The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London Book 3)

by Adele Clee

  Nancy hurried into the room carrying a different dress. “This one is nowhere near as pretty as the one you’d choose yourself.” She held the garment aloft. “But it’s new and will fit you like a glove.”

  The high-waisted morning dress in pale muslin was a shade lighter than peach, a shade darker than ivory. The only adornment consisted of a length of orange ribbon tied beneath the bosom.

  The hairs on her neck prickled. Had Fabian been so confident in his skills of persuasion that he’d already purchased a wedding outfit? “Is this the dress Lord Ravenscroft wishes me to wear?” She could not keep the disdain from her voice. For a man who promised freedom, he took control of every situation.

  “His lordship made no mention of a dress,” Nancy said. “Mackenzie found this in one of the chests given to Lord Ravenscroft after his last voyage. Merchants often offer a bounty if their goods arrive on time.”

  Once again, it was Mackenzie who had her best interests at heart. Fabian wouldn’t care if she married him wearing nothing but her chemise.

  “There’s a string of pearls that would look pretty draped around your fine neck.”

  Lillian stroked her locket. “I’ve no need for jewels.”

  Nancy pursed her lips as her gaze drifted to the gold necklace, but she said nothing.

  The women set about dressing her. Ursula tugged the ties on her corset as though hauling a hundred fish in a net.

  “Not too tight else I’m liable to swoon.”

  “If Lord Ravenscroft were waiting at the altar for me, I’d swoon,” Heather said with a giggle. “And I’d get there an hour early in case he thought to change his mind.”

  Why would Fabian change his mind when her co-operation was part of his plan?

  With care, Nancy and Ida lifted the dress over her head. They brushed and fiddled with the material until it covered her body like a second skin. Ursula slid the orange length of satin around Lillian’s waist and cinched it tight under the bosom.

  They all stepped back and surveyed their work.

  “Oh, there’s a pretty red and gold shawl.” Nancy scuttled over to the chair and returned with the square of silk. “I don’t suppose it will keep out the cold, but it will complement your dark hair.”

  The women fussed over her for another few minutes before escorting her down to the great hall.

  The thud of Mackenzie’s boots, as he paced the flagstones, echoed through the dank corridor. He swung around upon hearing their approach and glared at Nancy. “Can you not tell the time, woman? You’re ten minutes late.”

  “Oh, silly me,” Nancy retorted. “I forgot to check my pocket watch.”

  Mackenzie tutted, but as his gaze fell to Lillian, he clutched his chest. “Praise be, you’re a sight to behold, lass.”

  Nancy huffed. “You can’t be calling the mistress of the house lass.”

  “Och, I mean no disrespect.” He bowed. “Forgive me, my lady, for my heathen ways. A lifetime aboard a ship can rid a man of all sense of propriety.”

  “Don’t you mean it can rid a man of all sense?” Nancy said.

  The other women grinned.

  “You’re forgiven, Mackenzie,” Lillian said. His tone brimmed with warmth when he called her lass. There was something genuine and honest about him, dare she say trustworthy. “You may call me lass in private. When we’ve company, you’d best call me my lady.”

  The man’s fiery beard twitched as he smiled and puffed his chest. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “I trust his lordship is waiting at the church.” Lillian hadn’t spoken to Fabian since she’d agreed to marry him. He’d not bothered to inform her personally that she had but hours to prepare for the wedding, but instead had pushed a note under her door. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, mulling over her decision. Would she find the courage to make the declaration before God?

  “His lordship is out riding, my lady, and has been gone all morning.” Mackenzie squirmed on the spot, and his cheeks flamed. “He’ll be here for the service. You can be sure of that.”

  Would he? Fabian’s contempt for her family knew no bounds.

  Lillian snorted in an attempt to ease the sharp stab in her chest. It was foolish to expect Fabian to show her the same consideration he had in his youth. Now he was a man of numerous identities: lord of the seas, a pirate, the Raven. The ceremony was a mere formality. A union of necessity. She’d spent the morning doing her utmost to look her best. No doubt Fabian would turn up splattered in mud, wearing the crumpled clothes he’d slept in the night before.

  “Perhaps we should wait until his lordship returns.” Lillian feigned a smile. “I see little point riding to the church when in all likelihood he might change his mind.”

  Mackenzie frowned. “When Lord Ravenscroft makes a promise, you can be certain he’ll keep it.” Admiration and respect filled the Scot’s voice. “His lordship will be at the church. I’ll stake my life on it.”

  Mackenzie’s comment went some way to restoring her faith in Lord Ravenscroft. When a man commanded the respect of his people, he was obviously doing something right.

  “Then you may escort me to my carriage,” Lillian said with a teasing grin.

  “Carriage?” Mackenzie struggled to look her in the eye. “I’m afraid the best we can do is a horse and cart, my lady.”

  Lillian did chuckle then. If she didn’t laugh, she might cry. “Do I get to ride up front or am I to sit with the turnips?”

  “Come with me, my lady.” Mackenzie led them out into the bailey. “I’m happy to say there’s not a turnip in sight.”

  “I think you’ll like what they’ve done,” Penny said, clapping her hands as she skipped at Lillian’s side. “My parents spent all morning getting it ready.”

  The sight of the decorated cart brought them all to an abrupt halt. The smartly dressed man perched on the seat wore a green coat and top hat. Next to him, a red velvet cushion with gold tassels marked the spot where Lillian should sit. Thick swags of green foliage threaded with pink roses hung from the sides of the cart.

  “It’s beautiful, Mackenzie.” Lillian looked up at him and offered a beaming grin.

  “The Browns deserve the credit. I just told them to make it pretty.” Mackenzie walked over to the cart and held out his hand. “Let me help you, my lady. We’d best be on our way if we want to arrive on time.”

  Lillian climbed up and sat on the padded cushion. The women were all set to wave her off until Mackenzie told them to remove their mobcaps and aprons and climb into the back of the cart.

  A flurry of excitement erupted as the women set about straightening their hair and clothes. Penny rushed to fetch her mother, who appeared looking confused and dazed.

  Once they were all inside the cart, it rattled out of the bailey, through the gatehouse and along a narrow road running parallel with the cliff edge. The sight of the sea had a calming effect, and the women’s raucous laughter proved infectious.

  “Are you touching my leg, Malcolm Mackenzie?” Heather teased.

  “Is that your way of asking if I will?” Mackenzie replied with a hearty chuckle. “Because if it’s all the same, I’d rather keep my fingers.” A collective gasp left the Scot stuttering. “What I … what I mean is your husband will chop off every digit if he thinks I’ve made him a cuckold.”

  “I reckon he’d chop off more than your fingers,” Mr Brown called back over his shoulder.

  Everyone laughed until they cried. Lillian could not remember the last time she had raised more than a smile. She’d been at the castle for less than a day, and yet these wonderful, honest people had found a way into her heart.

  She sat on the plush cushion, a grin stretching from ear to ear, until the sight of the church in the distance sent her nerves scattering like leaves in a storm. The quaint stone building was a solid reminder of all she’d promised. Not love or companionship, just her assistance.

  Panic flared.

  She should turn back, find a boat and row for the mainland. But her
lonely life in London was a poor one indeed. And she needed to set Vane free for him to have any chance of happiness.

  “I’ll help you down, my lady, and then I’ll go inside and see if they’re ready.” Mackenzie’s words broke her reverie.

  Lillian forced a smile and was grateful for the Scot’s firm grip, as her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the ground. “Thank you, Mackenzie. Thank you for everything.”

  The man bent his head and whispered, “You’re welcome, lass.”

  Mackenzie strode off up the narrow path leading to the church’s open door. The women gathered around Lillian, excitement palpable in the air.

  Mackenzie returned, his lips drawn thin beneath his beard.

  “What is it?” Lillian’s heart skipped a beat. “Is the minister here?”

  “Aye, the minister is inside, along with some of his lordship’s men.” Mackenzie exhaled deeply as he narrowed his gaze and scanned the coastal heathland.

  One did not need to be skilled at reading minds to understand the problem. “Lord Ravenscroft is not here, is he?” Disappointment surfaced. Fabian had not lied to her, but anyone with an ounce of kindness in their heart would have made an effort, today of all days.

  Mackenzie grimaced. “He’ll be here any moment.”

  “Did you check his bed?” she mocked, but then remembered that Fabian had gone riding. Part of her wanted to make excuses for him. Had he taken a tumble, sprained an ankle?

  “Never fear, my lady.” Nancy placed a comforting hand on Lillian’s arm. “His lordship is likely preening himself, eager to look his best.”

  Or more likely he’d arrive half-dressed, mumble his vows and disappear again.

  The thud of horse’s hooves pounding the ground caught Lillian’s attention. A black stallion appeared on the brow of the hill. The beast galloped towards them, leaving a cloud of dust where its hooves struck the dirt. A silver sheen of sweat covered the animal’s coat, and its look of determination mirrored that of its master.

  Mackenzie exhaled. “Lord Ravenscroft likes to make a grand entrance that’s for sure.”

  Not so grand, Lillian thought, for his muscular thighs were hidden beneath the folds of his greatcoat. Dressed as he was, anyone would think he’d ridden through the damp, foggy streets of London and not along the rugged coastline on a fresh summer’s day.

  Fabian came to a sliding stop before them. He gave his horse a reassuring pat before swinging down in one fluid movement.

  Lillian swallowed hard as he strode towards her, dark and masterful. “How good of you to join us, my lord.”

  Everyone held their breath as they watched with wide, curious eyes.

  Fabian ignored them all and kept his heated gaze fixed on her. “I beg your forgiveness.” The rich tone of his voice sent her stomach skipping up to her chest. “An urgent matter commanded my attention.”

  No doubt many things mattered more than marrying her.

  “I pray it was important enough to make you late on your wedding day.”

  The corners of his mouth curled into a half smile rather than down with shame. “You may judge for yourself.”

  He marched back to his horse, and the women took the opportunity to breathe. After reaching into his saddlebag, he returned with a small posy of flowers.

  “Did you not tell me once that wild roses were your flower of choice?” He brought the posy to his nose and inhaled. “Did you not say you found the scent uplifting?”

  He remembered.

  Lillian’s heart thumped against her ribs. He’d gone riding just to find her flowers? “I did.”

  Fabian handed her the posy. “The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem—”

  “For that sweet odour which doth in it live,” she said, completing the line from Shakespeare’s sonnet. Her fingers trembled as she accepted the small bouquet.

  He stepped closer. “A person’s inner worth enhances their outward beauty.” His voice came in a soft, seductive whisper. “The rose is more beautiful because of its sweet scent. Equally, a woman’s compassionate heart only adds to her appeal.”

  The words washed over her like the sun’s warm rays. Still, when it came to displays of sentiment, she knew enough of men to err on the side of caution. “Is that your way of thanking me for helping you?”

  “If I wanted to thank you, I would have simply said the words.”

  “So you’re saying you admire my kind heart?” Her voice carried a hint of amusement. Compliments were hard to swallow.

  “I am saying you’re more beautiful to me because of it.”

  The comment robbed her of breath. Despite every effort, she couldn’t help but gulp in air.

  Fabian smiled. “Perhaps you’re not used to men being so direct. But I speak the truth, Lillian. You’ve always known that.” He stepped back, shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed the garment to Mackenzie who placed it in the cart.

  She half expected to see him in a loose shirt and creased breeches, but the sight of him caused desire to unfurl like the first bud of spring. Dressed in a dark blue coat, starched cravat and gold embroidered waistcoat, the Raven looked every bit a lord of the London ballrooms. With his hair tied back in a queue, he still possessed the roguish air of a pirate. It was a look she couldn’t help but find appealing.

  “Now, I believe we’ve kept the reverend waiting long enough.” He bowed gracefully and gestured to the path leading up to the church door. “Shall we?”

  The last time she’d agreed to be a man’s wife it ended in disaster, ruination and a broken heart that would never fully heal. Lillian had been to Hell, looked into the Devil’s black eyes, felt the scorching flames sear her skin as he branded her a whore.

  Though Lord Ravenscroft had committed numerous sins, he was by no means a devil. Somewhere there was good in him. Was the sweet posy in her hand not testament to that?

  Chapter Six

  All chattering ceased when Fabian entered the small stone church that had stood on the clifftop for centuries. His men had patched the holes in the roof, chased away the bats and rebuilt the dry-stone wall. Over the years, many people had stood at the altar and exchanged vows. No doubt few had used bribery and coercion to woo the bride.

  A sudden pang of guilt hit him hard in the chest.

  He was the worst of rogues. He knew that. But Lillian would have a better life with him than the one she presently had in London. No one wanted to be the subject of scandalous gossip. No lady should have to look to the gutter for a suitor. In that respect, Lillian needed saving almost as much as Estelle.

  Fabian bit back a chuckle as he strode down the aisle. Huddled together in the box pews, the doors draped in pretty rose garlands, sat twenty or more of the toughest sailors ever to sail the seas.

  Had this been St George’s in Hanover Square, the throng would smile and nod politely, not jeer, wink and offer wide toothless grins. Still, these loyal, hardworking men had helped him make his fortune, and Fabian would be forever in their debt.

  “Bet girls in every port are weeping into their aprons today,” one of them muttered as Fabian walked past. “Who’d have thought to see his lordship wed?”

  “Happen his betrothed is a siren. Who else can lure a sane man from a calm sea to a rocky shore?”

  “Isn’t a siren half woman, half bird?”

  “All the more reason why she’s marrying the Raven.”

  Fabian paid them no heed as he stood before the reverend at the altar, his hands clasped behind his back. Sailors told tales and invented stories to relieve the monotony of spending endless months at sea. Besides, how could he offer a witty reply when his tongue felt thick and clumsy? How could he contradict them when he feared Lillian Sandford did possess a magical ability to make a man lose his mind?

  The church door creaked open. Nancy Hill and the rest of the women slipped inside, offering whispered apologies as they shuffled into one of the box pews. Ursula smiled and raised a teasing brow. Thank the Lord he’d declined every offer she’d made
to warm his bed. The woman had been persistent in her methods, but Fabian would never disrespect his position or his staff.

  “I trust the bride is on her way, my lord?” The Reverend Sykes sneezed into his handkerchief and wiped his nose ten times despite the surrounding skin being red and raw. The fellow suffered from every ailment known to man. Gout in his toe made standing a painful affair. “Old buildings are a curse when one has a weak constitution.”

  “Rest assured. The lady is here.” Well, he hoped she’d not persuaded Mackenzie to command a rowboat and ferry her back to the mainland.

  A man in the crowd cleared his throat. They all shifted in their seats and craned their necks to gain the best view of the door.

  The Reverend Sykes gestured for the congregation to stand but the men were so keen to glimpse the siren who’d bewitched their master, it took some time before they obliged.

  Lillian hovered in the doorway. Due to her brother's absence, Mackenzie took his place at her side. She gripped his arm and pasted a smile. The pretty posy in her hand shook. Anyone would think she was about to walk the plank and plunge into shark-infested waters.

  What did he expect? She agreed to marry him because he’d made it hard for her to say no. She agreed to marry him because no one else had asked her. From what little he’d seen, she had given up all hope of finding happiness.

  As she walked towards him, his chest grew as tight as his throat.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Her beauty stole his breath … surely that was it. With her styled coiffure and simple yet elegant dress, she looked every bit a lady of the ton and not a naive girl who’d given away her greatest treasure on a whim.

  Damn Vane.

  Fabian mentally shook himself. Bitterness had no place in his heart—not today.

  Lillian came to stand before him, and he smiled. Her bottom lip quivered as she forced a smile, too.

  The need to ease her fears took hold, and he closed the gap between them and bent his head. “There’s no need to look so terrified. All will be well.”