Fallen Bride
Ginny Sterling
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Afterword
Also by Ginny Sterling
Outlaw Bride
Lawfully Yours
About the Author
For my beloved husband – you’re my world
One
July 7, 1835
England
“Fie, sir! You are too much!” the pretender, Lady Margaret Davies, exclaimed quietly as she tried to tuck herself deeper into the corner of the massive library. The smell of waxy candles and books filled the room. Books were such a luxury and the large estate that held the party was a sight to behold. The shelves were lined with tomes of every size and shape. A large bible sat on display on a standalone dais. A large settee had been set in front of the fireplace making an idyll romantic scene for them.
She was lucky.
An orphan in the city rarely got the opportunity to marry up in rank as they never really had the chance to run in the same circles as the gentry. But a chance meeting during a masquerade party she had attended a few months ago had landed her this very opportunity. She had been fascinated with the idea of being able to mingle among her betters. Hidden behind the mask until the unveiling, she was able to enjoy being a part of the pageantry she’d only dreamed about. At the unveiling, she had mistakenly remained. That error had her face to face with one of the most handsome men she had seen in her young life, the Viscount of Canterbury.
It brought her to today’s events. Another masquerade designed to show off another estate, another young girl ripe for the plucking of society. She was to be matched to another of the gentry simply because she was fortunate enough to be born to the right household. Maggie was not so lucky.
She imagined and yearned for the words of love that the viscount would tell her. He took her hand, guiding her to the small couch. That would be where they shared their newfound love for each other. The scent of well-oiled wood and old books was comforting while her heart beat against her chest nervously. The flickering candles were dim in the room and she could see the passion in her new fiancé’s eyes. Lying down as instructed, she felt his hands everywhere. He repeated over and over again that this intimacy would be expected as his wife. His touch, his kisses, his very claiming of her.
“I wish to wait until we are married!” she protested suddenly, only to have her mouth covered abruptly, causing alarm. He would not hurt her. He told her he loved her, and she knew deep in her heart that he did.
“Of course, my dear. I promise that we’ll tell everyone that we waited and keep your name clear of any slander. I will not have my wife’s name besmirched in any way. Allow me, I cannot resist you.”
Maggie hid away in her mind as he touched her body, reminding herself that a bit of discomfort would be worth it all in the end. She would make sure that her new husband chewed sprigs of mint instead of whatever he had eaten causing the fetid breath that now brushed against her throat. She heard his groan of pleasure as her body protested the invasion.
She’d heard from the other girls in the orphanage that it always hurt the first time. This had not been a lie. They had also told her there would be great pleasure in the act… this had been a whopper of a tale.
Thankfully, he was already off of her body in moments, leaving her where she lay. Smoothing her wrinkled skirts, mortified, she looked up at him expecting to see adoration in his eyes at the ultimate gift she had given him. Instead, his eyes were bitterly cold. Hateful.
“Were you not pleased?” she asked nervously, feeling a rush of shame burning her cheeks. She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Something was terribly wrong.
“How could I be? You obviously had no experience and you’ve stained my trousers with your virgin’s blood. This is quite the mess and it’s all your fault.”
“My fault? Ladies are supposed to go to their marriage bed as maidens.”
“Ladies do not have intercourse on couches in the library of the house they are visiting.”
“What are you implying?”
“You are no lady.”
“I might not be a lady, but I am – I was – a maiden. I’ve given myself to you because I love you and we are to be married.”
“Married?” he exclaimed, laughing. “I’d not marry you. I might have, if you had a title or money to your name. But everything about you says that you are penniless. Your skin, your dress, hell, even your rough hands tell me that you are not a genteel lady! No, you were born of a woman on her back. And look there, you are on your back yet again!”
“Sir! That is quite rude of you and beyond the pale!” she gasped shocked, feeling tears come rushing forward. “We shall not marry? You promised you would!”
“Oh yes, I forgot. Head over heels and such drivel,” he clucked his tongue and adjusted his coat to cover the evidence of their tryst. “I lied, you stupid chit. I’m not in love with you nor am I the Viscount of Canterbury. You are a strumpet who was easily turned on her back for no coin whatsoever. And I am leaving tomorrow for the Americas before I end up in the Tower, again.”
Horrified, she could only stare as he turned from her and walked to the library window. It was mere seconds before he was gone and out of her life. She was alone, ruined, filthy and masquerading as a woman of status. Instead, she was a young, gullible woman who had just paid handsomely for a lie.
Looking back, she could see how naïve and stupid she was. The suave man had introduced himself as the Viscount of Canterbury and she had fallen for the story hook, line, and sinker. He had flashed a few gems, dressed fashionably and presented himself in a way that implied he was single. Just like she had done. It had been only a few days since he had swept her off her feet, playing into the foolish dream and lovesick notion that she could better herself.
“James? Are you in there, love?” Maggie heard a woman’s voice calling softly through the door. Several soft raps, along with a jiggle of the door handle told her that she would not be alone long. “James, I have the wine and my husband is finally asleep. James?”
His name was James? The viscount’s first name was Charles. But then again, he was not the viscount at all. She had given her maidenhead in a lie, to another liar. A liar who was named James. Who knew what his last name was? Feeling angry, mortified and upset, she wanted to call out to the other woman that “James” was already engaged and busy. Instead, she stood up as the door rattled angrily.
“James, let me in! You cur!” Maggie heard the woman’s angry voice and knew it would be a matter of time now before she or others entered. She did not want to be here, to be found out or exposed over what had happened. She had wholly believed in the biggest lie in all of history.
Love at first sight was not true.
Making love, was not love and had nothing to do with love.
It was horrible. There was no “love” to what had just happened at all. It was no better than rutting in an alleyway like the town strumpets did or farm animals. It was a function of the body. She had put her heart into pleasing him. He had used her for a function. Maggie felt used, broken and cold on the inside. She did not want to be seen or see anyone else. She had her moment in the sun with the lavish parties and attentive gentlemen. Now? Now, she felt as if she were wilting away hollowly inside.
Looking down, she saw the great wr
inkles on her borrowed dress and her shaking hands. The knocking sounded so far away as the realization of what she’d done and where she was sunk in. She was sure to be thrown in the Tower or hung for impersonating gentry.
She got to her feet and felt her knees give slightly before taking a step forward. Putting one foot in front of the other, she found herself at the open window that “James” had used to leave her. She would use the same exit and leave the lavish party behind her. Stepping out onto the stone pathway, she found herself running and tears streaming down her cheeks onto the sateen dress. Who cared if it stained? She wanted to be alone and away from this place.
Away from England.
Away from the idea of who James was and who he represented.
Maggie ran and did not stop running.
Two
September 24th, 1835
New Orleans
Maggie felt a great lurch as the boat heaved against the current. A faint gust of what could be considered fresh air finally reached the bowels of the ship she was on. She had stowed away some time ago on the first ship sailing anywhere from England. Fortunately, it was a cargo ship and most of it was uninhabited. The crew spent a good bit of their time near the galley or above deck. When the weather turned, they came below deck and she could hear their talk and laughter just above her.
She lived down in the cargo holding, existing on bare scraps. Leftovers that had been tossed or pickled foods that were destined for port. She drank a lot of alcohol to help with the seasickness and to keep from becoming horribly dehydrated. The trip had taken quite the toll on her. She was exhausted, filthy, and ill. She waited her time and was patient, but she wanted to get off the ship. She hadn’t been discovered in the weeks she was down in the hold. She’d be darned if they would find her now! If she could make it through this recent hell, she could certainly handle whatever came next.
Stumbling down the plank docking, she made her way avoiding the crowds. It wasn’t hard because they parted when they saw her. She knew she was in wretched shape but, perhaps, it was worse than she imagined in her mind. She didn’t know where she was, only that she had a new chance at life now. No orphanage, no chance of seeing James or any others that might have recognized her from her few days enjoying being part of the ton.
It was horrible to be looked down upon or unseen, but she was reliving that yet again. Her first goal was to get some real food in her stomach. Meat with heavy gravy dripping with fats kept rolling through her mind. Food and a serious bath. She would need clothing and something to arm herself with until she made it to wherever she was going. Smiling, she realized that she honestly didn’t know where she was and didn’t care.
The locals spoke all sorts of languages around her. English, Spanish and French with incredibly thick accents. The briny smell of seawater and salty air was invigorating. She could see the lineup of slaves nearby and they looked as desperate for freedom as she was. Rushing along, she stepped away from the crowd and walked down the cobbled streets.
“Goodness, child, you’ve got good bones to you – but you are all bones, Chere,” she heard a woman’s voice call out. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a tall lady dressed immaculately, standing nearby with a basket on her arm filled with loaves of bread and flowers.
“Pardon me?”
“Oh? And an English lady, too? Let’s clean you up and get you some food.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Hell no, I don’t mind. Everyone has been down on their luck one way or another at some time. Someone picked me up out of the gutter, it’s the least I can do for you, too. Besides, once you are clean and healthy, maybe we can talk about working off your keep. And you can stay with ol’ Solange for a while?”
“Thank you so much. I’m so tired,” she breathed, feeling exhaustion beat at her. She needed sleep, clean water and food. Not necessarily in that order either.
“You’ve come off the ship? C’est vrai?”
“Yes, I just arrived. Where am I?”
“Oh, Chere! You must be exhausted to not know where you are! You are in la nouvelle Orleans, mon amie. Or in your tongue, New Orleans.” Maggie stared at the ornate buildings entranced with fascination and hope.
“My name is Solange. Come! Come, ma petite!”
“New Orleans in America,” she breathed gratefully, as she followed Solange up the back stairwell of a large building. The windows were all vented with great clapboard shutters propped open for privacy. She could hear music in the background. Solange stepped onto a landing and called out for the other girls. Maybe it was another orphanage like what she had come from. That would explain why they were so understanding and took in charity cases like herself.
A large, tin basin was rolled into a room as Solange helped her out of her clothes. She was still in the gown from that fateful night and it reeked. She hadn’t packed. She had left with the clothes on her back, literally.
“We’ll burn this,” Solange announced, holding the stained dress far away from her and pinching her nose in an exaggerated manner.
“It’s all I have!”
“We’ll get you something else then. You cannot wear this, non?”
“Thank you, so much.”
“Of course, ma chere!”
As Maggie was stripped down, she climbed into the tepid water that was filling the tub. Solange threw a bristle brush in the water with a sympathetic smile.
“You’ll be needing that and don’t be shy with it.” Grabbing a block of harsh lye soap, she began to scrub heavily of her skin until it pinkened. She wanted to wash away anything from home. Any of James’ touch that remained. Dunking her head, she washed her hair until it was squeaky clean.
“Lie down and we’ll talk tomorrow. I will have Delilah bring you some food shortly and clothing.”
“Bless you, Solange.”
“Now, don’t be doing that, child.” She laughed harshly and closed the door behind her. Maggie lay down on the bed and promptly fell asleep. Waking later, she sat up only long enough to shove the lukewarm food next to the bed into her mouth. Lying back down, she breathed a sigh of relief and wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Slowly opening her eyes, she realized the sun was high up in the sky and she could hear the faint stirring below in the kitchens. Occasionally, she would hear a woman’s laugh. But for the most part, it was quiet. Getting to her feet, she realized her legs still felt wobbly. She was stronger and a few more meals would do her a lot of good. Opening a window, she felt the oppressive heat fill the room. It certainly wasn’t England.
Smiling, she stood and dressed herself in the homespun garments they had brought her. The dress was nothing elaborate, just a cotton gown with no décor. It reminded her of the chemises they had at the orphanage. The girls had forgotten a few key items, but it was of no matter. She would just ask for them when she went down. She preferred a thicker overdress and a chemise but, perhaps, here in the sultry town the women dressed lighter for the heat of day. She had no corset and, again, chalked it up to being due to the temperatures.
Opening the doorway, she saw several women nearby dressed like her. A few in corsets and bloomers, one or two in chemises and one lady wore a chiffon robe. Maggie struggled to keep her jaw from gaping in shock at the exposed view of the woman’s body. When she realized that the woman was waving at her, she glanced away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
“There is my belle fille! How are you feeling?”
“Hungry and a bit tired still.”
“Let’s feed you then, mon petite, and then we’ll discuss your place here.”
Solange led her to the kitchen where a thick meat pie sat on the table with a few slices out of it. She placed a slice on a plate along with some parsnips and turnips. “I hope you like this. There is gateau this afternoon. Cake? I forget the anglais words sometimes. There is cake this afternoon,” she told Maggie with a smile.
The idea of a decadent slice of cake had Maggie drooling almost instantly. She pulled up
a stool and ate right there at the butcher block table in the kitchen among the few servants of the house. As Maggie scraped her plate, one of the maids put another slice on her plate with a knowing smile. She nodded gratefully and ate that slice, too.
“Feeling better?”
“Much. Thank you again for everything.”
“Don’t thank me. I was once like you. Now, let’s talk about your position here.”
“My position?”
“Yes, you’ll need to earn your keep just like the other girls here.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Well, during the day – nothing. Rest up. At night, we party and entertain our guests. Think you can do that?”
“Entertain and be part of a party? That is my position here? To have fun?”
“Why yes, Chere. It’s fun and exciting. We all quite enjoy it and spend all night doing it, too.”
“I’d love to, then.”
“I knew you’d fit right in! We open the doors promptly at seven pm. Come down with a smile on your pretty, little face. Would you like some gateau?”
“Oh yes, please!”
Happily, she took the slice and dove right in. Feeling the chocolate melt on her tongue, she curled her toes, closed her eyes and let out a moan of pleasure. “There you go!” Solange said with a happy laugh. “That’s my girl!”
The afternoon passed, and Maggie rested upstairs in her room alone for quite a while. She could hear the music increasing in volume and was slightly dismayed that the girls hadn’t brought up a gown as of yet. She was still in her chemise and it was still extremely humid in the house. A loud knock at the door caused her to jump in alarm.
“Maggie? C’mon down.”
Fallen Bride: A Historical Western Romance (Bride books Book 6) Page 1
