British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  Edward pondered the encounter as the driver transported him home. Home. A far cry from India, to be sure. Already he missed the hot, sunny days and the glorious, royal sunsets above the perimeter of jungle that enclosed the plantation. England’s weather was abominable compared to the exotic land of sunshine from which he’d come. True, India had its monsoon season, but it seemed as if rain made a permanent home over London. If it wasn’t raining, fog as thick as treacle smothered the city. Days of clarity were few, and the countless coal fires belching black smoke into the air did little to help. Still, his place was not to disregard orders given him, and so he’d undertaken the journey to England alongside the man who’d proven to be a trial, the man to whom he must answer for the next few weeks.

  As the coach rattled forward, his attention drifted to the slight indentation the girl had left on the leather cushion. Never had he seen such big brown eyes ringed by such thick lashes. Her skin had been pale from shock, but in normal circumstances he assumed the color to be as creamy and white as a dove’s breast. Her slim jaw had been pronounced, her nose narrow, her cheekbones high, though without the usual rosiness he’d perceived on other girls of her youth.

  From the little he could see of her face within its gray hood, she’d been a comely lass, and her Spanish accent gave her soft husky voice added delight. Still, it did no good to dwell on pleasures of which he could never partake. The duke had given him an order, and Edward must see it through, however taxing the mission might be.

  Heaving a resigned sigh as the coach traveled alongside St. James’s Park toward his destination of Mayfair, he directed his attention toward the upper story of Buckingham Palace appearing above the fog. His brief stay in London had brought him no closer to resolutions. Nor did the prospect of a week in the country assuage the guilt of taking on the challenging role he soon must play.

  Chapter 2

  It was always said of Scrooge, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge,’ ” Letitia read. “ ‘May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!’ ”

  Little Sally lay on her mother’s cot, looking up at Letitia with shadowed dark eyes. “Miss Ticia, why did God let ye get huwt like Tiny Tim?”

  Letitia closed Dickens’s story A Christmas Carol. With Michaelmas Term recently upon them, it just being October, the selection of the child’s favorite story might seem odd to some. But the novel was the only one her mother possessed, a gift given to her by the Dowager Viscountess Ackers. The cook couldn’t read but treasured the book, nonetheless.

  Letitia brushed back limp flaxen strands from Sally’s pinched face, thankful the child’s eyes were no longer fever-bright. “God wasn’t the cause of my injury, Sally. I chose not to heed wise counsel and was confident I could jump a wall though I’d learned such a maneuver mere weeks before.” She didn’t add that she still often had difficulty obeying those in authority.

  “And they had to shoot the ho’se?” The little brow creased.

  Letitia nodded. “His foreleg was broken. There was nothing left to be done. I was but three and ten, and the harrowing incident served to teach me a difficult lesson. We must listen to those older and wiser. Had I listened to my papá, I would walk without a limp today.” Letitia smiled. “That said, it’s time for you to rest.”

  Sally’s eyelids were already drooping. The straw mattress rustled as Letitia rose and covered the child with a woolen blanket. She lowered the flame in the lamp and left the servant quarters, taking the stairs to her room.

  Before her hand could touch the glass doorknob, quick footsteps padded toward her.

  “Where have you been?” Cousin Marian asked, a bite to her words.

  “I was reading to the cook’s daughter.”

  Marian sniffed. “Why do you waste your time on that urchin each night when you could be attending me? I don’t know why Papa doesn’t dismiss the cook; her pastries are horrid. Speaking of which, have you brought my cakes?”

  Letitia silently counted to three to compose herself before answering. “I’m sorry. I had an accident. The cakes are ruined.”

  “Ruined, are they?” Marian’s green eyes flashed sparks. “Can you not carry out even the simplest of tasks?”

  “It was the fog; a horse nearly ran me over—”

  “Never mind.” Marian stalled her apology with an uplifted hand. “I don’t wish to hear excuses. Really, Letitia, you shall need to improve on your serving skills if you’re to accompany me to the country in two weeks and attend me there.”

  “The country?”

  “Yes.” Marian’s chin rose in a patronizing manner. “My family received an invitation last week to the Duke of Steffordshire’s estate. Father has said we shall accept. The duke is my father’s second cousin, as you must know since he was discussed at Lady Filmore’s tea three days past. Everyone of importance will be at the ball he’ll hold. It’s considered quite an honor and a privilege to attend one of his affairs….”

  With half an ear, she listened to Marian rave on. Letitia viewed the ladies’ teas as an excuse for idle gossip, and she assumed she must have excused herself from the women’s company prior to them discussing the duke. Though she couldn’t partake in London’s social season, having never been presented to the queen, once she turned seventeen, Grandmama had insisted Marian take Letitia on informal outings. Yet she often escaped any tedious gatherings to walk the grounds or visit the stables. Her absence never resulted in anyone’s undue distress. She was only allowed to attend because of Grandmama’s influence. No decent member of society would have her otherwise.

  “… And such a scandal it caused!” Marian’s expression hinged between disgust and excitement. “Of course, no one dares speak of the matter in good society.”

  “What?” Letitia’s attention became fully aroused. “What scandal?” Surely she wasn’t rehashing the so-called folly of Letitia’s mother once again.

  “The duke’s son—Lord Dalworth. Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?” Marian frowned. “Really, Letitia. I was bringing up the fact that the marquis’ intended, Lady Anne Salinger, was discovered to have a lover whom she frequently met on the high moors. When she didn’t return to the manor, her maid, who knew of their nighttime trysts, went in search of the lady and found her horse to have thrown her. Since that time, she’s been destined for Bedlam, though her father will not relinquish her. She carries a china doll wherever she goes and speaks to it. The incident created a fine scandal, especially since Lord Dalworth had recently returned from abroad for the wedding. It’s been said they quietly dissolved the engagement, and the marquis will be looking to take another wife. I’m confident that this is the reason for our weeklong hiatus to Hepplewith Manor.”

  Marian extracted a fan and cooled herself, as if what she’d just divulged had shocked her into vapors, though Letitia knew better. “ ’Tis rumored the marquis will look for a wife from among those guests invited. He’s destined to inherit a silk plantation in India and so much more.”

  “Poor Lady Salinger,” Letitia murmured.

  “Hardly! Letitia, do you not yet understand?” Marian looked put out. “Lady Anne Salinger was with child, unwed since she and the marquis were yet to be married. And she’ll not give the name of the man whom she took as her lover.”

  “Oh!” Letitia felt the heat of embarrassment’s blush. “But why should she do such a thing when she was promised to the marquis?”

  “Oh, you truly are hopeless.” Marian’s gaze swept to the ceiling. “You might as well have lived on the other side of the moon than in Spain. And I’d heard the people were so passionate in your homeland. Never mind. I’m retiring to my room for the evening and won’t require further assistance. But I’ll want those tea cakes on the morrow!”

  Marian whirled to go in a froth of ruffles and lilac scent. Before Letitia could retire to her own room, Lady Ackers’s petite maid hurried her way. “Her ladyship’ll be wanting a w
ord with ye, miss.”

  “Thank you, Bertha.” Letitia moved down the corridor to a bedchamber, the largest in Windham Hall.

  Dowager Viscountess Regina Ackers stood in her sitting room, facing the fire, with her gnarled hand cupped over a mahogany cane and her back to Letitia. Dressed in a blue satin bed robe and white nightcap with lappets hanging down either side, she hardly looked intimidating. Yet appearances were deceptive.

  The elderly matriarch had once dined with queens and princes and had lived a thoroughly fascinating life. It was said that Queen Victoria greatly admired this woman, who spoke her mind and did as she pleased, and in the days before age robbed her strength, Lady Ackers received many an invitation to the royal court. Everyone stood in awe—and many of those, in fear—of the great dowager viscountess.

  She turned regally, her posture as erect as it must have been in her youth when she dazzled the courts with her beauty. The portrait hanging above the mantel claimed testimony to that.

  “Tell me, Letitia, when will you desist in allowing my granddaughter to make a spectacle of you and speak to you in such a manner?”

  “Perhaps when I’m crowned Queen of England,” Letitia returned wryly. “Yet even then my coz will doubtless consider herself more lofty than I.”

  Lady Ackers’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Come, sit by the fire. I have a matter of import to discuss with you.”

  Letitia did so, relaxed in her company. They shared a strange bond, one Letitia never fully understood. With Lady Ackers, she could be herself. She was allowed and encouraged to lapse into her native Spanish tongue, which Marian, who didn’t know the language, forbade. Due to her fond feelings for Lady Ackers, who herself could converse in Spanish, Letitia had given in to the woman’s desire to call her Grandmama, though they weren’t related.

  “You shall go to Steffordshire,” the woman declared, sitting across from Letitia on her settee. “But not as a companion to Marian. No, indeed. You shall arrive as a lady, the lady you were meant to be. And you will be the one to win the heart of the handsome marquis.”

  Letitia laughed. “¡Seguro que bromeas!” The woman was dear to her heart, but Letitia presumed that senility often robbed her of sound reasoning.

  “I? Jest? No, Letitia, I’m quite serious.”

  “I very much doubt a marquis would show interest in a poor relation of the Ackers, and a woman coming from a background of scandal at that.” Especially after what Marian had divulged about the unfortunate marquis and his recent state of affairs.

  The old woman harrumphed and banged her cane on the plush rug. “The earl was a fool to disown your mother. He would have had her wed to a cruel old codger destined for the casket. Indeed, Lord Rotsby died of old age not six months from the day Kathryn eloped with your father.”

  Letitia remained silent, not wanting to speak about what the nobility viewed as her mother’s fall into disgrace.

  “I’ve decided. You shall go. I will write Beatrice, informing her of the need to prepare for an extra guest.”

  That she referred to the duchess in such familiar terms bespoke her close ties with the woman. “And will you also attend, Grandmama?”

  “I?” The woman gave a shrug that might have been considered graceful if her expression weren’t so dour. “Perhaps, if I’m well. Perhaps not. But you shall go, Letitia, and do not change the subject as I sense you are doing. You will be provided with adequate frocks, of course, and I shall send my Abigail along to assist you.”

  Her lady’s maid? “But who will serve Lady Marian?”

  “Rose did before you came. She can do so again.”

  “What of my aunt? Who will dress her hair if not Rose?”

  “Hester is indisposed. She cannot be seen in public until her time arrives.”

  “Sí, of course.” Letitia’s cheeks flamed at the reference to her aunt’s delicate condition.

  “No, Letitia. I’ve made up my mind. You shall go as a guest, not a servant. And I’ll not hear another word on the matter.” Lady Ackers banged her cane once more before she stood. “I am weary; the hour is late. We’ll speak more of this another time.”

  Letitia rose and kissed the soft, wrinkled cheek. If she could have chosen a grandmother, this was the woman she would have chosen. Still, Letitia wondered what Marian would say to this new development, given that Lady Ackers’s will was rarely crossed.

  “Papa was a fool to give in to Grandmama’s wishes,” Marian fumed two weeks later as the coach in which they sat rattled along a lonely country road bordered with stately poplars. “You’ll never pass as a lady of breeding; never mind that you were tutored alongside me. Our family shall be made a laughingstock, and all because of Grandmama’s ludicrous directive.”

  Withholding a sigh, Letitia stared at her cousin. Marian had dispensed with the usual sober traveling dress and had clothed herself in a splendid brocade gown, wanting to make a lasting impression upon those at Heppelwith Manor, as she’d earlier told Letitia.

  Beside Marian, Rose stared out the coach’s window, as if to dissociate herself from her lady’s ranting—which had gone on for the better part of half an hour—and Bertha sat quietly beside Letitia. Normally, Lord Ackers would have shared the coach with his daughter, but he’d chosen to ride astride his horse and given the lady’s maids access to the interior.

  Letitia envied him and was certain at this moment neither Rose nor Bertha counted it a blessing to ride within.

  “If this change of plans distresses you so, I could attend in disguise,” Letitia suggested lightly when Marian paused to breathe.

  “In disguise?” Marian frowned.

  “As a friend of the family. I could attend under a different name rather than be introduced as a relation.”

  Marian scoffed. “Really, Letitia. I should think you might recognize the gravity of the situation rather than jest about it. ’Tis a shocking turn of affairs, and one that could well put an irreparable blotch on the Ackers’s name—if you were to act in a manner unbefitting of the role you shall temporarily possess.”

  Letitia sighed. “I assure you, my lady, I, too, am not overly pleased with this arrangement.” Most of her life she’d helped her family with farming, and then she’d lived three years in servitude as a companion to Marian. Now she was expected to take on the role of a lady of leisure? The prospect was daunting.

  “You say you’re not ‘overly pleased,’ which leads me to believe there is in fact some amount of pleasure involved.” Marian’s green eyes were calculating. “A word of caution, Letitia. Do not forget who you truly are. A pauper you were born, and a pauper you shall remain. And keep away from the marquis!” The last directive came out clipped.

  Letitia had no interest in hooking a marquis’s attention; the thought was absurd. Even if he were to show interest, such an emotion would wane once he realized her true state of affairs. Although her family could hardly be considered paupers, they did possess little. Yet if love had been a commodity by which to live, her parents would reign as king and queen, and she and her siblings as princesses and princes. For the measure of love, they possessed in abundance.

  “Why do you smile so?” Marian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “I was thinking of my parents and my brothers and sisters. I miss them.”

  Marian gave a disdainful little huff and looked out the window.

  Letitia relaxed against the seat. Minutes of blissful silence elapsed before a commotion erupted outside and galloping hoofbeats were heard.

  “You there,” a shout came. “Pull aside!” The jangling of harness and creaking of wood ceased as the coach jolted to an abrupt stop, almost sending Letitia into Marian’s lap.

  “Stand and deliver!” came another command.

  Letitia’s eyes went wide.

  Highwaymen!

  The door flew outward, revealing a man with a black kerchief tied around his jaw. In one black-gloved hand, he aimed the barrel of a pistol in their direction.

  “Well, and what ha
ve we here?” he sneered. “Come out, my pretties.”

  Rose crossed herself while Bertha uttered a low moan of despair. Letitia’s own heart seemed to have lurched to a stop.

  Chapter 3

  When no one made a move to alight, the highwayman grabbed Bertha’s arm and heaved her from the coach. Shrieking, she went flying to the dirt and landed on her knees.

  “Come out, and no trouble will befall you,” he instructed Letitia and the others.

  “Do as he says, daughter,” Lord Ackers’s shaky voice came from without.

  “Go on,” Marian whispered to Letitia. “You first.”

  Bottling up her fear, seeking to be courageous, Letitia moved to step down. Marian assumed a stance behind her.

  The late afternoon sun blinded as Letitia struggled to see who waylaid them. Three men, one on horseback, circled the carriage. One had his pistol trained on Lord Ackers and the driver, now absent from his box seat. The other bandit watched from his mount. All had black silk kerchiefs tied around their faces and wore broad-brimmed hats. Their manner of clothing appeared as if it had been pulled from a trunk of a bygone day.

  “Come, hand it over,” commanded the man who’d ordered them out. He held open a large drawstring pouch.

  “What is it you wish from us?” Letitia asked.

  “What, indeed?” he mocked, his glare cutting into her. “Your jewels, of course!”

  Marian clapped a hand to her elaborate necklace. “No,” she breathed. “You shan’t have them.”

  “Do as he says, Marian,” her father instructed, “and they’ll let us go in peace. Their leader has given his word.”

  Letitia doubted the word of a highwayman but remained silent. The clink of metal and Marian’s sniffle informed Letitia the girl had done as ordered. While one of the bandits tossed the luggage from the carriage’s boot and began sorting through it for valuables, the first highwayman approached Letitia. “Your jewels, also, if you please.”