Table of Contents
Dedication
Forward
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Get Scandalous with these historical reads… The Earl in My Bed
Wagering for Miss Blake
Claiming the Highlander’s Heart
Real Earls Break the Rules
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Catherine Hemmerling. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
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Scandalous is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover design by EDHGraphics
Cover photography by PeriodImages
ISBN 978-1-64063-629-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2018
This book is dedicated to my mom, Karen Stevens. Thank you for always believing in me and for being my number one test-reader. Being a life-long romance reader yourself, I know that if you like the book it has a chance with the public. I love you more than mere words can say.
Forward
I suppose there are those who would think drowning in beer would be a pretty good way to go, but the tragedy that occurred in London in 1814 might change some minds.
The London Beer Flood occurred on October 17, 1814, in the London parish of St. Giles. It started at the Meux and Company Brewery on Tottenham Court Road, where a huge vat containing more than 135,000 gallons of beer ruptured. The initial burst caused the other vats in the same building to also buckle in a domino effect. As a result, more than 323,000 gallons of beer (equivalent to roughly twenty-four swimming pools of water) flowed through the building and eventually flooded into the streets.
The wave of beer razed two homes and destroyed the wall of the Tavistock Arms Pub, trapping teenage employee Eleanor Cooper under the rubble. The brewery was located in the poorest part of the St Giles Rookery. The many families who lived in basement rooms found themselves literally swimming in beer as the sublevel spaces quickly filled.
Eight people drowned in the flood and one person died from alcohol poisoning the next day. The brewery was eventually taken to court over the accident, but the disaster was ruled to be an act of God by the judge and jury, leaving no one responsible.
While the following story is based on the above event, it is a tale of fiction. Our heroes must race against the flood to save all the people they can, but, as it is in real life, there are always those who cannot be saved.
Rest in peace to those who actually perished in this stranger-than-fiction catastrophe.
Prologue
Never place pride above family.
~ The Duke of Lancaster
Nine-year-old Emily Moss stood somberly next to the open grave in the middle of her family church’s small cemetery. The tree overshadowing the yawning hole was incongruously in cheerful bloom, and somewhere up in its glorious heights there was a songbird trilling happily. Emily wanted to find that bird and shut it up.
She watched the remains of her dear friend lowered into the ground while tears streamed unrelentingly down her face, then glanced over at the man standing a few yards away. He was crying copiously into an already sodden handkerchief. She felt something like a kick to her stomach, and she could no longer remain still.
Stalking over to the man, she yelled, “How dare you cry! You are responsible for this. She is dead because of you.”
Ignoring the gasps around her, Emily continued to speak out her own gut-wrenching grief. “Where was your concern when Meg was alive? Where was your common decency then? You are the most vile, reprehensible creature I have ever laid eyes on—”
At this point, Emily felt an arm snake around her waist. Whoever was attached to the arm began to drag her away. She kicked and screamed against her captor.
“No! He needs to know. He needs to k-n-n-o—” She collapsed into the stranger’s arms as racking sobs overtook her.
The unknown person carried Emily some distance from the crowd. She was still crying when she felt herself being lowered onto a hard stone bench. Looking up, Emily recognized that she was now in the ivy-covered gazebo that sat in the oldest and quietest part of the cemetery. She also finally saw the person who had taken her from her friend’s graveside.
It was her father.
“Oh, Papa, why did you stop me?” she asked, tears streaming down her face. “He needed to hear the truth.” The Duke of Torrington shook his head as he brushed Emily’s hair away from her face. “You don’t think he knows? You don’t think he feels enough guilt? The man who stood before me today appeared as broken as one can be.”
“But it’s too late now,” she wailed. “Why did Meg have to die? Her father was our cook, and she died of hunger? I don’t understand…” The duke pulled Emily into his arms. “I agree that this is a terrible tragedy that could have been—should have been—avoided, but we were all too late to stop it.”
Emily pulled away and stood up. She wiped the tears from her face angrily.
“It wasn’t our job to protect her. It was Johnns’s. He is her father.”
Looking through the leaves that framed the gazebo’s opening, she could just see the people still gathered to mourn Meg, and Emily remembered the last time she had seen her friend alive. They were playing in the large oak that towered over the far corner of the grassy area that surrounded Moss’s garden.
The Maze pond (as it was called by all who knew of it) was one of Emily’s favorite spots in the whole world, but a close second was the oak where she and Meg would often play. The tree was all but invisible from the prying eyes of the house because of the garden that lay between it and the back portico. There was a swing suspended from one of the tree’s massive branches, but more often than not the girls were high up in the leafy canopy itself. Emily knew that her mother and father would be horrified to know she climbed trees in their absence, but never did she feel so free as she did when she and Meg were sitting up on the swaying limbs of that ancient oak.
She could still see Meg, ever so clearly, in that tree. Dangling from a lower branch by her legs, her long strawberry blond hair nearly brushing the ground as the gentle breeze whirled it around Meg’s freckled face. Emily was only a year older than her friend, and she felt as if she were more her sister than her employer
. They had grown up together. Meg would even join her in her studies regularly.
Emily had already decided that Meg would be her trusted ladies maid when they grew up. They would never be apart. But then Meg fell ill. It was just a cold, but the Mosses didn’t want Emily to catch it, so they told Johnns to keep his daughter isolated in their quarters—a small cabin-like building just outside the kitchen—until she was well again.
Days went by without Emily seeing Meg.
After Emily was caught twice passing notes to her friend through the small window of the cabin, her mother forbade her to leave the house, and she insisted her young daughter be forever by her side.
Two weeks later, Meg was dead.
Emily had tried to see Meg right away. If only to prove she was really gone. But, of course, no one would let her near the body. Emily was a resourceful sort, however, and she knew that if she hid in the bushes near where the maids did the laundry, she would learn everything being said in the house. The servants were loyal to the Mosses, but even loyal employees will gossip among one another.
It was there, alone in the prickly foliage, that Emily had learned the truth.
There had been a large party held by the duke and duchess to celebrate their tenth anniversary. It had been an elaborate affair that showcased the amazing culinary skills of their prized chef, Johnns. Knowing that the soiree would succeed or fail based on his performance, the man worked night and day on his menu, trying one recipe after another until just the right one presented itself and made its way indelibly onto the serving list. Night after night, the chef fell asleep in the kitchen, head down on the flour-covered surface before him. Although he had tasked a lesser maid to deliver food and drink to his ailing daughter, he never once took the time out of his busy day to check on Meg himself.
The lesser maid did, in fact, deliver the food and beverage to the cook’s quarters, but being busy herself preparing the house for its many guests, she just left the tray outside the door. According to the wagging tongues, the maid had assumed the sick child would get out of bed and retrieve the tray. And, in fact, every day that she returned with a new tray, the old tray would be sitting where she left it completely empty.
It was only after the party, when Johnns finally looked in on Meg, that everyone realized that the little girl never knew about, or was unable to retrieve, the tray. Every day she had grown weaker and weaker from illness and lack of sustenance, until finally she succumbed to death.
It turned out the food left at the front door had been eaten by the duke’s hunting dogs, let loose to run every afternoon precisely at the same time the maid was leaving the tray for Meg.
It was a comedy of errors that ended in disaster. But above all, Emily blamed Johnns. What kind of father left his sick daughter alone for days on end without checking in with her her? It was pure selfishness. Nothing else. And the man had to be punished.
“He needs to pay.” The duke rose and moved to stand behind his daughter. He put his hands on her shoulders.
“Do you not think he is paying greatly for his mistake?”
Emily whirled around, knocking her father’s hands away.
“No, no! He is sorry for the outcome, but if he had really loved her…” She began to cry again. “How could something like this happen?” The duke knelt before Emily and gathered her into his arms once again.
“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, “you are awfully young to be learning this lesson, but the truth is, life is not always easy, and is rarely fair. Especially to those less fortunate than we. London is full of starving and neglected people, and those employed by families such as ours are usually the lucky ones. Life for an in-house servant is infinitely better than for the poor souls forced to make their living in and on the streets. But even in situations like ours, tragedies happen. All we can do is learn from it and help where and when we can.”
Lifting her head, Emily looked at her father beseechingly. “How can we help? What can I do?”
Smiling gently, the duke cupped his daughter’s face. “You are, as yet, too young to do much besides what you do already naturally. You befriended that girl, held her in your heart as you would a sister. Most of your station would not have even seen Meg. You have a big heart capable of great love. Don’t ever lose that. In the meantime, your mother and I will continue to contribute to the many charities that are in place to help the people of London and England as a whole.”
“I didn’t know you did that,” Emily said breathlessly, eyes wide. The duke chuckled. “You have no need to know. You are only nine years old. Rest assured, in time, your mother and I would have told you of our contributions to both business and charity. We hope that someday you will pick up the mantle and continue on the Mosses’ behalf. There are obligations that come with our entitlement, my dear, and I have no doubt that you can and will live up to them.”
Managing a small smile of her own, Emily made her vow. “I will, Father. I will do everything in my power to prevent hunger and neglect from taking any more innocent lives. It is my new mission in life.” The duke found himself laughing again. Hugging Emily tightly, he said, “Of this I have no doubt, girl. I know that you can achieve anything to which you put your mind. You are a force to be reckoned with, and I cannot wait to see the unbelievable lady you are destined to become.”
Emily watched as her father walked back toward the crowd of people still gathered around Meg’s gravesite. She was not ready to face everyone after the spectacle she had made of herself. The gravity of what she had done finally hit her, and she was ashamed of her behavior. Meg had adored her father, and Emily knew deep in her heart that the cook had loved his daughter more than anything in the world.
In the future, Emily promised herself, she would never again be in such a position. She would be all that a girl of her standing should be. She would behave properly and graciously. She would give her father no reason to worry about her behavior ever again.
Feeling better for her newfound resolution, Emily stood, prepared to return to the services under complete control of her emotions. Just as she was about to take a step, though, she heard what sounded like someone crying. It was an odd cry because it sounded like both a child and a man, but it was also clearly only one person.
Curious, Emily turned toward the sound. She crept softly, not wanting to disturb anyone’s grief, but for some reason she was compelled to see who was crying.
Peering around a half wall covered in ivy, Emily saw a brown-haired boy, perhaps six or seven years older than her, kneeling in front of an austere gravestone. The color of the stone and lack of wear and vegetation indicated a recent burial, but the soft covering of grass meant it had been some weeks since interment.
The boy was still crying, but in a sniffling, whimpering kind of way. Whoever he had lost must have meant a lot to him, Emily surmised.
Understanding that kind of grief and the desire to be alone at such a time, Emily decided not to say anything and just head quietly back the way she had come. Unfortunately, she failed to see a small branch in her path, and she stepped directly upon it. It cracked loudly, and she froze in place.
Perhaps he hadn’t heard?
“Hey, you there,” the boy called out to her.
Emily’s heart sank. It would be beyond rude to pretend she hadn’t heard him from her close proximity, so she turned, feeling horribly guilty for spying.
“I am so sorry to disturb you,” she started apologetically. “I heard someone crying and I thought…” Her voice trailed off, because she really had no good reason for being there.
“You thought intruding on a man’s sorrow would be great fun?” the boy flung back at her.
His ungracious reception of her apology, in addition to her own guilt, brought out a side of Emily she had just moments before been hoping to squelch once and for all.
“You are no more a man than I am,” she retorted haughtily.
“I am Alexander Bredon, son of the late earl of Pembroke,” the boy replied angri
ly, jumping to his feet. “I have seen nearly fifteen years on this earth. I am old enough to take a wife should I be of a mind to, though I find those of the lesser sex to be repugnant. I shall remain a bachelor all of my days, you mark my words.”
It was difficult to take the ruffian seriously with his muddied knees and tear-stained cheeks.
“If you say so,” she replied with a shrug. “I am only nine. What do I know of marriage? But it seems to me just because you can marry doesn’t mean you ought to. And I am not sure that that alone means you are a man.”
The boy seemed to struggle with what to say next.
“Oh, what do you know?” Alex finally grumbled, “You are a child. And a girl. Frankly, this entire conversation is a waste of time.”
As someone considered exceptionally clever by most people of her acquaintance, Emily took umbrage at the dismissal.
“Are you saying it is a waste of time to talk to me because I am a girl or because I am only nine?”
Alex flung his hands in the air.
“Both! But even if you were the same age as I am, I wouldn’t expect you to understand what I am saying. It is not your fault. You can’t help you were born a girl.”
Emily was stunned. He had said the insult so matter-of-factly she was afraid he might know something she didn’t. Was she somehow less because she wasn’t a boy? Why had no one ever told her that before now?
Tears began to well in her eyes, and she wiped at them angrily.
“I hate you, Alexander Bredon. And I always will.”
Not waiting for a response, Emily spun on her heel and stalked away from the offending creature she had never seen before today and hoped she would never see again.
She was quite sure the world would be a better place without the likes of Alexander Bredon in it.
Chapter One
No one is perfect, but it is better to try to be the best you can be and fail, than not even make the attempt.
~The Duke of Lancaster
“I found a new position for that woman I was telling you about, Father. The Albemarles took her on as their head housekeeper. She was given quarters for herself and her two little ones. Maybe Baby Charlotte will finally get over that cough.”
A Rogue for Emily (Lady Lancaster Garden Society) Page 1
