Tamed By The Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Scarlett Osborne

  At last, riding hard, his eyes still closed, his lips soundlessly forming Joanna’s name over and over, he climaxed.

  As he withdrew his member and fell over to the side, panting, he was quickly brought back to reality.

  “You brute,” the Duchess said. “That was disgusting.”

  Christopher tried kindness one more time. In truth, he did feel guilty, for in his heart, he had never thought of his wife once during the act. Mercifully, he had completely forgotten that it was she beneath him. “My dear, many wives feel uncomfortable at first—”

  “‘Uncomfortable!’” she shrieked, loud enough to be heard down in the kitchens. “You used me like an animal. You mounted me like I was a mare in season. I hate you. I will never forgive you. Now get out of my bed, get out of my room. I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

  Christopher left gladly.

  But now, three years later, upon his father-in-law’s command, it was to begin all over again.

  Chapter 24

  Two Respectable Widows

  Joanna happened upon new employment by lucky chance. She was desperate to leave King John’s Reward—desperate to keep her little daughter safe from the casual cruelty of women like Gwenda and Betty.

  On her afternoon off, she had left Covent Garden and was walking about a nicer part of the city. Hannah was holding her hand. They passed a tea shop, a frilly little place designed to attract women who spent their days in endless shopping.

  There was a hand-printed sign in the window. “Authentic Gypsy Fortune Telling. Tea Leaves, Palms, and Tarot Cards. Learn Your Fate Over a Cup of Our Delicious East India Tea.” Intrigued, Joanna went inside, with Hannah following obediently.

  It was the afternoon lull, and the shop was not busy. The proprietress, a pleasant, motherly sort who looked like she baked good scones and biscuits, offered to seat them.

  Once she had a pot of tea in front of her—with wholesome milk for Hannah—Joanna sought the attention of the matron. “You have a gypsy who tells people’s fortunes?”

  “Well, not a real one. Just a swarthy, dark-haired woman who dressed in colored drapings and faked a foreign accent!” the lady confided. “But it was a great line of business while it lasted. Ladies out for the afternoon loved to come in here and learn about their futures.”

  “She’s gone now, though. A pity! It really brought customers in the door. I guess I just never got around to taking down the sign.”

  Joanna smiled mysteriously. “How would you like to replace her with the genuine article?”

  “Wouldn’t I love that! But how—?”

  “I’m a real gypsy, Madam. I was raised as one of the Travelling folk. I’m no charlatan. I actually have The Gift, the second sight.”

  “Really? My word!” Had Joanna said she was a South Sea Islander, the woman could not have looked more shocked.

  “I could make you a great deal of money, Madam. But it happens I’m in dire straits. The place I live and work now is not safe for my little girl. I’d do a lot to get into a situation where I didn’t have to fear for her every moment.”

  The shopkeeper was good-hearted. She had fallen in love with Hannah in an instant. “She’s a beautiful little girl, Missus. I can understand why you’d worry for her, with the folks that are out there these days.”

  “Lovey, would you like a sweet biscuit?” she asked Hannah. The child’s eyes grew wide with delight. Chuckling, the woman bustled off to get Hannah a treat.

  “Look here, I like your idea. I’m Violet—people call me Missus Vi—and I’ve owned this place for years. It’s hard to keep it open, unless you’ve got some sort of gimmick that distinguishes you from all the other tea shops around here. There are rooms above the shop. Could you and the little girl share one? I wouldn’t mind if she were around the shop all day—the customers would be charmed by her.”

  They agreed on an appropriate commission for Joanna out of whatever business she brought in. She would start work the next day.

  So Joanna went back to King John’s Reward for the very last time. She collected her and Hannah’s few belongings, and she left. She said goodbye to no one. That chapter of her life was over, and good riddance to it.

  * * *

  Joanna and Hannah spent nearly three years with Missus Vi. It was a good job, and in spite of herself, Joanna found herself almost happy at times.

  Missus Vi was a pleasure to work with. She paid Joanna a generous commission, given how easy the job was.

  “I’m not really doing this for the money,” Missus Vi confided. “I mostly do it because I like to be around people. I guess I’m just a lonely old lady!” Her cheery laugh and merry dimples suggested she was nothing of the kind.

  She loved little Hannah, and people who visited the shop came to assume the child was her granddaughter.

  When the shop wasn’t busy with customers, Joanna would manage it alone, while Missus Vi took Hannah upstairs to help her bake tarts and scones. Or Missus Vi would mind the shop, giving Joanna time to sit with Hannah and teach her her letters and numbers.

  “She’s a smart little one!” Missus Vi would proudly tell customers. “Barely five, and she knows all her letters. And she can count all the way to twenty!”

  The old lady would cut and bake biscuit dough into the shapes of letters. Hannah learned to read by lining up the cookies to spell words.

  “C—, A—, T—look, it says ‘cat,’ Missus Vi! Meow! How do you spell ‘meow’? Where we used to live, there was a cat, Missus Vi. His name was Old Tom. He was orange, just like marmalade. And he used to kill all the nasty rats there.”

  Hearing the child’s innocent prattle, Joanna would frown and worry to herself what other unpleasant things Hannah had seen at King John’s Reward, and how much she might still remember.

  * * *

  Hannah was a delightful little chatterbox. Sometimes, with the questions she asked, she sounded as much like an old lady as Missus Vi.

  “Don’t you have children, Missus Vi?”

  “I have you, don’t I? You’re my own little girl.”

  Hannah pondered this sagely. “Well, actually I’m Mama’s. But I’m sure she won’t mind sharing me with you. Still, though, did you never have a little baby, Missus Vi?”

  The elderly woman considered this. She seemed to be trying to decide how much to say.

  “I had a little boy, lovey. He’s a big grown man, now. His name is Herbert.”

  “How come we never see him?”

  Again, Missus Vi appeared to choose her words with care. “Well, he lives far away. He’s in India, far on the opposite side of the world.”

  “Oh, my! Does he wear a white turban and a ruby dangling over his forehead? Does he ride elephants and hunt tigers?” Hannah must have seen a picture book about India somewhere.

  “No, he wears the uniform of His Majesty King George, God bless him. My son is in the army. About the elephants and tigers, I don’t really know! Maybe he gets to do those things for fun, when he’s not marching and drilling with the other soldiers.”

  “That’s so exciting, Missus Vi.”

  “It is, dearie.” But the old lady appeared to think she had said quite enough on the subject. She rose from her seat and began clearing away the tea things.

  Later, Joanna tried to explain to her daughter that adults sometimes didn’t want to talk about their private lives, so Hannah shouldn’t push for information.

  “Oh, Missus Vi and I are best friends,” the little girl said with an air of confidence. “She doesn’t mind telling me about anything.”

  * * *

  Joanna’s fortunetelling was quite a success. She certainly looked the part of a gypsy out of a story book, when she draped her black locks with gaudy silk scarves and put on necklaces and large hoop earrings made of fake gold.

  She found she was rather a good actress. When she “connected with the spirit world,” as she told her clients she was doing, she would adopt a far-seeing stare. Chanting in lugubrious tones, she as
ked customers to “cross her hand with silver,” and then the real entertainment began.

  Joanna really gave customers their money’s worth. Although she had no true psychic gifts at her disposal, her assessments of people tended to be shrewdly accurate.

  Before long, women were sending all their friends to the tea shop to consult her. If Joanna prophesied that a woman was likely to be lucky in love, or was on the verge of having her heart broken, she was generally correct.

  In those cases, her advice was wise, and likely to benefit the listener if she heeded it. Joanna was a charlatan, but she did not wish to cause her customers any actual harm.

  I’m becoming quite the expert on matters of the heart. A pity, then, that I botched up my own chance for true love! Joanna did not expect to ever love again, with Christy lost to her.

  Well-dressed ladies visiting the shop began to invite Joanna to their afternoon “at homes,” where Joanna would delight the guests with glimpses of their futures. These excursions paid handsomely.

  For the first time in her life, Joanna was able to save money. She began to imagine the things she could eventually do for Hannah; better clothes, music and art lessons, perhaps even a few years at one of the more modestly priced girls’ seminaries.

  Missus Vi never denied Joanna these opportunities to make additional money outside the shop.

  “I’m glad you’re getting out and about,” the old lady said. “A beauty like you, with all your life still ahead of you! You might meet someone special. You can’t bury yourself in the grave, dear, no matter how much you must have loved your late husband.”

  The worthy dame always assumed Joanna was a respectable widow like herself. Joanna saw no reason to correct her.

  * * *

  Then things began to change at the shop.

  Joanna noticed that Missus Vi, usually the soul of calmness, seemed increasingly frazzled and distracted. In the middle of a conversation, she would break off and look into space, then struggle to remember what she had been saying.

  Joanna believed that Missus Vi was very worried about something. But Joanna did not want to pry into the sweet old lady’s secrets. Surely, Missus Vi trusted her enough to confide in her, in her own good time.

  It was the end of the month. This was when Missus Vi usually balanced her modest accounts. She would pay off tradesmen’s bills and the shop’s other expenses. Then, she would pay Joanna a generous percentage of the remaining profits.

  Sometimes I think she is paying me just so that Hannah and I will keep her company.

  This month, when Missus Vi approached Joanna with her little leather account book, she seemed oddly embarrassed.

  “My dear, I don’t know how to explain this to you—” With that, the kindly old lady burst into tears.

  “Whatever can be wrong, Missus Vi?” asked Joanna. She had never seen her friend like this before.

  The older woman shook her head back and forth, but she was too overwrought at first to speak.

  Then she pulled herself together. “Joanna, I’m so sorry….”

  “What are you sorry for, Missus Vi? You’ve done nothing but do me good for as long as I’ve known you.”

  “My dear—I cannot pay you anything this month. Maybe not next month, either. Oh, I’m so ashamed.”

  “Missus Vi, don’t worry, I can make do for a little while. You can catch up later if you like.”

  “But that’s just it! I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to! And you have Hannah—you need the money—I feel like the right thing to do would be to let you leave and find other work. But I need you here—you’re the reason why most of my customers come here. And the truth is—I love you and Hannah! What would I do if I didn’t have little Hannah here to brighten up my life? But I should let you leave, for your own sakes. Oh, Lord love me, I’m so ashamed….”

  “Now, Missus Vi, stop this talk. Hannah and I aren’t going anywhere. We love you, too. Whatever this problem is, we’ll all just muddle through it together. But do you need any money, Missus Vi? I could lend you some of what I’ve saved. I trust you, I know you’ll pay me back when you can.”

  “Oh, my dear, I so hate to ask you to do that. But….”

  “Don’t even mention it.”

  A similar scene ensued the end of the next month, and the month after that. By this point, Joanna had loaned Missus Vi almost all of her savings. It was Joanna who was carrying the shop financially.

  What will we all do when my money’s gone? I only have enough to give her to cover one more month, at best.

  And where is the money going? Business in the shop is as brisk as ever. Where is all that money going?

  It was around that time that Joanna got her first clue. She came back one evening from conducting a séance in one of “her ladies’” drawing rooms. It had been wildly successful, and Joanna had been paid very well.

  Little Hannah was sitting with Missus Vi, practicing new words with her biscuit letters. “How do you spell ‘moustaches,’ Mama?” she asked Joanna as she entered through the kitchen door.

  “‘Moustaches’? My goodness, that’s a big word for a little girl to try to spell! What happened—did a customer with a moustache come by the shop?”

  “No,” the child prattled on innocently. “It wasn’t a customer, it was Private Herbert. Honestly, Mama, I think every time I see him, his moustaches grow longer.”

  Turning to Missus Vi, she saw the old lady give her daughter a sharp glance and a warning shake of the head.

  She is trying to get my daughter to hide things from me. I don’t like this.

  “Hannah, why don’t you go into the bedroom and put your dolly to bed. And sing the dolly a little song to help her fall asleep. She’ll like that.”

  The little girl obediently left the room. Joanna turned at once to her companion.

  “Missus Vi, what is going on? I’m going to overlook the fact that, for some reason, you were obviously trying to get my daughter to hide the truth from me. But you must tell me immediately what has been happening.”

  Missus Vi put her head in her hands. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “If I say something, he’ll kick me out of here, and I’ll have nowhere to go.”

  “Your son? The one in the Army?”

  “He’s not in the Army now. He was gazetted and court-martialed. He’s lucky he wasn’t hanged. Oh, I’m so ashamed—what must you think of me?”

  “I think you’re a generous lady who’s being bullied by a man—her own son!—for money. Am I right?”

  “Oh, you mustn’t speak that way—Herbert would get very angry if he heard you.” The old lady looked fearfully over her shoulder as if her son might be hiding in the room this very moment.

  “Why was he drummed out of the regiment, Missus Vi? Tell me the truth, now. I’m only trying to help you.”

  “He stole money. He had a drinking problem, and then he became addicted to laudanum. He changed, Joanna, with the drink and the opium. He was always such a sweet boy, but weak, so weak.” Missus Vi began to sob again.

  Bit by bit, the story came out. Herbert actually was the owner of the tea shop. Missus Vi’s late husband had bequeathed it to him, with the unwritten understanding that while she lived, Missus Vi should have it as a place to live, and the profits of the place to live upon.

  But since he had been dishonorably discharged from the Army earlier this year, Herbert had returned to England with no way to support himself or his habits.

  Now he stopped by several times a month and took all the money Missus Vi had earned since his last visit. He threatened that if she didn’t cooperate with him, he’d have her evicted from “his” premises and put out on the street.

  “It will be the workhouse for me, Joanna. There’s nothing else.”

  “But what about my money, Missus Vi?” Joanna asked, with a sinking feeling.

  “Oh, he takes that money, too, dear. He knows all about you. He makes me tell him how often you work outside, and how much you make. He has insisted on my
borrowing as much as I could get from you. Then he takes all that, too.”

  “My God, Missus Vi.” Recalling her little girl might be listening nearby, Joanna stopped herself just in time from letting out a string of sailor’s oaths. “Is there nothing you can do—no other male relative who could intervene? Or if not, couldn’t you summon a constable to clap him in irons next time he bullies you?”

  Missus Vi looked shocked. “He’s my son, Joanna! I could never harm him. I love him. Just as much as you love Hannah.”

  “Next time he visits, Missus Vi, leave him to me. I’ll fix him.”

  * * *

  But if Joanna expected that she would prevail over the despicable Private Herbert through the sheer force of her own will, she was mistaken.

  He strolled into the tea shop one afternoon as if he owned the place. Which, truth be told, he did.

  Joanna recognized him right away. The waxed black moustaches, now in need of a barber’s attention, the burly military bearing, now gone a little to seed.

  Only two patrons remained in the shop, lingering over their afternoon tea. Herbert scowled at them. They soon settled up their bill and left.

  Herbert locked the shop door behind them and turned the little door sign to “Closed.”

  He ignored Joanna. “Mother!” he yelled. “Get down here!”

  The little woman appeared at the stairs. Joanna could almost feel her trembling. “Herbert, dear,” she said. “How nice to see you, son.”

  “Do you have anything to drink around the place? No, not your bloody tea!” he exclaimed as Missus Vi reached for cups and saucers.

  “I need a man’s drink. Get me brandy or gin.”

  As if he hasn’t had enough already. And it’s barely two in the afternoon.