Quest of Honor

by Ellie St. Clair

  “Are you quite ready?” Tillie asked in a huff, never one for patience. “I am absolutely starving and I want to stop for the small cakes at Lodge and Stone. They’re my favorite, you know.”

  Oh, yes. Tabitha knew. Tillie was a connoisseur of delicious food, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the looks of her. She managed to maintain just the right curves in just the right places and was never shy about enjoying herself.

  As well she should, Tabitha thought with a smile. Life was hard enough as it was, why not take a little joy where you could find it?

  “I believe so,” Tabitha said, suddenly shy at the form-fitting walking dress. It hugged her small body in the right places, more so than any of her ordinary dresses. And the color—it made her violet eyes simply shine in the full-length mirror before her. There were buttons and ribbons accenting the dress perfectly—not too many and not too few. She looked polished. Poised. So far from the normal, bedraggled mess that she was most other days that she pinched her cheeks for a little dash of color and smiled at her reflection.

  “It’s absolutely lovely,” Tabitha breathed as Tillie came to stand behind her. Tabitha studied the hat displays in the shop and moved toward the back to find the perfect bonnet to complete the look, large peacock plume and all. She set it on top of the tawny locks piled on top of her head.

  “Now we are ready.”

  Tabitha and Tillie left the shop and Tabitha locked the door behind her.

  They walked the two long blocks to Denton’s, a stabling station for people who could afford it. When the carriage was ready, Tillie and Tabitha climbed in and enjoyed the long ride toward the grand manse of the former Duke of Stowe, His Grace, Lord Reginald Fairchild. Lord Reginald had died unexpectedly almost two years prior and his wife, Lady Gemma, was slowly coming back out into polite society. As such, she found her wardrobe to be a bit outdated and on a recommendation her lady’s maid had found her way into Tabitha’s shop for the first time two months ago for a simple hat, which had turned into the most recent repeat order.

  Nearly an hour later, they rolled to a stop in front of the Fairchild home and Tabitha sucked a breath through her lips.

  “Wow,” she said as Tillie giggled beside her.

  “You have that right,” her friend replied.

  The home was large, bedecked in white marble, and had four giant marble columns across the front of it. There was a small pond in the middle of the circle drive they took to reach the front door and Tabitha counted an army of gardeners toiling away in preparation for what was likely going to be a few days’ worth of guests and revelry.

  When they were greeted by the doorman, Tabitha gave her name and asked for Mr. McEwan. They waited a few brief moments before the older gentleman appeared and showed them inside.

  To say the inside matched the outside in grandeur was putting it lightly and it was all Tabitha could do not to let her mouth hang agog as they tried to keep pace with the steward.

  “Very kind of you to make this happen, Miss Blackmore,” the man said as he practically sprinted with his short, quick strides down a long hallway toward the back of the house. They stayed with him as he turned down this hallway and that, past large, ornate doors, until they came to a corridor at the back of the home, where the doors were much simpler.

  “There now,” he said, as he pushed the first door open to reveal a small office. “They are here, darling. Just like I said they would be.”

  “Darling” turned out to be a smartly dressed woman with an ample bosom, bright cheeks, and kind green eyes. She looked to be somewhere in her 50s and from the warm smile she gave Mr. McEwan, Tabitha guess they were about to meet Mrs. McEwan.

  “Miss Tabitha Blackmore and Miss— my apologies,” Mr. McEwan looked flustered as he glanced at Tillie, who whispered her name good naturedly to him. “Miss Matilda Andrews. This is my wife, Lorna McEwan, the housekeeper here. I leave you with her as we have quite a few preparations we are overseeing. His Grace is due to arrive at any moment.”

  The steward flittered away, leaving Tabitha and Tillie standing in the doorway, feeling awkward. Lorna had a warm smile as she rounded the desk she’d been sitting behind and led them down the hall to what looked like a simple dining room housing a long table and chairs. She took some of the boxes from Tabitha and put them down on the table.

  “I was looking over a few of the accounts for Her Grace,” the woman muttered in a thick brogue. “But now, this is exciting. This is one of her first hosted parties since Lord Reginald passed away and I know she is very nervous about the whole thing.”

  Lorna began pulling the hats and fascinators from the box and tittering and clucking in appreciation.

  “I knew you’d come through for us, Miss Blackmore,” she said, mostly to herself. “You came highly recommended from Baron Wellesley’s daughters and I knew you would provide the best for Her Grace.”

  Tabitha blushed a little and Tillie pinched her lightly in the side at the compliments.

  “Are you her assistant?” Lorna asked Tillie, who simply shook her head.

  “She is a talented dressmaker,” Tabitha blurted out before she could think better of it. She heard Tillie gasp at her secret identity being outed so quickly, but Lorna didn’t look at all disapproving. In fact, she looked interested, so Tabitha pointed to the dress she was currently wearing.

  “This is one of hers,” she said, proud of her friend. “It is going to be a sample at Rochester’s but she insisted I wear it to deliver these.”

  Lorna gave the gown a steady gaze and smiled at her friend.

  “You’re very talented, Miss.”

  As Tillie was thanking her for the compliment, the door burst open with a train of three maids carrying two gowns each. Lorna instructed them to hang the dresses on hooks along one side of the wall.

  Six exquisite gowns were suddenly on display and she watched as Tillie took them all in, silently regarding every last detail on each one.

  Lorna stayed quiet a moment before speaking.

  “So,” she prodded. “Professional opinion, ladies?”

  With the hats on the table in front of the gowns, Tabitha realized what Lorna was asking. She wanted to know how they thought the gowns and the headwear matched up. As the last maid shut the door and left, Lorna looked to the ladies a second time.

  “Well?”

  After a moment of hesitation, both Tabitha and Tillie set upon the dresses and accessories, moving the feathers and ribbons around so that they paired up with the best gown. The housekeeper stepped back and watched as the two of them discussed ribbon shades and the texture of lace next to bright, fluffy feather plumes. When they were done, Lorna stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the ensembles they had put together with a smile on her face.

  “Exquisite,” she said reverently. “Absolutely exquisite. Do you happen to be free over the next two days?”

  She turned toward them as she asked.

  Tabitha didn’t answer immediately, but Tillie did.

  “I am supposed to leave with my mother in the morning for two weeks in Bath,” she said. “I’m actually running behind schedule as it is. We are dining with my uncle at his club in a few hours.”

  Lorna turned to Tabitha.

  “I am not sure,” she answered honestly. “I am not certain of what you are asking me right now?”

  Lorna cast a glance toward the gowns.

  “The next few weeks are important to Her Grace for many, many reasons,” she began. “First, she is venturing out of mourning and the eyes of her peers and contemporaries will be more than critical as she begins to immerse herself in the activities surrounding the season. I want her to shine, to put it bluntly, and none of her maids know a thing about dressing her to her station.”

  Tabitha could understand that. A duchess was expected to have an air of regality that none beyond the royal family would possess.

  “What’s more,” the woman continued. “Her son is expected to return this season and select a wife, so
all eyes will be on His Grace as he moves through these parties and balls with an eye on the crowd for the next Duchess of Stowe.”

  Tabitha had heard rumors of Nicholas Fairchild, the latest Duke of Stowe. He was rumored to be a good-looking man who’d run wild in his younger days as the privileged sons of the elite were wont to do. He had managed to leave for France last year without a scandal chasing him out of town and as far as she understood, there wasn’t one from the Continent chasing him back into town.

  Either he was a well-behaved son of a duke or a very crafty duke who knew how to hide his indiscretions.

  Whatever the case may be, as the daughter of a merchant baronet, the duke was so very far out of her realm that he might as well have existed in an alternate universe. Tabitha was a realist if nothing else, and spent very little time as a girl reading about white knights and rescues. She was a woman making plans to rescue herself.

  “What I’m offering,” Lorna continued, pulling Tabitha back from her thoughts. “Is to pay for your services if you would agree to stay until tomorrow and make sure that the maids have Her Grace looking ravishing and heads above the rest. We need personal touches that it seems only the two of you can give. We shall pay you for your troubles. Handsomely.”

  Well, that did it. Handsomely, from the family of a duke, usually did mean handsomely, and that was money she needed to fund her schooling in Paris.

  “I can do it,” Tabitha said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I just need to send a message, letting my stepmother know I will no longer return until tomorrow evening.”

  Crafting an expeditious white lie, Tabitha sent word to her stepmother that she was visiting with Tillie’s family for the evening and would be back for supper the following day.

  The games were surely afoot now, Tabitha thought to herself as she allowed Lorna to show Tillie out and to lead her to her temporary rooms.

  The Duke She Wished For is now available for purchase on Amazon, and is free to read through Kindle Unlimited.

  HEARTS OF STARLIGHT

  THE MCDOUGALLS: BOOK 1

  By Audrey Adair

  Prologue

  July 10, 1866 ~ Aldourie, Scotland

  Shrieks of laughter filled the air as two boys came tumbling over the crest of the brilliant green hill, rolling faster and faster as they raced to the bottom. A small black puppy flew behind them trying to keep up, and following him the little feet, flying curls and hurled insults from a ragtag group of girls and boys.

  They all landed in a heap at the bottom of the grassy knoll, where it seemed the hills, the plains and the clear blue of the skies met in a piece of paradise. The plains stretched before them, dotted with cows all the way down to the east shore of Loch Ness. Apparently it had monsters in the bottom, though the children had never found them, despite their repeated efforts to do so during their summer swims.

  Callum rolled out from the bottom of the pile as his sister Margaret elbowed him hard in the stomach.

  “Oof, Peggy, get your little bony body off me!” he said, as she giggled and her foot caught their cousin Gregor in the face when she tried to slide off the pile.

  “Come and catch me!” she yelled into the wind as she started running as fast as her tiny bare feet could carry her. Her golden red curls stretched out behind her, blowing in the wind. Just four years old, she was the baby of the bunch, and more of a terror to her parents than all the rest of them had been.

  Callum was six years older than Margaret, five years older than Roderick, three years older than Adam, and a year older than Finlay. Finlay may have been younger than him, but he felt they were much too old to go tumbling about in the woods, or so he told them all with his chest puffed out. Callum was fine with that. He would rather play with Gregor. Finlay was much too stuffy to have fun with running about in the woods.

  Gregor was their cousin, the same age as Callum. He had been raised with the rest of the McDougall clan after his parents were killed in an uprising. He had been staying with the McDougalls at the time, which saved his life. Four years later, Callum could still hear Gregor’s sobs that night as he lay in the bed next to him. He never said a thing, as Gregor would be mortified to know he heard him.

  But today, on this summer day made for kids trampling the fields, they didn’t think of that. They ran to the main keep, catching Margaret and running through the chicken coop, scaring the birds as feathers flew.

  They ducked a swat from one of their father’s farmhands, and kept moving like a pack of dogs, sweeping over the keep.

  That night, exhausted, Gregor and Callum lay outside, trying to count the stars, content in their friendship and life on the Highlands.

  1

  June 21, 1882 ~ London, England

  One foot dangled inside the windowsill in the relative safety of the bedroom. The other desperately searched for a foothold on the lattice that climbed the house as Victoria Brighton precariously straddled the ledge.

  Cursing as her skirts snagged on a nail, Victoria looked below her. It was a pretty view, the ivy-strewn lattice climbing the red brick house. But she would be much happier looking at it from over her shoulder.

  “Blast,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice down to avoid being heard by anyone who happened to be outside.

  Her foot found the lattice and she began inching her way down from her second story window. It was fortunate she didn’t sleep on the third floor, she thought.

  Her fingers dug into the wooden lattice and her foot slipped a few times on the tangle of vines as she made the slow climb down. Her gloves scratched against the rough brick wall as her fingers slid through the lattice holes and hit the cold surface. There was still a chill to the air in the late hours of spring, but nevertheless Victoria could feel anxious perspiration dripping down her spine.

  What she lacked in coordination, she made up for with determination. By the time she reached the ground her arms were beginning to ache from the weight of what she felt was a very average sized frame.

  As she reached down to retrieve the valise that she’d sent flying out the window minutes earlier, Victoria heard the din of voices around the corner. Laughter floated through the air, as the voices of her wedding guests were full of gossip and excitement, lips loosened by too many glasses of champagne and punch.

  The wedding in question was one that Victoria was determined would never take place. It would be not a fairy tale of her choosing, but one that would mean a happy ending for her stepfather and groom to be. She was seen as a bank account more than a bride and she refused to spend the rest of her life married to a man who made her skin crawl in all varieties of unpleasant ways.

  She didn’t think any of the guests would be disappointed. Rather, this would provide fodder for their gossip for months. How a girl from a common family – though an heiress to a formidable fortune, mind you – could leave the Duke of Lansingberg practically at the altar! Never mind that he had nothing to his name, had destroyed his estate with his greedy ways and his wife had suspiciously died – he was a duke.

  Victoria would not be wife number two, and would certainly not be making the Duke a widower twice over.

  She was, as always, running late. She didn’t know how it had happened, as she thought she had timed everything perfectly. Feigning a stomach illness, she had blamed the richness of the food and her nervousness for the day at hand. No one had questioned her, nor had cared really. The sky was just beginning to darken, and she knew she had to get moving if she was going to make the last train to Liverpool.

  Victoria had made a schedule for herself in order to time everything just right – enough time to reach the train station, arrive in Liverpool, and make her way to the docks to board the Parisian. Her hope was that once the others realized she was gone in the morning, there wouldn’t be enough time to catch her before the ship launched. She had told her maid, Mary, not to wake her until late as she needed the beauty rest before her wedding day. It pained Victoria that Mary, as sweet and gentle as she w
as, might be blamed, but Victoria consoled herself with the thought that she was also saving Mary from a life serving in the household of the Duke of Lansingberg. Victoria had left her with a note outlining what to say to the Duke, including information on where she had arranged another placement for her.

  Victoria crept around the back of the house to find the alley clear. Dark tendrils had slipped out of their pins and were tumbling down the side of her face after her foray out the window. She tried to shove the pins back in before heading to the streets to find a hackney. The streets were fairly quiet at this hour, the streetlamps not yet lit but guiding the way to the main road.

  Victoria could move at a fairly good pace in her simple gown but didn’t want to attract much attention. She was hoping she had luck on her side.

  A few turns later, she finally saw a gentleman disembarking from a hackney up ahead, and she raced to catch it before it continued on. Any questions the driver had about a lone female out at this hour were forgotten when she pulled out her purse, and they were soon on their way to the train station, where Victoria would board for Liverpool.

  She had matched an unadorned hat to her plain dress, and had tucked her hair up in pins underneath it, hoping she would look forgettable enough that no one would remember seeing her if questioned later on.

  While Victoria had been short-sighted in imagining how far her stepfather would go to achieve his own political goals, her aunt had not been. Her father’s sister, Sarah, had a better sense of a person upon first impression. Months before, soon after the death of Victoria’s mother, Aunt Sarah’s letters became urgent. She sent them through Victoria’s friend Marian, as Victoria’s stepfather made sure to review all of her correspondence. Victoria anticipated their monthly arrival, eager for her aunt’s news of adventure in the western wilds on the other side of the Atlantic, as well as for her comforting words. Victoria had at first disregarded Sarah’s claims, ignoring her aunt’s suggestion that Victoria begin planning a way to escape her stepfather and his conniving ways. While she didn’t necessarily enjoy living under his roof, she knew she only had to wait a few months more before claiming her inheritance and her freedom.