by May Burnett
“No, and I will only accept because I feel that you deserve more than a commoner as your husband. You can pick the title yourself – the name of one of your three estates, maybe? Lady Hightower? Lady Bexhill?”
“Maybe,” Nell said doubtfully. “Does this mean that we have to postpone our wedding journey? If so, I am not sure it is a good thing.”
“No, there is no hurry. The title will be bestowed when we return.”
“Well then.” She wanted her handsome husband to herself, away from constant business meetings and solicitors and settlements.
Thomas took her hand. “I had hoped to be knighted eventually, after two or three decades of working for the Home Office. To be given a barony at twenty-four is a far more rapid elevation than I ever looked for. I do not deserve it.”
His blue eyes were earnest, and so very dear as they met her own. Nell had to swallow before she could reply in a steady voice. “Nonsense. You deserve much more than that. And I will do my best to ensure that you get it.”
Thomas squeezed her hand, the only intimacy possible in this formal setting. “I already have everything I could ever have wished for, Nell.”
Too bad that you could not possibly kiss your husband in the royal drawing room. Nell wondered if the Queen herself did so on occasion, once all the strangers and courtiers were gone.
From the way Victoria and Albert looked at each other across the crowded room, she would not have been surprised.
Epilogue
Lord Pell lent Nell and Thomas his yacht for the trip to Venice, their first stop on the long-awaited wedding journey. He and his wife Emily were fond of travelling, but this year they would spend the summer in the countryside. Lady Pell was enceinte once again, for the fifth time, though their eldest was already attending Eton for some years. Rather encouraging, Thomas reflected as he escorted his wife to the beautifully furnished and spacious owner’s cabin. It went to show that marital pleasures could last over many years.
That night, as the boat was gliding over the waves, he proved to Nell that thorough study and persistence paid off. For the very first time, he caused her to scream and nearly pass out in the heat of passion. As he lay recovering from his enthusiastic exertions he was suffused with a sense of deep satisfaction.
“Oh,” Nell said when she finally recovered her breath. “I had no idea … is it like that for you every time?”
“Something like that.” He tenderly kissed her sweaty brow.
“It is wonderful … and yet almost frightening, to let go of reason like that. What if anyone heard me?”
“Darling, we are married. We can do whatever we like on this boat. Nobody has the right to say a word. And in any case, the famous Lady Marian Seymour can do no wrong.”
Now she groaned. “Will they never forget? I don’t want to be famous.”
“By the time we return from Italy, the papers and gossips will have found other things to talk about. According to Uncle James, a story like that arrives every three months, on average, and the next one will soon replace us as subjects of gossip. Don’t waste another moment’s thought on the matter. Until they forget, we shall be happily exploring Roman ruins and picturesque islands.”
“And the best part,” she agreed, “is that we’ll be doing it together. I could not imagine my life without your love, Thomas. That day we met in Chatterham was the luckiest day of my life.”
He could not speak for a moment. Instead he kissed her again, his heart beating hard. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
“Do you suppose it was fate, or just happenstance?” Nell asked.
“Who knows? I would like to think that there is an invisible force drawing tying twin souls towards each other, but my mind rejects the notion as fanciful. Does it matter how we found the way into each other’s arms, as long as we are there, and happy in our union?”
“I suppose not,” she said. “And as we saw tonight, it only gets better. Who knows, there may be even greater summits of pleasure and delight that we cannot dream of as yet.”
“This wedding journey will be a good time to find out.” He caressed her lovely ear, and nuzzled the sensitive place between it and her shoulder.
She sighed in pleasure, and rubbed her smooth palm over his lower back. “This feels sinfully decadent. I cannot wait.”
“And neither can I. Are you up to another round, love, or do you prefer to sleep for a while?”
She pretended to consider. “We-ell … we can always sleep later.”
“Right.”
The ship sailed on, silent on the dark water, while the lovers continued their diligent efforts to scale new sensual heights, propelled by curiosity and mutual tenderness.
If he should die at this moment, Thomas thought at one point, he would die happy. Not that he had the slightest intention of expiring any time soon, when he had so recently found the fountain of happiness and contentment, his beloved Nell. He wanted to see what their children and grandchildren would be like, how the world would change over the decades, how much pleasure and happiness could be crammed into a long marriage.
“I love you,” he murmured, just before they finally yielded to exhausted sleep. It did not matter if Nell was already too drowsy and could not hear it this time; for he would tell her again, every night, as long as they were given.
THE END
Thank You!
The author is grateful that you have read The Late Heiress. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage her to continue the Amberley Chronicles with a review on your local Amazon website!
This story includes a number of real personages. The affair of Lady Flora Hastings mentioned in passing is historical fact, as is the young Queen’s partisanship for the Whigs at the beginning of her reign. Prince Albert had not yet received the official title “Prince Consort”. As described, in 1843 the Tories were in power under Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel. Lord Ormesby as Undersecretary at the Home Office is fictional, however, and whatever questionable behaviour the author has imputed to the authorities with regard to the Colville affair is her own invention.
A mere decade later, the travels described here would have been accomplished by rail rather than by carriage. In the early 1840ies, much of the British rail system was in the planning and early construction stage.
About this series:
The first volume of the Amberley Chronicles was The Impostor Debutante, published in June 2014. It is the story of James Ellsworthy and Charlotte, and set in the second half of the Regency (1817). The second book of the series, My Last Marchioness, is set five years later in 1822. The third volume describes the romance of James Ellsworthy’s friend and business partner Jonathan Durwent, who goes looking for a missing twin sister and finds a lot more than he bargained for in The Sister Quest. Catching a Rook is the story of a duke’s heir faced with an unwanted engagement to a minor foreign Royal. They first meet at a house party at Amberley. In Lady Anthea’s Choice, the naïve daughter of an Earl must learn to stand up for herself when she discovers her eligible engagement is not all she had hoped for. The Perils of Lord Pell chronicles how the younger brother of Lady Amberley meets his future wife on the way back from a two-year journey to India and China. Until well after their wedding, Emily has no idea she is to become a Marchioness. The new Lady Pell has a somewhat temperamental but gifted older sister, whose love story is told in Margaret’s Turn.
This book is the first to be written about the second generation. The children of Lord Amberley and his siblings are fairly exact contemporaries of Queen Victoria, so the series spans the first half of the 19th century, and the later books are Victorian rather than Regencies. The second is A Scandalous Journey, although it is set a year earlier, in 1842. See overleaf for a preview, and happy reading!
May Burnett has also written a regency trilogy about the aristocratic Winthrop family (somewhat darker than the Amberley Chronicles). Lady Susan’s Bargain was followed by Lord Fenton’s Revenge in June 2015. The third and final volume, A L
ady’s Ruse, will appear in October of the same year.
A standalone novel by the same author, A Priceless Gift, takes place earlier than the other books, at the very beginning of the Regency.
Preview of
A Scandalous Journey by May Burnett
Chapter 1
Sussex, May 1842
Emperor’s iron-shod hooves clattered on the road. A small stone was dislodged and fell a few feet away from the gelding’s powerful legs. The moonlight was just bright enough to permit riding without at lantern. Duncan’s hands held the reins with the calm steadiness befitting an officer.
He had to stop thinking of himself as a soldier. That period of his life had come to a sudden end this past day, when he’d finally had enough. The Colonel had not tried to dissuade him from selling out, had not once mentioned his hard work and dedication over the past seven years. To the devil with him, and the whole regiment. If a man’s loyalty was spurned, only a fool would persist where he was not wanted.
Curiously, he did not feel as miserable as might have been expected. After all, Duncan had longed for an army career since he was five years old. His family had been opposed, with more wisdom than he had appreciated as a youth, but after his father’s death he had had his way, and had eventually become a Captain of her Majesty’s 25th Foot. By tradition he could continue to call himself Captain after the sale of his commission went through. But it would be an empty title, a futile reminder of the past. Better, perhaps, to be merely Mr. Kinninmont, a name that had been good enough for his father and grandfather.
The sudden lack of duties and responsibilities felt strange and unaccustomed. Nobody needed or wanted him anymore. But they had not truly wanted him at any time, had they? It was up to him, now, to set a new course in life. Once the bitterness over the past weeks faded, he might even come to relish the challenge.
A cloud obscured the half moon. He slowed Emperor to a near-amble. Nobody but his brother would miss him if Duncan broke his neck, should Emperor stumble over some pothole, but the horse deserved better. Besides, Emperor represented a substantial part of Duncan’s fortune. The roan snorted through his nostrils, protesting the slow pace, but knew better than to challenge his rider.
Looking back on the past seven years, Duncan marvelled at his naivety. He had actually believed that by doing everything well, going by the book, he could fashion a successful career in Her Majesty’s armed forces. He should have realised it would not be so easy, from the sneers that he ‘smelled of the shop’ to the first time he was not invited along when his better-born brother officers went carousing or gambling outside the mess. That he carried out his duties more conscientiously than anyone else in the regiment had only widened the distance. They had pegged him as an ambitious prig with middle-class, Scottish values alien to theirs. The more he tried to excel, the more they sneered. A few visible mistakes during those first weeks might have served him better.
At least he had no wife or children to be affected by his sudden change of circumstance and resulting low spirits. The one lady he could have imagined courting in Portsmouth had married the heir of a baron instead. No matter. He would never again willingly mingle with patronising aristocrats who looked down their long noses at him.
Again the horse snorted, and tried to go faster, but he held Emperor back. There was no hurry. His brother would only shake his head, and try to persuade Duncan once again to become his partner in the family’s drapery business. Perhaps, if he went very slowly, he could think of persuasive objections by the time he reached Edinburgh. He might have inherited a talent for commerce, but he could not see himself measuring fabric and ribbons.
It was well past midnight. After his long and harrowing day, fatigue was making itself felt at last. He should look around for some hospitable hayloft. Duncan had supped frugally in the early evening, but would not waste his sparse funds on a room. A soldier was used to rough conditions, or at least should be, had he not had the infernal bad luck of serving during peacetime.
Had there been a war, of course, he would never have considered selling out, no matter how greatly provoked. But the army he’d experienced was vastly different from what he had imagined in boyhood, inspired by his uncle’s tales of the heroic battles against Napoleon. Decades-long peace was not good for soldiers’ morale and competence.
With faint surprise, Duncan made out the silhouette of a large coach on the road ahead. If he could overtake it at this amble, it must be travelling slowly indeed. As he drew nearer he realised that it had stopped altogether. Four horses were stomping impatiently and turning their heads as much as they were able, confused by the lack of hands on their reins, but luckily too tired to run off.
The coachman was not at his post, but crouching over the ditch, vomiting piteously. The smell hit Duncan like a cudgel, even from several yards away. His equally fastidious roan snorted his disgust.
“Stand still!” An imperious voice startled him, just as he had been about to swing down from the saddle and offer assistance.
He turned. A slim, small person in a floor-length coat was aiming a large pistol straight at his heart. The voice was that of a lady, but her stature belonged to a thin child of perhaps twelve or thirteen. This diminutive female wore a tricorne hat, in the fashion of three generations earlier. What short curls were visible underneath had a silvery sheen in the moonlight.
Any soldier knew that firearms in inexperienced hands were doubly dangerous. His gaze caught on the small hands and large weapon. From his position he could look directly down the barrel. Duncan sat stock-still, holding the reins tight. “If you are planning to shoot me dead, Miss, may I at least know the reason?”
The small lady did not answer for a few moments, staring up at him suspiciously. How long would she be able to hold the heavy pistol steady?
He glanced sideways at the sick coachman, but the fellow was not even attending to their confrontation as he retched his guts out, and desperately gasped for air. He was on his hands and knees, about to keel over.
After a few seconds’ stand-off the girl asked in refined upper class accents, “Who hired you? What were your orders?”
Duncan bowed ironically. “There must be some mistake, Ma’am, for I am my own man. Nobody has hired me, and I am not for sale. My name is Duncan Kinninmont. I was about to offer my assistance, but in view of the pistol in your hand I prefer to simply continue on my way, if you do not mind.”
The pistol turned slightly downwards, though she did not relinquish it. “If I have made an error, I beg your pardon. By all means proceed, Mr. Kinninmont.” Her timbre was deep and melodious.
Emperor had passed the stationary coach and was two horse-lengths beyond when she called out, “Wait!”
Should he ride on? Duncan was half inclined to ignore her call, have nothing to do with this strange coach and unwomanly female. But he was never one to refuse to help, and that coachman was in a bad way.
He walked Emperor back and swung down, a wary eye on the gun she still held, pointing to the ground. “What happened to your driver?” The fellow was writhing on the ground now, his hands on his belly, groaning with pain.
“He ate something that disagreed with him,” the girl said shortly. “So did my companion, my maid, the outrider and the postilion.”
“All of them? Yet you seem perfectly healthy.”
“I am not fond of fish stew.”
“Ah.” Duncan cautiously approached the coachman, who was panting, sweat covering his brow. He would either survive or not. There was nothing to be done for him. Perhaps a drink of water, when he was a little better and might keep it down.
“May I?” He approached the door of the coach. The girl gave a terse nod. Upon opening it, he recoiled from the stench of vomit, more concentrated than outside, and just as vile. Two women and two men were in obvious distress, hanging across each other and moaning feebly. They too had expelled whatever they had ingested.
“What a mess,” he said, striving to hide his instinctive dis
gust. “They need a physician.”
“I know,” the girl said in exasperation, “but I don’t know how to find one in the middle of the road, at night.”
“They need shelter. I can drive the carriage, but first we must get the coachman inside.” He eyed the tall, bulky man. It would be difficult, though Duncan was strong enough for his six-foot frame. The young lady was such a wisp that she would be no help at all.
“Can you help him in? I’ll tie your horse to the back of the coach in the meantime,” she offered with more practicality than he had expected.
“Thank you, I’ll do it myself.” He quickly secured Emperor and then attended to the suffering coachman. The fellow had not quite passed out, though he could not rise without Duncan’s assistance, and was unsteady on his feet. “Can’t see well,” he mumbled. “Everything white ...”
Pushing him up into the carriage, and arranging him to sit between two of the other sufferers, taxed Duncan’s strength to the utmost. Eventually he shut the door of the coach, so none of the sufferers could fall out, and collected the dangling reins before he climbed up on the high coachman’s bench. The girl had watched without speaking, the pistol still in her hands.
“You will have to sit up here, next to me,” Duncan said. “The air inside is not fit for breathing, and would only sicken you too.”
She nodded, and climbed up with lithe movements.
The horses moved briskly enough, once they felt the reins tighten, relieved to get away from this deserted spot. “Where were you bound, Ma’am?” he asked the silent young woman. “Is it close enough to reach with five sick people? If not, we’ll have to look for an inn or farmhouse.”
She had not introduced herself, and he would not press her. A mere fifteen minutes ago he had been lamenting that nobody needed him anymore. At least he could help this stranded party of travellers.
