definitely Lord Crewkerne.”