The Truth About Lady Felkirk

by Christine Merrill

  Justine gave them both an encouraging nod. It had all been very polite and rational so far and not the barrage of shouted accusations she had imagined. ‘When I came of age, there was still my sister to consider. Until she came of age as well...’ She busied herself with the marmalade pot, trying not to think of all the horrible things that might have occurred ‘...I could not leave her alone in his care.’

  ‘And when you came to my home under false pretences and lied to Penelope and I, pretending to be my brother’s wife?’

  ‘Lord Felkirk was bleeding and near death. But he had not yet expired and I did not wish to be an accessory to his murder. If he could be healed, I would attempt it. But if he was to die, it would be better that he did it in the presence of his family. Lying about our relationship was a bad idea, but on the journey here I could not manage to think of a better one.’

  The duke sat quite still for a moment, thinking. ‘Nor can I,’ he said. ‘Considering all the evidence, I have no real desire to prosecute you. Saving my brother’s life on at least two occasions tips the balance in your favour. As to some of the more unsavoury parts of this story, I will leave them to you to explain or conceal from my wife and friends, as you see fit.’

  ‘Thank you, your Grace,’ she said, rising as he rose and curtsying again.

  Now that business was done, Bellston seemed to relax again into the more brotherly figure she had grown accustomed to seeing. ‘I will leave you and Miss de Bryun alone now, Will. I am sure you have much to talk about.’

  ‘We do, indeed,’ Will said and rose to walk him to the door.

  Once they were both gone from the room, Justine relaxed back into her chair, surprised to find her hands trembling as they raised her teacup. She had avoided prosecution. At one time, it was all she had hoped for. But who knew there would be so much to lose?

  Will returned to the room and took his chair beside her again, putting his hands on his knees and sighing in satisfaction. ‘That went well, I think,’

  ‘Better than I’d hoped,’ she said, setting down the cup, careful that it did not rattle against the saucer as she did so.

  ‘Now that Montague is gone, you and your sister are free to do as you like.’

  Free. Justine rather liked the sound of the word. But it bothered her that he could be so cavalier about her freedom. Had her dependence on him been such a burden?

  ‘My brother has agreed to help with any legal matters concerning the transfer of the shop to your full ownership. He will take the guardianship of your sister upon himself, until she is of age. The diamonds are yours, as well,’ he added, sliding the pouch across the desk to her.

  ‘Mine.’ This was what she had wanted from the first. Why, now that she had achieved her goal, did it seem valueless?

  ‘Well, in truth, they likely belong to the insurance company. Montague would not have gone to the trouble of trying to take them if he had not meant to file a claim. But even after they are reimbursed, you may see a considerable profit from their increased value.’ Will was talking quite sensibly of things that would have interested Margot far more than they did her. The details of the transfer were probably important. Perhaps focusing on them would relieve the feelings of panic at being alone with the man whom she had tricked.

  ‘What am I to do with a jewellery shop?’ she said, baffled. ‘I know how to purchase and grade the stones, of course, but Montague was the designer and goldsmith. And there are the books to be kept, employees to pay, customers to please...’ There was so very much work. And it was all a very long way from Wales.

  ‘You could always sell it,’ he suggested. ‘Or hire a manager until your sister is ready to take control.’

  ‘I suppose it is too much to hope that she will forget her plan and find a husband,’ Justine said, staring into the bottom of her empty cup.

  ‘She seems very set on the idea of keeping it. In any case, you may settle it between the two of you,’ Will said softly. ‘It is your decision, and yours alone. But I suspect, what with a successful business and a safe full of jewellery, that you are now a wealthy woman, Miss de Bryun.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You shall have your pick of young men, should you wish to marry.’

  ‘Marry.’ Did he really need to remind her of the fact that they were not attached? Each time he called her Miss de Bryun, it was as if he hammered nails into her heart. What good would it be to finally have control over one’s own life, when one could still not have what one truly desired? ‘I will not marry,’ she said softly. After Will, she could not bear the thought.

  ‘It would be a shame if you did not,’ he said.

  ‘Now that you know my past, you must understand that it would not be possible.’

  ‘I am part of that past,’ he reminded her.

  He was. But if he was the past, then what point was there in finding a future?

  He cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘No matter what you choose, I do not wish the events of the last few weeks to weigh too heavily on you. You are free, just as I said before.’

  Was this what freedom was? To be alone and heavy hearted? If so, then she did not want it after all.

  ‘If a child results, of course I will claim it.’ He was talking quickly, as though wanting to get through all the difficult words that would separate them, before she could raise an objection. ‘For my part, I would be willing to forget the whole affair. No word of it shall ever pass my lips.’

  ‘You mean to forget me?’ Perhaps it was all the talk of freedom going to her head. She had expected a dismissal. She had even been prepared for it. But now that it was here, she could not manage to go meekly. ‘How convenient for you, William Felkirk, that you have such a porous memory. If you insist on forgetting anything, why could it not be everything that had happened before the last two weeks?’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ he said hurriedly.

  She ignored his interruptions. ‘You were quite happy to lie with me when you could not remember how we had met. But now that you know of my past, which was no fault of mine, you would forget me, as though I was never here. I was a fool to allow myself to believe, even for a moment, that a wonderful man like you might love me, in spite of what had happened. I—’

  Suddenly, he pulled her out of her chair and into his lap. Warm, strong lips on hers cut off any desire to argue. As it had been for some days, during their kisses, they were in total agreement with each other. One of his hands cupped her bottom and the other plucked at the pins that still held her hair, eager to touch it now that there was no cap in the way.

  He pulled back and shook his head in wonder at how out of hand things could get with a single kiss. ‘It was so much easier, when I thought you were my wife. Then I simply assumed that you would obey me and commanded that you come to bed. But now I have no right to hold you.’ To her surprise, his face was suffused with a schoolboy’s blush. ‘When I look into your eyes, I can barely find the words...’ He smiled. ‘Now that I have your attention, may I be allowed to speak in my defence?’

  She nodded cautiously, afraid that if she moved too much, he would come to his senses and return her to her own chair.

  ‘As I have been trying to tell you, the decision is yours, just as it should have been from the first. You did not come willingly to my house or my bed. I will not force you to stay here, if you would prefer to be elsewhere. And I am hesitant to even offer this, for it is quite possible, when the accounts are totalled, that you will be worth more than I am. I would not want to be thought a fortune hunter. Nor would I press my advantage to force you into a union that might disgust you...’

  She kissed him back to prove that she was most definitely not disgusted. In fact, his words were so sweet she was trembling in his arms. Or else she was finally giving in to the terror she had felt over the last twenty-four hours, when she was sure she would lose him.

 
In answer, his hands became less demanding and wrapped loosely around her, offering protection and support, as his kisses soothed her brow. ‘It is all right,’ he whispered. ‘You are safe now. If you stay with me, I promise you need never worry again.’

  ‘My past.’

  ‘You have none. Nor do I.’ He buried his face in her throat, pressing his lips to her skin. ‘My life began when I opened my eyes and saw you leaning over my bed.’

  ‘Suppose we met, just as I imagined,’ she said dreamily. ‘Quite innocently, in a shop in Bath?’

  He smiled. ‘I would have been struck mute by your beauty and would probably have embarrassed myself by talking nonsense as I did just now.’

  ‘I’d have thought it charming,’ she said.

  ‘But you’d have been too proper to respond,’ he replied. ‘From what I have seen, you are a very reserved young lady, with your prim dresses and your silly caps.’

  ‘I would not have been wearing a cap,’ she reminded him. ‘They are for married ladies. It is why I no longer wear one.’

  He stroked her head. ‘Then I am glad that you are unmarried, for I do love to touch your hair.’

  ‘I would not wear one, if my husband wished otherwise,’ she said. ‘You must realise by now what an agreeable wife I would be.’

  ‘Wife,’ he said, purring the word into the skin of her neck. ‘That is what I wish you to be. I had grand plans to court you slowly and properly, so you might come to me by your own choice. But it seems I am just as impulsive as you made me out to be, when you invented our elopement. Come away with me, Justine. We will go to Scotland this very day and marry over the anvil. We will bring our families this time to witness it. Other than that, it will be just as you imagined it.’

  She would be married, just as she had dreamed. And it would be to the man she loved, more than life itself. ‘Almost as I imagined it,’ she reminded him. ‘In my story, we were forced to marry because you could not contain your desire and seduced me.’

  He smiled and she felt the hand on her hip tighten, ever so slightly. ‘I had forgotten,’ he said, pushing her from his lap so that he could stand. And then, before she could protest, he has scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her towards the door. ‘Let us retire to my chamber, Miss de Bryun, and I will show you just how it happened.’

  * * * * *

  If you’re interested in reading more about the de Bryun sisters, check out Christine Merrill’s next book:

  A RING FROM A MARQUESS

  Available at your favorite online retailer!

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  SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM

  For more stories about the de Bryun sisters,

  read on for a sneak preview of

  A RING FROM A MARQUESS

  by Christine Merrill.

  Chapter One

  Margot de Bryun ran a professional eye over the private salon that had once been the back room of Montague and de Bryun Fine Jewellery, then paused to plump the velvet pillows on the chaise. The old shop had been a rather stuffy place. But now that she was in charge and the late and unlamented Mr Montague’s name had been scrubbed from the gilt on the windows, she felt that the design was cheerfully elegant. The walls were white and the columns on either side of the door were mirrored. In the main room, the gold and gems lay on fields of white velvet and carefully ruched blue silk, in cases of the cleanest, clearest glass.

  Once she was sure the stock was in order, she checked each shop clerk to make sure their uniforms were spotless. The female employees wore pale-blue gowns and the gentlemen a not-too-sombre midnight blue. She inspected them each morning, to be sure that no bow was crooked, no button unpolished, and no pin in a pinafore out of line. She required nothing less than perfection.

  She took great care with her own appearance as well, making sure that it did not distract from the wares on display. It was vain of her to dote on it, but she shared her sister’s fine looks. Until her recent marriage, Justine’s beauty had brought her nothing but misery and Margot wanted no share of that. Better to dress simply than to attract the attention of alleged gentlemen who thought a slip on the shoulder would be preferable to an honest living in trade.

  But neither did she want to appear dowdy. She avoided bright gowns and excessive jewellery in favour of the same simplicity that decorated the shop. Today’s gown was a muslin as white as the walls with a gold ribbon at the waist to match the amber cross worn on a thin gold chain around her neck.

  Such aloof elegance inspired awe from the customers and not the discomfort gentlemen sometimes felt in surroundings they deemed overly feminine. They left de Bryun’s Fine Jewellery convinced that they had gone no further than the anteroom of the female realm to seek advice on those strange creatures from an oracle. They trusted that the luminous Miss de Bryun would know better than any other jeweller in Bath what their wives, daughters, and even their ladybirds might want in way of a gift. And it amused Margot to be treated as a high priestess of human ornament.

  It was good for business as well. When she had taken over the shop she had not been able to make head or tail of the books that Mr Montague had kept. She suspected that the profits had been meagre. The majority of them must have gone into his own pockets, for she and Justine had gained little more than modest allowances when he had been in charge.

  But now that the business was totally in control of the de Bryun sisters, the figures in the ledger showed a careful line of sales adding to a tidy profit. Her sister, who had sworn that there were nothing but bad memories in it for her, could not help but smile at the success Margot had made of their father’s business. Justine might not need the fat cheque Margot sent her each quarter, but it was concrete proof that her little sister was more than capable of handing the place on her own,

  Once she was sure all was in order, Margot gave a nod of approval to the head clerk, Jasper, who unlocked the door and turned the sign in the window to indicate they were open for business. Only a few minutes passed before the brass bell on the door jingled and one of her best customers crossed the threshold.

  And, as it always did when the Marquess of Fanworth entered her shop, Margot’s breath caught in her throat. He was probably going to make another purchase for one of his many mistresses. There must be several Cyprians fawning over him. What single woman could wear as much jewellery as he seemed to buy? Since arriving in Bath, he’d visited her shop at least once a week. Sometimes, it was twice or more.

  When such a smart gentleman took a liking to her humble business, it brought other patrons with equally full pockets. That was the main reason she took such care to treat him well and stay in his favour. He was good for business.

  Or so she told herself.

  Who could blame her heart for fluttering, at least a little, upon his arrival? Lord Fanworth was a most handsome man. In her opinion, he was the handsomest man in Bath, perhaps in all of England. His chestnut hair gleamed in the morning sunlight, even as his broad shoulders blocked the beams that came to her from the open door.

  But it was so much more than his looks or his patronage that made him her favourite customer. He did not buy a bijou and hurry away. He lingered over each transaction, sipping wine and chatting with her in the private salon reserved for her most important customers.

  When they
talked, it was as if there was no difference in their ranks. To speak with him made her feel as important as one of the great ladies who sometimes frequented the shop, dithering over the baubles in the glass cases that lined the walls of the main room. In truth, she felt even more important than that. They might speak briefly with Lord Fanworth in the crush of the pump room or the assembly rooms. But each time he visited de Bryun’s she had his full attention for an hour, or sometimes more. He treated her like a friend. And she had far too few of those.

  Today, his emerald-green eyes lit when they fell upon her, standing behind the main counter. ‘Margot,’ he greeted her with a bow and a broad smile. ‘You are looking lovely this morning, as always.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Standish.’ That was how he had introduced himself, on the first day he had come to her. Not with a title, but with his surname, as though he was an ordinary man. Did he truly think his noble birth was so easy to disguise? Everyone in town knew of him, whispered about him and pointed behind their fans as he walked down the street.

  But if he wished to be anonymous, who was she to enquire his reason? Nor would she demand formality from him. Her heart beat all the harder whenever he said her Christian name. He pronounced it with the softest of Gs, ending in a sigh. It made him sound like a Frenchman. Or a lover.

  That thought made it difficult to look him in the eye. She dropped her gaze as she curtsied, to compose herself before returning his smile. ‘What may I help you with today?’

  ‘Nothing important. I have come to find a trinket.’ He pinched his fingers together to indicate how insignificant it was likely to be. ‘For my cousin.’

  In her experience, the smaller he made the purchase sound, the more money he was about to spend. ‘Another cousin, Mr Standish?’ she said with a sly smile. ‘And I assume, as always, it is a female cousin?’

  He sighed theatrically. ‘The b-burdens of a large family, Margot.’