Redeeming Lord Ryder

by Robinson, Maggie

  Her parents should have no objection to Jack; after all, they had met him even before she did. Her father’s letter had been very positive about the young lord who’d come to make amends. Jack had been so quick to agree to all his demands, and so generous, Mr. Mayfield had been impressed.

  But Nicola didn’t want to wait one more hour in case she lost her nerve. Unlike her mother, she’d never been one to dream of orange blossoms and lace in Bath Abbey, and had been perfectly satisfied to marry in her good wine-colored dress in St. Jude’s on a Monday morning.

  Lady Sarah Sykes and her husband had provided the wedding flowers from their hothouse, and had hosted a small breakfast. Nicola had been too nervous to taste anything, and had been slow to respond to “Lady Ryder” from the few well-meaning guests.

  There had been Ham Ross, of course, and even Moll, with a ribbon on her collar. Mrs. Grace and Mrs. Feather, without their aprons. Dr. Oakley and the Fitzmartins. As acting head of the board of governors, Mr. Sykes had escorted her down the aisle, although Nicola barely knew the man, and his eyebrows still frightened her. The Countess had consented to serve as matron of honor, and, out of her deep mourning in pale lavender silk, looked far more bride-like than Nicola. Curious, Nicola had tried to read the Countess’s scrawl in the register, but could only make out the letter J.

  With less than two days’ notice, efficient Ezra Clarke had sent Jack’s carriage to bring the newlyweds to Ashburn, and according to her husband—her husband!—they were nearly there. The short journey across Gloucestershire to Oxfordshire had been lovely, with snow-covered hills and country roads that were not too badly rutted. Nicola didn’t mind the occasional lurch, as it threw her into Jack’s arms. Dusk was upon them, now, however, and it was more difficult to see.

  The carriage slowed at a wooden signpost and turned down a hedgerowed lane.

  “Is this your drive?” Nicola asked.

  “Don’t be so impatient. For the last half hour, all you’ve said is ‘Are we there yet?’” Jack teased.

  Nicola nestled into the crook of his arm. “What should I say?”

  “How about, ‘I love you, Jack. I couldn’t live without you.’”

  “I don’t think you need any more compliments from me. They will go to your head.” Jack had come to her late Sunday night for one last unmarried fling, and he had been incessantly complimented. It was a wonder they’d both been able to wake up in their own beds and walk to the church in time.

  The hedgerows ended at a small gatehouse and an open iron gate. The carriage continued onto a wide tree-lined avenue, with a large Georgian brick house in the distance.

  “Oh! It’s beautiful!” Nicola cried. At least she thought it was. She couldn’t wait to see it in blazing daylight.

  “It’s even better in the spring when the trees are in flower.” Jack squeezed her hand. “You’ll be here to see it. Unless we’re in London for the Season. I’ve never asked what you’d like to do.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll go wherever you are.” Oh, she was a ninny. But very happy.

  “Good thing I’ve given up traveling to all those smoky cities in the north—I don’t think you’d like them all that much. I say, there’s a traveling coach parked outside the stables.” Nicola heard him mutter a very rude word, the same one she’d been unable to complete in the British Manual Alphabet the other day.

  “What is it?”

  “If I’m not mistaken—and believe me, I hope I am—I think my mother’s not in France anymore.”

  Jack had not said all that much about his mother, apart from the fact that she’d fought with his father and held Jack in some disdain for actually working. Nicola thought the woman sounded sort of horrid, but was prepared to be on her best behavior. Mothers-in-law were historically difficult.

  “Christ, I’m sorry. Some honeymoon this will be.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Nicola said, sure of no such thing.

  “Well, she did want me to get married,” Jack said, raising his hand to scratch at his healing scalp.

  Nicola grabbed it before he could do any damage to the black thread winding through the new bristle of his hair. Dr. Oakley had advised him to get the stitches removed in a day or two. It was amazing to think just eight days ago he’d been unconscious.

  Would Jack’s mother think Nicola had taken advantage of her son when he was too ill to be in his right mind? Nicola bit her lip.

  The coachman stopped at the front door, and several servants scrambled down the steps to help them and their belongings out of the carriage, including Ezra Clarke.

  “Welcome home, my lord, my lady,” Ezra said, his ears tipped bright red. “I’m afraid I have some, um, bad news. Something unforeseen—”

  “Not exactly unforeseen. I can see her in the doorway now, Clarke. When did she arrive?”

  “Just fifteen minutes ago. The front hall is a jumble of trunks and cases, and Miss Pemington has already taken to her room with a sick headache.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “I couldn’t get a word in edgewise—ah, Lady Ryder. Here is Lord Ryder come home.”

  “Mr. Clarke, you are a veritable font of knowledge. I’m not so old that I cannot see with two perfectly good eyes. Good God, Jonathan, what have they done to you? You look like a convict.”

  Nicola swallowed. Jack’s mother was a handsome woman, with her son’s dark coloring and height. Apart from a few gray streaks in her hair, she seemed ageless, a porcelain beauty.

  Jack rubbed his shorn head. “I had a slight accident.”

  “You’ve been hurt! And scarred! No one told me!”

  “A mere trifle. The news probably didn’t reach you in time, as you were traveling,” Jack fibbed. “Mother, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Mary Nicola Mayfield Ryder. Lady Ryder, Lady Ryder.”

  Lady Ryder’s left eyelid twitched for a fraction of a second, the only sign that she might be at all flummoxed. “I beg your pardon?”

  Nicola dropped into her deepest curtsey, grateful Jack still held her elbow, as her knees had turned to jelly. “I am so pleased to meet you.”

  “Get up, girl. You have married my son?”

  Jack helped restore her to a standing position. “Yes, ma’am. This morning.”

  Lady Ryder turned to Jack, her brown eyes flashing. “And I suppose that news didn’t reach me either. You’ve been a busy boy in Puddling. Are you sleeping?”

  “Better. Nicola has been instrumental to my recovery. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t met her.”

  “Well then, I suppose I should welcome you to the family, my dear. I thought he said your name was Mary.”

  “I’m known by my middle name, Lady Ryder. My sister is Mary Francesca and is called Francesca. Frannie,” Nicola babbled.

  “Nicola. I like the sound of it. Just interesting enough, although your parents should not have confused everyone with so many names. You needn’t worry I’ll interfere—I’ve only come home to get rid of Pemington. The woman has no backbone whatsoever. Falls apart at the slightest criticism. And France was simply filled with far too many French people for my liking. I shall go to London and my things can be transferred to the Dower House. Return this summer, perhaps, when you two are settled.”

  “You’re moving out?” Jack sounded surprised.

  “Why, certainly. Now that Nicola is here to take care of you, I am completely superfluous. I remember my mother-in-law, a ghastly woman. No wonder my husband was such a weasel. Even after we refurbished the Dower House for her, she held on here like the albatross in that dreadful poem—you know the one I mean. All very sad and dreary. She caused a great deal of friction with the servants, countermanding my orders—too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that.

  “Speaking of which, I expect you will want to hire your own staff, Nicola. You won’t mind if I pinch a few for the Do
wer House, will you? Just Mrs. Burrell, the cook. The housekeeper, Mrs. Hand. And I suppose Burrell as well, since he’s married to Mrs. Burrell.”

  “That’s the butler,” Jack mumbled into her ear. “Don’t worry—I won’t have you scrubbing floors just yet.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Nicola said, smiling. God help her if she did.

  “Good, that’s taken care of. Come in, come in. It’s much too cold to be standing outdoors like a flock of sheep. I will give you a tour of the house tomorrow morning before I go—Burrell, you can arrange for me to be taken to the station for the one o’clock train.”

  The butler, who’d been hovering at the edge of the flock, nodded. “Certainly, Lady Ryder. Congratulations, my lord. The staff wishes you many years of happiness, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” Nicola heard the kindness in his voice. What if he didn’t want to be pinched?

  The hallway bustled with servants and luggage. Nicola hoped Jack’s mother wouldn’t mistakenly wind up with Nicola’s own trunk on the train tomorrow.

  “You children will be tired. Burrell, tell Mrs. Burrell to prepare a tray for Lord and Lady Ryder in their rooms.” She paused on the stairs. “See? This is a perfect example of being a bad mother-in-law. Perhaps you’re not tired at all, and want a twelve-course dinner. To dance until dawn. Already I am attempting to run your lives. I am tired at any rate. A tray for me, please.”

  “And for us as well.” Jack threw his arm around his mother. “Thank you, Mama. For everything, especially for your recommendation to spend a month in Puddling.”

  “Pooh. She looks like a sensible young woman. I trust she wasn’t one of the inmates too.”

  Nicola’s heart sank. “I’m afraid I was.”

  A dark eyebrow lifted. “Were you indeed? What was your trouble?”

  “I—I couldn’t speak.”

  “What my late husband wouldn’t have given to strike me mute. I see you’re over your affliction. Your brain is in good working order? There are no lunatics in your family?”

  “No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. That’s no to the lunatics. Yes to the brain.” Nicola made every effort to keep a straight face.

  “Well, that’s all right then. I will meet you after breakfast tomorrow to show you about. Shall we say nine o’clock? Let her out of bed in a timely fashion, Jonathan—I have to supervise my packing.”

  Nicola , her mouth slightly agape, watched Lady Ryder and her elaborate black bustle go up the stairs.

  “Well, that could have been worse. Someone else is obviously inhabiting my mother’s body. I shall not call for an exorcism.” Jack squeezed her hand as they mounted the staircase themselves. “Are you all right, my love?”

  “I think so.” Nicola straightened her own backbone, and kissed her husband in front of the staff below, some of whom she was about to lose. They could be replaced, but no one would ever replace Jack in her heart.

  If you enjoyed Redeeming Lord Ryder, be sure not to miss the first book in Maggie Robinson’s Cotswold Confidential series

  SCHOOLING THE VISCOUNT

  “Schooling the Viscount is a charming, sexy romp through the English countryside. Readers will fall in love with the little town of Puddling-on-the-Wold. I did!”

  —Vanessa Kelly, USA Today bestselling author

  Welcome to Puddling-on-the-Wold, where the sons and daughters of Victorian nobility come for a little rest, recuperation, and “rehab,” in this brand-new series of rebellious romance from Maggie Robinson.

  After a harrowing tour of duty abroad, Captain Lord Henry Challoner fought to keep his memories at bay with two of his preferred vices: liquor and ladies. But the gin did more harm than good—as did Henry’s romantic entanglements, since he was supposed to be finding a suitable bride. Next stop: The tiny village of Gloucestershire, where Henry can finally sober up without distraction or temptation. Or so he thinks…

  A simple country schoolteacher, Rachel Everett was never meant to cross paths with a gentleman such as Henry. What could such a worldly man ever see in her? As it turns out, everything. Beautiful, fiercely intelligent Rachel is Henry’s dream woman—and wife. Such a match would be scandalous for his family of course, and Rachel has no business meddling with a resident at the famed, rather draconian, Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation. All the better, for two lost souls with nothing to lose—and oh so very much to gain.

  Keep reading for a special look!

  A Lyrical e-book on sale now.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo by Jan DeLima

  Maggie Robinson is a former teacher, library clerk, and mother of four who woke up in the middle of the night, absolutely compelled to create the perfect man and use as many adjectives and adverbs as possible doing so. A transplanted New Yorker, she lives with her not quite perfect husband in Maine. Her books have been translated into nine languages. Visit her on the web at maggierobinson.net.

  No one at Puddling-on-the-Wold ever expected to see Sarah Marchmain enter through its doors. But after the legendary Lady’s eleventh-hour rejection of the man she was slated to marry, she was sent here to restore her reputation . . . and change her mind. It amused Sadie that her father, a duke, would use the last of his funds to lock her up in this fancy facility—she couldn’t be happier to be away from her loathsome family and have some time to herself. The last thing she needs is more romantic distraction...

  As a local baronet’s son, Tristan Sykes is all too familiar with the spoiled, socialite residents of the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation—no matter how real their problems may be. But all that changes when he encounters Sadie, a brave and brazen beauty who wants nothing more than to escape the life that’s been prescribed for her. If only Tristan could find a way to convince the Puddling powers-that-be that Sadie is unfit for release, he’d have a chance to explore the intense attraction that simmers between them—and prove himself fit to make her his bride . . .

  From duchesses to chamber maids, everybody’s reading it. Each Tuesday, The London List appears, filled with gossip and scandal, offering job postings and matches for the lovelorn—and most enticing of all, telling the tales and selling the wares a more modest publication wouldn’t touch…

  The creation of Evangeline Ramsey, The London List saved her and her ailing father from destitution. But the paper has given Evie more than financial relief. As its publisher, she lives as a man, dressed in masculine garb, free to pursue and report whatever she likes—especially the latest disgraces besmirching Lord Benton Gray. It’s only fair that she hang his dirty laundry, given that it was his youthful ardor that put her off marriage for good…

  Lord Gray—Ben—isn’t about to stand by while all of London laughs at his peccadilloes week after week. But once he discovers that the publisher is none other than pretty Evie Ramsey with her curls lopped short, his worries turn to desires—and not a one of them fit to print…

  Tucked amid the pages of The London List, a newspaper that touts the city’s scandals, is a vaguely-worded ad for an intriguing job—one that requires a most wickedly uncommon candidate…

  Maris has always been grateful that her marriage to the aging Earl of Kelby saved her from spinsterhood. Though their union has been more peaceful than passionate, she and the earl have spent ten happy years together. But his health is quickly failing, and unless Maris produces an heir, Kelby’s conniving nephew will inherit his estate. And if the earl can’t get the job done himself, he’ll find another man who can…

  Captain Reynold Durant is known for both his loyalty to the Crown and an infamous record of ribaldry. Yet despite a financial worry of his own, even he is reluctant to accept Kelby’s lascivious assignment—until he meets the beautiful, beguiling Maris. Incited by duty and desire, the captain may be just the man they are looking for. But while he skillfully takes Maris to the heights of ecstasy she has longed for, she teaches him something even more valuable and unexp
ected...

  Lady Imaculata Anne Egremont has appeared in the scandalous pages of the London List often enough. The reading public is so bored with her nonsense, she couldn’t make news now unless she took a vow of chastity. But behind her naughty hijinks is a terrible fear. It’s time the List helped her. With a quick scan through its job postings and a few whacks at her ridiculous name, she’s off to keep house for a bachelor veteran as plain Anne Mont.

  Major Gareth Ripton-Jones is dangerously young and handsome on the face of it, but after losing his love and his arm in short order, he is also too deep in his cups to notice that his suspiciously young housekeeper is suspiciously terrible at keeping house. Until, that is, her sharp tongue and her burnt coffee penetrate even his misery--and the charm underneath surprises them both. Trust the worst cook in Wales to propose a most unexpected solution to his troubles…

  First comes seduction…

  As children, Desmond Ryland, Marquess of Conover, and Laurette Vincent were inseparable. As young adults, their friendship blossomed into love. But then fate intervened, sending them down different paths. Years later, Con still can’t forget his beautiful Laurette. Now he’s determined to make her his forever. There’s just one problem. Laurette keeps refusing his marriage proposals. Throwing honor to the wind, Con decides that the only way Laurette will wed him is if he thoroughly seduces her…

  Then comes marriage…

  Laurette’s pulse still quickens every time she thinks of Con and the scorching passion they once shared. She aches to taste the pleasure Con offers her. But she knows she can’t. For so much has happened since they were last lovers. But how long can she resist the consuming desire that demands to be obeyed…?

  Too late for cold feet

  Baron Edward Christie prided himself on his reputation for even temperament and reserve. That was before he met Caroline Parker. Wedding a scandalous beauty by special license days after they met did not inspire respect for his sangfroid. Moving her to a notorious lovebirds’ nest as punishment for her flighty nature was perhaps also a blow. And of course talk has gotten out of his irresistible clandestine visits. Christie must put his wife aside—if only he can get her out of his blood first.