The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance)

by K. L. O'Keefe

  “Are you enjoying your food, miss?” Mary asked, hoping to redirect Leona’s thoughts.

  “Oh, yes. It’s very good. Lord Randall has a good cook, doesn’t he?”

  “Her name’s Lorna, and she’s the fiancé of John… his lordship’s valet,” Mary said, watching her mistress take another bite of her supper. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sure you’re not interested in any of the servants’ goings-on.

  “No, please. Go on.”

  “I’ve been helping Lorna in the kitchen… she’s so young. I think she’s about sixteen or seventeen, but she’s good at what she does. She’s a baker’s daughter, and she makes some delicious breads.”

  “Yes, I believe I had one of her muffins.”

  “Well…” Mary turned her eyes to the floor. “There’s something I haven’t been telling you miss.”

  “What is it? About Lorna?”

  Mary shook her head. “Not about Lorna. About… Lord Randall.”

  Leona dropped her fork on her plate, and the sharp sound of clinking china seemed to echo. “What? Is something wrong with him?”

  “I… can’t say for sure,” Mary replied. “There was a man to see him today… an old gentleman. I asked John who he was, and he told me it was the doctor.”

  Leona’s own heart missed its next few beats. She didn’t love her husband, but the thought of losing him made her blood run cold. “Doctor? Do you know if his condition’s gotten worse?”

  “As I said before, I really don’t know.”

  “I should go see him… to check on him,” Leona sprung from her bed and headed for the door.

  “What about your dinner?”

  “I’ll finish it later!” Leona exclaimed.

  And then she was gone.

  * * *

  “Was that the doctor?”

  Those were the first words out of Andrew Lamb’s mouth, spoken as soon as Tristan opened the door.

  “Andrew!” Tristan exclaimed, seizing his friend in a one-armed hug. “I wasn’t expecting you! This is a nice surprise. So, what brings you here?”

  Andrew didn’t repeat his first question, as it had been a rhetorical question more than anything. He already knew the doctor’s face. “I came to see your lovely wife, of course. What’s it like to be the husband of such an exquisite creature?” Andrew held up a finger, delaying his friend’s response. “Even if you say it is the most wonderful thing in the world, don’t expect me to change my opinion on the state of matrimony. I like being a single man too much to sacrifice my freedom.”

  Tristan chuckled. “It really is good to see you, Andrew. It’s only been a few days since the wedding, hasn’t it? But… by God, it feels like ages have passed!”

  “Ooh.” Andrew inhaled a sharp breath and captured his bottom lip between his teeth. “Married life is that bad, is it? It makes every day feel like an eternity?” Andrew finally stepped out of the hallway and into the viscount’s bedroom. “By the way, Dubois told me to come up. He said you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I certainly don’t mind! You’re practically family… which would mean you’re the only family I have,” Tristan said. “Of course, you’re not family, but you are closer to me than any family member I’ve ever had. You’re like my younger brother.”

  “Thanks, old man.” Andrew lowered himself to a nearby chair and sighed. “So, where is the mistress of the house? Where’s the lovely viscountess?”

  When Tristan sat across from his friend, he breathed an even deeper, greater sigh. “From what I gather, she should be in her room. I have not seen hide nor hair of her these last few days.”

  Andrew’s eyebrow shot up. “Really?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m telling you the truth.” Tristan answered with a nod. “We had a, um… disagreement… of sorts.”

  “Disagreement? Would you think I was prying if I asked for details?”

  “I think I’ve chosen a wife who hates me.”

  “Hates you? Already?” Andrew rubbed his lips, but it didn’t hide the fact that he was chuckling. “That didn’t take long, did it? Why do you think she hates you?”

  “Well…” Tristan hesitated, reluctant to tell his friend any intimate details about his personal life, bungled as it was. “She was acting strangely, and then I acted rudely, and--”

  Andrew interrupted. “Being ambiguous, are we?”

  “She knows I’m dying. Her father told her.”

  “Her father told her? You mean you didn’t tell her yourself?”

  “No. I wasn’t planning on telling her at all… at least, not right away.”

  “You would hide such a significant detail from your own wife?”

  Tristan was silent for several seconds—silent, and glaring. As much as he liked Andrew, he didn’t want to be judged by a man who had no right to judge him. Andrew Lamb wasn’t exactly the world’s premier gentleman. “I would have told her eventually, Andrew. I wanted to see if we could form a bond without the comportment of doom and gloom looming over us. I didn’t want her to care for me out of pity. You, of all people, should know how much I hate to be pitied.”

  “Still…”

  Andrew wouldn’t have a chance to finish his thought, because a knock on the door interrupted him.

  Tristan turned his attention to the door, assuming it would be one of his servants, likely John or Dubois. “Come in,” he said.

  When the door opened, they were looking at a face much more feminine than John’s, and far prettier than Dubois’. “Hello, um… Tristan,” his wife uttered.

  Tristan’s mouth parted, but it took him a few seconds to move his lips. “Oh… it’s you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Almost immediately after she entered, her gaze bounced to Andrew. Tristan wasn’t surprised to lose her attention. Andrew Lamb was the sort of man who made women stare at him. “You’re not old,” she said.

  Andrew threw back his head and laughed. “I should hope not!”

  “I mean… I was expecting an older gentleman,” Leona went on, clearing her throat in the middle of the sentence. “My maid told me a doctor was visiting. You must not be that man.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Far from it. Besides, what makes you think all doctors are elderly? I’m not so young that I couldn’t have had my own practice by now, if I’d wanted it…which I most certainly did not.”

  “Oh… well…” Leona had yet to tear her eyes away from Andrew Lamb. “My maid specifically described him. Unless you were hiding yourself in a disguise on the way in, I don’t think you could be the old doctor.”

  “Andrew Lamb.”

  Leona looked puzzled. “Come again?”

  “Andrew Lamb. My name’s Andrew Lamb, my lady,” he said.

  “Ah, of course. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lamb. Now that I think about it, I remember your face. You were at the wedding, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, my lady. Indeed I was.”

  Tristan spoke up, secretly perturbed by how easily they conversed. “I’m sorry if you were alarmed, Leona. Ever since I heard the news about my health, my doctor’s been visiting me every week.”

  “Oh.” Leona stole a peek at her husband—just a peek. For some reason, it was much easier to look at Andrew. Something about Tristan made her uneasy, especially after she made a cake of herself on their wedding night. “Did the doctor have anything to say to you? Are you unwell?”

  With a half-hearted chuckle, Tristan responded, “It depends on what you mean by well. Am I healthy? No. Still alive? Yes. Likely to live another three years? Questionable.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tristan.”

  “Please, don’t apologize,” Tristan insisted. “I don’t think people should ever apologize when they’re not at fault.”

  Andrew Lamb scratched his head as he observed the husband and wife's discourse. To say their conversation was awkward would have been an understatement of colossal proportions. Leona was staring at the ground so long, she looked as if she was trying to find a way to melt
into the floor. And Tristan was twitching and fidgeting so much, Andrew thought he was trying to invent a new dance.

  He needed to help them.

  “So,” Andrew spoke up, “I rode my phaeton all the way from London. It’s meant for shorter distances, but I don’t care. I’ve always been a rebel.”

  No one said anything. Tristan was as twitchy as ever, and Leona’s shoulders slumped. Andrew frowned at their response, or lack thereof. The silence was maddening, but it gave Andrew a moment to evaluate the situation. He sensed the newlyweds' desire get along with one another, but they didn’t know how to begin. He also sensed a mutual respect between Leona and Tristan, something that could possibly blossom into something deeper, if given the chance. Andrew took it upon himself to light a fire under their feet.

  “Soooo…” he went on, “I was wondering if we could all take a ride. My phaeton might not be fit for a prince, but it’s a swell vehicle. And the scenery around Randall Hall is lovely.”

  Tristan hitched a shoulder and said, “You want to go for a ride? Well… alright.” He was careful not to show much enthusiasm, as he didn’t want to look too eager. The fact of the matter was, he’d been starving to spend more time with Leona. He wanted to get to know her, but he didn’t think she wanted to be known by him—not after their quarrel.

  “My lady?” Andrew spoke again, turning his attention to his friend’s bride.

  “I’d be delighted. But… I’m wondering if I can take Mary with me.”

  “Mary?”

  Tristan answered for her. “Leona’s maid.”

  “I know there would be no issue of propriety if I am with my husband. Nevertheless, I would like to have her with me. There’s something comforting about having an even number of men and women.”

  “That’s true,” Andrew agreed, though for very different reasons. He wasn’t the sort of man to object to the presence of another female. If the maid was pretty, he might end up enjoying his stay at Randall Hall more than he thought he would. When it came to sharing his bed, Andrew didn’t discriminate based on class. Any pretty face was welcome.

  Twenty minutes later, when Andrew was helping the maid into the seat beside him, his hopes were dashed. By no means did Mary the maid have a pretty face. She wasn’t even what he’d call passable. She had the tiniest mouth, pencil-thin eyebrows, sleepy eyes, a cleft on her chin, freckles, and wiry hair that seemed to explode, in rigid wisps, from her tight bun.

  He would have a lonely bed after all. Sighing, Andrew flicked the reins, urging his horses to a steady pace.

  Tristan and Leona sat behind Andrew and Mary, as silent as ever. It was Andrew who had to break the ice yet again.

  “Look at Randall Hall as we ride away. It really is an impressive place, don’t you think?”

  Tristan chuckled. “You don’t expect a response out of me, I hope? I hardly think I can praise my own estate.”

  “Is this your first time visiting Randall Hall, Mr. Lamb?” Leona asked.

  “Goodness, no. I’ve known Tristan since I was a baby. My family’s estate isn’t too far from here… well… there’s nothing close to Randall Hall, but Newberry Park is one of the closest. My father is a viscount as well. Alas, I had the misfortune of being a third son.” He looked over at Mary and sighed. “I could have lived with being a first son, or even a second son. Believe me when I say… there is nothing more depressing than being the third son of a viscount.”

  Mary’s lips tightened, and her miniscule mouth almost disappeared. When he saw the bizarre expression on her face, it was all he could do not to laugh. Without a mouth, she almost looked nonhuman. Andrew decided not to look at her again, for fear that he would laugh at her. He didn't want to hurt the maid's feelings. Andrew only liked pretty girls, but he wouldn’t intentionally insult someone who wasn’t quite so blessed.

  Poor Mary was the definition of plain. Or worse.

  Andrew looked over his shoulder at the silent couple behind him. “Believe it or not, I looked up to Tristan. I admired him more than I admired my own brothers.”

  “That isn’t saying much,” Tristan added with a chuckle. “You hate your brothers.”

  “Don’t interrupt my story,” Andrew playfully chided him. “Now… where was I?”

  “You were telling her how I was your childhood hero, I believe.”

  “Oh, come on… isn’t that a bit over the top?”

  For the first time in so many days, Leona laughed. She wished she could banter with her husband the way Andrew did. To be able to talk to him so casually—that’s what she wanted more than anything. It would certainly make her days at Randall Hall a lot more pleasant.

  “I’m sure Lady Randall won’t believe her ears when she hears this,” Andrew continued. “I enjoyed Tristan’s company because he was the most adventurous, rambunctious child you could ever imagine.”

  Leona’s eyes, wide with shock, swiveled on her husband. “Really?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe… seeing what an idle spoilsport he’s become. We used to climb trees and fight duels.”

  “Duels?” Leona gasped.

  “Yes, with sticks,” Andrew explained. “Being a few years older than me, he would always win. He’s always been taller than me.”

  “As if size has anything to do with it!” Tristan added with a snicker.

  “It does!”

  “It doesn’t,” Tristan held his ground, “You were just awful.”

  Leona smiled as she listened to their repartee. Andrew’s arrival was turning out to be a blessing. If he hadn’t come, she would still be in her bedroom, hiding from Lord Randall and wallowing in self-pity. Leona was realizing how childish she’d been. “So… how old is my husband?” she asked, hoping her question wouldn’t affect the tone of the conversation.

  “You mean, he hasn’t told you?” Andrew asked, punctuating his question with a gasp. “By God, he’s ancient! If you get close enough to his joints, you can hear his old bones squeaking when he moves.”

  Tristan dealt a playful slap to the back of his friend’s head. “You’re one to talk! In a few months, you’ll be thirty yourself!”

  “Yes, but not four and thirty!” Andrew said, answering Leona’s question.

  Four and thirty? For some reason, she thought her husband was older than that.

  “And you, my lady? What might your age be?”

  Like her husband, Leona was tempted to slap Andrew’s head. “You fiend! You shouldn’t expect a lady to own up to her age!”

  To which Andrew countered, “When the lady is as young as you undoubtedly are, I see nothing wrong with asking such a question.”

  Tristan looked over at his wife. He, too, was waiting to hear the answer to Andrew’s question.

  “Two and twenty,” Leona replied. “Am I older than you thought I was?”

  “No. You’re still very young,” Andrew insisted. “You’re the youngest one here… err…” In the corner of his eye, he saw the maid shifting in her seat. “That is… perhaps… Mary, are you younger than that?”

  Mary’s somnolent eyes sprung to life, swelling to three times their natural size. She hadn’t expected to be included in the conversation. “Goodness, no!” she laughed. “I’m much older than that. That must be obvious when you look at me.”

  “Mary is thirty too,” said Leona.

  “Thirty-two?”

  “No, I mean… thirty as well,” Leona corrected herself.

  “Well, I’m not quite thirty yet,” Andrew emphasized. He gave the reins a tug, pulling the horses to a stop. They’d circled Randall Hall a few times; now they were back on the front lawn.

  “And I’m not quite dead yet,” Tristan said with a chuckle, hopping from the phaeton like a man full of youth and vigor. He extended a hand toward his wife, offering to help her down. “Yet being the operative word. After today, I’m sure you wish you had married Andrew instead of me.”

  Leona took his hand, though she didn’t appreciate his comment. “I wish you wouldn’t spea
k so carelessly about marriage and death,” she said, tugging her hand away from him as soon as she was on the ground.

  Tristan laughed, still hoping to make light of the situation. “Well… it’s true, isn’t it? It’s not just an issue of health. I don’t have a modicum of Andrew’s charm or good looks. Any woman would think he's a much better catch than me.”

  “I have no idea why you would think such a thing. Come on, Mary. Let’s go.” She looked over at Andrew and nodded politely. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lamb. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  “Definitely, my lady…” Andrew answered, bowing to her as she fled. When she was gone, a suppressed chuckle flew out of his mouth. “Not dead yet? Rather marry Andrew? I know you’ve never been good with women, but that was a colossally stupid thing to say!”

  “I know, I know…” Tristan was pouting and scowling, which made him look like he was trying to imitate a gorilla. “She’s angry with me, isn’t she? I’m not cut out for this wife business, am I? Why did I even bother?”

  “Well, I can think of one benefit of having a wife, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. It’s been eight years since you--”

  Tristan held a finger in front of Andrew’s face. “I know what you’re going to say. Do not complete that thought, Andrew. Our wedding night was a disaster, if you really must know.”

  “Oh!” Andrew stuffed his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat. He didn’t know what else to say. “Oh, dear… you mean… you didn’t…?”

  Tristan shook his head.

  “Well, do you think… you will?”

  Tristan shrugged.

  “Well, at least we can celebrate celibacy together, my friend,” Andrew said with a chuckle. “Because there isn’t a woman around here to tempt me. You really need to employ a pretty maid, Randall.”

  “By not hiring any pretty maids, I’m doing them a favor.” Tristan gave his friend a dubious glance. “I wouldn't want to subject them to Andrew Lamb!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Andrew Lamb!” It was Mary who uttered his name, breathily and dreamily. “If heaven split open and spat out an angel, it would look like Mr. Lamb. Have you ever seen such a handsome man?”