When David queried him later, the earl simply replied. ‘It’s the best way to keep funds from that cur without having to change my will. I know he would waste a fortune in challenging it after I die if I did. Besides, I get the pleasure of being able to gloat over him while I am still alive. He came to see me as soon as we returned to London and he left Langham House a very angry young man. He knows the first sign of a twinge in my knee and all maintenance on the properties linked to the title will cease.’
David nodded, relieved that the earl had a new enemy on which to focus his attention.
At the wedding ball later that week, David had other matters on his mind.
‘Our waltz will be starting soon; are you ready to take to the floor, Mrs Radley?’ David asked.
Clarice gave him the same secret smile she had been giving him all week. He raised an eyebrow in response.
‘What?’
She drew in close and accepted the kiss he readily placed on her lips. ‘Just be gentle with me when you take me through the turns. My constitution is not up to being spun around the room.’ She chuckled as his expression turned slowly from that of polite interest to realisation.
‘No!’ he whispered.
She nodded. They had been married all of a week, but with the rush of late-season weddings, they had been forced to wait for an available booking at St Georges. David had steadfastly refused to be married anywhere else.
‘By my count I am sixteen days late. Which, if I am correct, means our first child was more than likely conceived in Temple Wood,’ she replied.
David chuckled. ‘Remind me to keep that blanket ready for any future sojourns into the wilderness.’
He pulled her quickly into a nearby room, and closed the door, locking it behind him. ‘We won’t be disturbed here; no-one would dare enter my mother’s sitting room without her permission.’
The noise of the hundreds of party guests dimmed to a low hum. Clarice put her arms around him and they shared a private hug.
‘Of course, it will have to officially be a wedding-night baby, and then arrive a little early,’ she said.
‘As long as it has the Radley name, I don’t care what anyone else thinks,’ he replied.
She looked up at him, the look of pure, unbridled happiness on her face mirroring his own happy state. They had taken risks and defied the odds; their bravery was now truly rewarded.
Theirs was a most suitable match.
EPILOGUE
His evening dress was regulation black, his cravat simply tied. At first glance, he looked like any other gentleman present at the ball. But Lady Lucy Radley sensed something was different about this man. Having spent all her life within the privileged world of the haute ton, she knew an outsider at an instant.
The uncomfortable way he held his shoulders back suggested that his jacket was too small for him. With one gloved hand held constantly behind his back, he looked thoroughly ill at ease.
Intrigued, she studied him. He was deep in conversation with Clarice’s father, nodding his head every so often as his gaze roamed the room. The stiff, formal way he held himself suggested a military man, but perhaps not an officer?
Who was he?
When her curiosity finally got the better of her she sought out her new sister-in-law. If anyone would have a clue as to the identity of the stranger, it was Clarice. She found Clarice standing arm-in-arm with her new husband, chatting to some of their guests.
Lucy waited impatiently until the other guests took their leave and then gently seized Clarice by the arm. She waved David away. ‘You can have her back shortly, I just need to borrow your wife for a moment,’ she said.
She found a clear spot on the floor and stopped. Clarice furrowed her brow.
‘What?’
‘Who is that talking to your father?’ Lucy asked, failing to hide her interest.
Clarice turned and gave Lucy a discouraging frown. ‘That, dear sister, is Mr Avery Fox.’
Lucy winced. ‘Don’t tell me that dashingly handsome, charming looking man is related to the evil Thaxter Fox? Nature could not be so cruel.’
Clarice nodded. ‘His younger brother. He spent many years abroad in the army and was wounded at Waterloo. He has only recently come to London and made himself known to us.’
‘What a pity he is not the heir,’ Lucy replied, her gaze still firmly fixed on the dashing Mr Fox.
‘They are headed this way; I can make introductions if you like,’ Clarice replied.
As the men strode toward them, Lucy only had eyes for the mysterious Mr Fox. When his gaze met hers, her mouth went dry.
‘I expect he is the only Fox welcome at this gathering,’ she said. ‘Your father made his position regarding Thaxter very clear, and I for one can’t blame him. The nerve of that man in trying to steal the household silver from Langham Hall. I expect he is now trying to lie low from his creditors. It will, of course, make his wooing of any heiress rather difficult. One can hardly make doe eyes at a well-dowered prospective bride when you have the bailiff at your heels.’
She laughed, satisfied that Thaxter Fox was getting all that he deserved. Clarice took a firm hold of Lucy’s arm.
‘This is no matter for jest; Thaxter Fox has been missing for nearly two weeks. Papa is beginning to suspect his evil ways might have finally caught up with him. Mr Avery Fox has been searching for his brother all over London. David wouldn’t even name some of the places Avery has been in his efforts to find his brother, but he said they were vile dens of iniquity.
Lucy gritted her teeth as a thrill of excitement raced down her spine. The London season was finally getting interesting.
‘Ladies, may I introduce Mr Avery Fox, late of His Majesty’s ninety-fifth rifles,’ said Lord Langham.
Avery Fox looked deep into Lucy’s eyes before giving her a formal bow.
‘Mr Fox, what a pleasure,’ she replied.
Acknowledgements
To Dean and Laura for their ongoing support of my writing career and critiquing of the food I cook for my website blog. A special thank you to Laura for her brilliant photography.
To my sister Julie for the amazing three weeks we travelled together around England researching this book series. I miss English fish and chips, so can we please do it again?
Geoff for helping to choreography the fight scene with Clarice and Thaxter. I shall never look at a paint easel the same way again.
Sharon and Laurie thank you for your amazing support and love of the characters.
Once again a huge thank you to Alison Stuart for your ability to tell me when things are just not working in the manuscript. Tough love always works.
To my fellow Destiny author Louise Reynolds, so many plans for world domination we must one day succeed.
To Carol George and Sarah Fairhall at Destiny Romance for your ongoing support. You continually make me grow better as a writer.
Finally to everyone who read and loved Letter from a Rake and encouraged me to write the next story in the Duke of Strathmore series, thank you.
About the Author
Born in England, but raised in Australia, Sasha has a love for both countries. Having her heart in two places has created a love for travel, which at last count was to over 55 countries. A travel guide is always on her pile of new books to read.
Five years ago, Sasha accidently enrolled in a romance writing course. Other than Pride and Prejudice she had never read a romance book before. She soon discovered that the world of historical romance allowed her to combine her love of history with the passion of romance writing.
Sasha has an MBA as well as post graduate qualifications in electronic media. Having worked as an accountant in a media group for many years, she now finds herself in the unique position of having seen both the business and creative sides of publishing.
Sasha lives in Melbourne with her husband, teenage daughter and a cat who thinks sitting on the keyboard is being helpful. Her family have managed to find all but one of her secret chocolate hiding places.
When not writing, she is busy working full time as a Chartered Accountant. On the weekends Sasha loves walking on the beach while devising new ways to torture her characters.
Chapter 1
London, 1817
At three o’clock in the afternoon, on the eighth day after her arrival in England, Miss Millicent Ashton made up her mind.
She wanted to go home.
The snide remarks had begun the moment she and her mother entered Lady Elmore’s spacious drawing room.
‘So that’s what an Indian elephant looks like,’ whispered a blonde miss by the window. She leaned in close to another girl, who giggled.
‘I wonder if she gives free rides.’
Millie knew the cruel taunts were aimed at her.
In the other homes they had so far visited, she had managed to perfect the art of removing her coat and sitting down in one motion. With luck, she was usually able to seat herself in the corner of a couch and hide partially behind the skirts of her mother.
Unfortunately, this time, Lady Elmore had greeted them at the drawing room door and Millie had suffered the humiliation of being presented by her mother in the middle of the room, where of course everyone could take in Millie’s ample frame.
While the two older women remarked on how cold the weather was in England compared with India, the first of the whispers began.
The giggling misses’ barely concealed mirth earned them both a steely stare from Millie’s mother, Violet Ashton, who ushered her daughter to a couch to be seated next to their hostess.
Millie’s heart sank. Now everyone in the room could see her. As Violet took the seat beside her, Millie gave her a half-smile, silently regretting her mother’s need to make a statement.
For the rest of the two-hour visit, she sat quietly between the two women, taking the occasional sip of her black tea and politely refusing to partake of the delicious array of cakes Lady Elmore’s servants had laid out on the low table before them.
With her hands folded in her lap, she focused on the pain of her thumbnail boring deep into her palm. She would poke her own eyes out before she would show any kind of response to the cruel taunts.
She retreated into the comfort of her own thoughts, slowly and methodically naming the fjords of the Norwegian coastline, and when she was done, she started on the Finnish coast. Nothing soothed her mind more quickly than attempting to tackle mental tongue twisters.
When her mother finally began making her farewells, Millie was lost somewhere in the far frozen north of Scandinavia.
A whispered ‘Millie, we are leaving,’ roused her.
With a well-practised curtsy, she politely thanked Lady Elmore and followed her mother to the front door. Hands clasped tightly in front, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on her gloves.
After attending several of these events since their arrival in London, she had learnt the painful lesson of what would happen if she risked one last glance around the room of vipers. At Mrs Wallace’s house earlier in the week she had caught several of the girls puffing their cheeks out at her as she left. One had even managed to poke out her tongue before smothering the action with a well-timed cough.
As soon as the carriage door closed behind them, Millie turned on her mother.
‘That is the last of those horrid things you drag me to; next time you can go on your own,’ she snapped, stamping her foot for good measure.
Violet let out a sigh. ‘And what am I to tell the ladies of London society when my highly eligible daughter does not accompany me on these outings?’ she replied.
‘Tell them you have locked me in my room for swearing, or better still tell them that I went mad and you had me put me away in Bedlam.’
Millie crossed her arms, glared out of the window and continued.
‘If they want to see me they can pay the keeper a coin. I barely know these people and yet they choose to judge me purely by sight. Not one of those simpering misses has attempted to speak to me. No, they would rather just make fun of a newcomer; well, that was the last straw.’
‘Don’t say it,’ her mother replied.
‘Say what?’
‘“I want to go home to India, I hate this place, all the people are horrid and it’s cold.” If I hear those words from your lips one more time today, I swear I shall get on a boat myself and go back to India just to get away from you.’ Violet pulled her coat tightly around herself and let out a tired sigh. ‘Honestly, Millie, my ears cannot take many more of your complaints. Don’t think I don’t know how unkind those girls are, but you have to remember you pose a threat to them and they don’t like it. They are trying to bring you down to their level. You just have to rise above them.’
Millie sat staring at her mother, too stunned to speak. For the first time since their arrival, she was lost for words. How could she possibly be a threat to anyone?
Finally, she shook her head. ‘How am I a threat to those girls, Mama?’
Violet gave a knowing smile and nodded her head. ‘You are from a good family, your father and uncle are powerful men and you come with a sizeable dowry. A lot of those girls have only their passing beauty to catch a potential husband and most men want more than that,’ she explained.
Millie scowled. ‘Yes, but most men want a slender, elegant wife who stays out of their way,’ she replied, knowing she would never be that sort of woman.
Her mother laughed. ‘Where on earth did you get such a silly notion? Have you ever seen me shy away from your father? And believe me, I have never been thin in my life.’ She leaned forward on the leather bench and brushed her hand gently across Millie’s cheek.
‘Darling, you will find that different men are attracted to different things. Some will find you a little unusual because of your foreign upbringing and not to their taste, but I assure you there will be someone who finds you the most enchanting creature he has ever laid eyes upon. And when he discovers the witty, intelligent girl that you are, he will give thanks that you have come into his life.’
Violet tucked a wayward lock of Millie’s chestnut-brown hair behind her daughter’s ear before adding, ‘Of course, you will have to stop complaining about England for him to have a chance to appreciate your finer qualities, but I am sure you will soon overcome your aversion to the place; everyone does eventually.’
‘Apart from the French,’ Millie muttered, knowing she was testing her mother’s patience.
Violet sat back in her seat and rubbed her temple. She had complained of a throbbing behind her left eye before they’d arrived at Lady Elmore’s and Millie knew from the paleness of her mother’s cheeks that one of her serious headaches was imminent. As soon as they reached home her mother would retire to her room and have a long afternoon sleep, leaving Millie once more alone to amuse herself.
Her mother’s words of advice still hung in the air. She was right, of course: Millie would have to make peace with her new home, but, as for the other matter, her mind was wracked with doubt.
No one in London would think her wonderful or stunning. It would take a special man to look beyond the obvious and see the real Millie Ashton. From what she had seen of London society so far, she doubted that such a man existed anywhere in England.
As the carriage made the short journey to their new home in Mill Street, Millie continued to look out the window. The cobbled streets of London were a stark contrast to the dusty streets of Calcutta, the city where she had been born.
Instead of the hot windy streets full of people, animals and handcarts all attempting to progress through the oncoming traffic, London was the picture of order and civility. The few people walking on the streets of St James made their way on stone pavements, not in the middle of the road. And there were no cows wandering lazily in and out of street stalls and markets.
Millie sat back in her seat and, closing her eyes, tried to recall the cries of the khonchavala, as they walked the streets of her home city peddling their wares.
Once they’d reached home and were inside, M
illie quickly handed her bonnet and coat to her maid. The house call had been long and trying, her temper was frayed, and she knew if she stayed near her mother for a minute longer harsh words would be exchanged and the whole day would be a complete shambles.
She brushed a kiss on her mother’s cheek, wished her a speedy recovery and with purpose headed downstairs to the kitchens.
Millie was sitting in the big wooden cook’s chair with a mug of hot sweet tea, slowly chewing on one of Mrs Knowles’ mawa cakes when she saw her brother Charles’ head appear around the kitchen door.
Stepping into the kitchen, he was greeted by the Indian-born Mrs Knowles with a respectful ‘Namaste’. He bowed in response, before turning to his sister.
‘Thought I might find you here. How was the visit to Lady Elmore’s?’ Charles asked, as he stopped near the kitchen table.
His gaze drifted to the plate next to Millie at the end of the table. A single cake sat among the scattered crumbs.
‘Oh dear, that bad?’ he replied, running a hand through his sandy blond hair.
Millie wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and slurped down the last of her tea. Small tears formed in her eyes and she bravely blinked them away. Rising from the chair, she managed to maintain her composure for the few seconds it took for her to fall into her older brother’s embrace.
He wrapped his comforting arms around her and held her close.
‘They called me an elephant,’ she said as the tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘None of them wanted to talk to me; they just sat and giggled behind their hands. They were simply horrid.’
Charles stroked her hair and planted a kiss on the top of her long brown locks.
‘Millie, you just have to give them time, let them get to know you, and I promise things will get better. Not everyone here is horrible. You will have lots of friends in no time. We’ve only been here a week, you cannot dismiss all of London just yet,’ he said with a sigh.
Millie sniffed back the tears and took the handkerchief he offered.
An Unsuitable Match Page 29
