A Scandalous Journey: The Amberley Chronicles

by May Burnett

  Duncan remembered countless sneers about his less than noble birth, and could not summon the slightest sympathy.

  The Marquis said, “Colonel Mossley, Dorrington, and Meller are under arrest, while the authorities debate if the court-martial or a criminal case for theft and attempted murder takes precedence. If the latter, you will have to give witness against them. When he is well enough Donforth will likely join them. So far the major papers have not reported the story, but it is only a question of time. They are all ruined, whatever happens next.”

  “No wonder they tried to shut me up. But why those vicious rumours? They did not achieve anything but to give me a profound disgust of my gullible colleagues, and drive me to the reluctant decision to leave the army behind.”

  “They had misjudged you yet again,” Hendrickson said, “apparently they were hoping to drive you to suicide, or failing that, to force a duel for some particularly egregious insult. But since duels are illegal, and you are accounted a fair shot, they were still hesitating to execute that latter step when you sold out and left, catching them on the left foot. Had they had the least sense they would simply have allowed you to depart, and lain low for a while. But they had got it firmly into their heads by then that your knowledge was dangerous, that you had to be eliminated at any risk.”

  “Not such a great risk,” Duncan said, considering. “A poacher’s shot, an unfortunate accident – who would have questioned it? By the time my brother in Edinburgh even heard of the matter, I would have been buried in some unmarked grave.”

  “Exactly,” James Ellsworthy said. “You were very lucky that they bungled the matter the way they did. Another circumstance that does not exactly inspire confidence in the army.”

  Duncan had to agree, though he was glad of their incompetence in that particular case. “Because it was officers only acting against me,” he surmised. “Without sergeants, the army would not find its way out of a rabbit burrow.”

  “They did have two of those,” Hendrickson reminded him, “but luckily for you, only engaged in procurement and resale, they did not trust the men enough to involve them in attempted murder. The sergeants acted shocked when they learned what their superiors had been up to, and how thoroughly they had failed to cover their tracks.”

  Duncan, who had worked closely with the men in question, wondered gloomily if they would have been willing to shoot him, to keep their illicit side income. But it was all moot now. “Even so, I was very lucky. Doubly lucky, that they did not hurt Monique by accident. Just who fired that shot, and who was the fellow I killed when they ambushed the berline? He was not from our regiment, or I would have recognised him.”

  “Meller and Dorrington organised the actual ambush, but kept prudently back. They recruited a former soldier, a sharp-shooter with war experience, who had been employed as a groom by Meller’s family. After you shot him nobody claimed the body.”

  “As the man nearly killed Monique, he got his just deserts,” Lord Pell said, and nobody contradicted this verdict. “They had no idea who besides you was in either coach, and did not care.”

  “That is the one thing I shall never be able to forgive.” To have tried to slay him was one thing. That they had come so close to ending a life infinitely more precious – and could easily have killed Monique’s maid or any of the others in that ill-fated coach – was a crime that ought to be expiated in the deepest levels of hell. Duncan hoped they would hang, to get there the sooner.

  “Why did they involve Mr. Rallis, Colonel Mossley’s cousin?” Roger asked. “How much did he know?”

  “My impression, though I have no proof that would stand up in a court,” Hendrickson said, “is that Rallis knew all along that the supposed robbery was a mere invention, and had concocted the accusation and arrest warrant with his cousin the Colonel, without even talking to the two officers who had supposedly laid the charge. When Mr. Ellsworthy challenged the story, Rallis must have known that as soon as the matter came under scrutiny he did not have a leg to stand on, and decided to distance himself from the plot while he could.”

  “His wife, a charming lady, certainly had no idea what he was up to,” Roger said. “He did not want to disillusion her. When she learns of his perfidy, she will not be happy.”

  “He likely just saw it as a favour to his cousin, without thinking of the consequences for a man he had never met. Many people slide into corruption from a desire to be helpful, an unwillingness to say no,” Lord Amberley commented. “It is hard to know where to draw the line sometimes.”

  Duncan did not agree, remembering the night he had spent in prison because of Mr. Rallis’s excessive helpfulness, and the very real prospect of ending on the gallows, from which only Monique’s protection and interference had saved him.

  “Is my name cleared sufficiently, in your judgement, that the betrothal to Monique can be made official?” he asked the others, and received their unanimous agreement.

  “Yes, Captain, tell her she can set the date,” James Ellsworthy spoke for the others. “The whole story will appear in the Society Argus in the coming days, and nobody will be left in any doubt concerning the villains of this dastardly plot. We shall send copies to everyone concerned in Portsmouth, so that they will know how you were wronged, and where the guilt rightly belongs.”

  “I’ll send a copy to Mrs. Rallis as well,” Roger said. “The owner of the magazine is an old family friend,” he explained in an aside to Duncan. “I told you of him, when we brought you back from the lock-up.”

  Duncan nodded. It seemed fitting that a campaign of rumours and lies should be countered through the power of the press.

  But the main thing was that his honour was no longer in doubt, that he was free to woo and marry the girl he loved. He was eager talk to Monique right away, tell her everything.

  What date would she choose?

  Duncan could not wait to find out.

  Chapter 33

  In late June the day arrived at last, when Monique changed her name from Mademoiselle de Ville-Deuxtours to Mrs. Duncan Kinninmont without any remaining doubts, without looking back.

  Monique and her husband would bring honour to their name, noble or not. The previous day, Duncan had signed settlements reserving half her fortune to Monique’s sole use and disposal, ample proof that they would be equal partners in this new life. This was real, this was their future. They would enjoy their happy companionship and further adventures, whatever ill-intentioned gossips might say.

  In the absence of the Marquis, James Ellsworthy gave the bride away. Verena, Violet and Amy stood at her back as bridesmaids. The witnesses were Charlotte Ellsworthy and Mr. Dennis Kinninmont, Duncan’s older brother. Monique and Duncan pronounced their vows in firm, clear voices.

  Monique’s only regret was that her parents were still in Martinique. She missed her beloved father and stepmother, as well as her brother Etienne. She was not quite without close family to support her, however, for her two youngest brothers had come from their boarding school near Paris. Raoul and Max had taken to Duncan right away.

  Mainly for her absent parents’ benefit, a Mr. Talbot, whom Uncle James had met during a lecture in London, had come down to Amberley to record the wedding through mechanical pictures. Supposedly these were like a family portrait, but you did not have to pose for hours and weeks, merely a few minutes. From what Monique had gathered this new procedure, first invented in her native France, held great promise; Duncan was looking into investing in it, if it should catch on.

  The festivities following the short ceremony lasted for six hours, but eventually the moment of departure arrived – the first time when they would be alone as a married couple. Monique had already changed out of her wedding gown, with its long train, into a practical travelling ensemble. They were not going far, to a manor Lord Pell had put at their disposal for the first week of their married life, some three hours distant from Amberley. Neither of them had seen the place before, but when they arrived after a journey on which they
kissed more than talked, it proved prettily situated, not too big, and beautifully private. The discreet staff had prepared everything and remained invisible unless called.

  They dined with all appearance of civilised calm, but conversation lagged. Monique’s mind was busy imagining what would happen afterwards, in that huge four-poster with blue silk hangings. A bed fit for a prince, and large enough for half a dozen.

  “Are you apprehensive, love?” Duncan asked, putting down his wineglass.

  “Not particularly, though I have heard the first time is likely to hurt. Since I’m so much smaller than you, it may be worse than for others, but I understand that after the first time things go more smoothly, at least for most couples.”

  “Who told you so?”

  “Aunt Charlotte gave me practical advice. She claims she greatly enjoys her husband’s marital attentions, even now, at their age. That gives me hope it will be the same for us, but of course they are both tall, their sizes are not so disparate.”

  “We can work around that,” Duncan assured her. “I hope you too will enjoy love-making, since you are the only woman with whom I shall be intimate while we both live. We can start slowly, with kissing and touching, and progress to the rest with care and deliberation.”

  She shook her head. “Deliberation sounds wrong, somehow. Aunt Charlotte tells me that if we do it right, all thoughts are blown away, and only feelings remain. If I lose my head like that, unlikely as it seems, I would not want you to be acting with deliberation.”

  “We’ll figure it out between us.” He put down his napkin. “You are only toying with that syllabub. While my hunger for you is increasing in leaps and bounds, now I have so close, all mine and sweet and delicious.”

  Monique pushed the dish away. “You know I never eat much.” She rose in a rustle of silk. “I’ll need you to undo my lacings, or should I call my maid?”

  “Certainly not! I want you all to myself, sweetheart.”

  What followed was a revelation to Monique. She had been given a thorough overview of the theory, but who cared about theory and technique, in view of the delightful reality? A naked male body, all planes and muscles, for her to explore and caress as she wished? Her own body, small and slight as it was, seemed to fascinate her husband at least equally.

  She could never have imagined how thrilling it was to have all that strength and power focused solely upon her, on pleasing, taking, devouring each other in mutual passion. With any other man than her beloved Duncan, it would have been frightening, unthinkable. But love dissolved all inhibitions, reserve and fears. When she clasped him to her in the deepest intimacy a couple could attain, Monique felt only satisfaction. Small or not, she could delight and seduce him, and would do so often and often, throughout the years.

  “No regrets? How do you feel, Monique, love?” Duncan asked afterwards, when they had recovered their breaths. “You are so responsive and passionate, I account myself the luckiest of men, but did I hurt you at all?”

  “Only a momentary twinge,” she assured him. “It may be that riding astride your horse eased the way. Could you tell that I had not been with any other man?”

  “Only from knowing your honourable nature,” he said, and kissed her shoulder, the part closest to his face just then. “The tales of tight barriers to be breached by force, and with blood, may be exaggerated. Or it differs from one woman to the next, and I could not care less about any other woman but you, my own dear Monique. I still can hardly believe in this new life as husband and wife.”

  “Believe it,” she said, with a light laugh. “It is permanent, Duncan. We shall be together for always. And I have no regrets, to answer your earlier question, and no qualms. If I could go back and change a single thing – like bypassing that horrid inn, in the hours before we met – I would not choose to do it. Fate has joined us, and I have come to believe that it was meant to be.”

  “You were sent by my guardian angel, in the moment of my greatest peril.” He kissed her again. “Overwhelming as my happiness and good luck may be, I pledge not to make you regret that you joined your lovely hand to mine. You are the best thing that ever happened in my whole life, and I would not change places with a king or duke, if it meant living without you.”

  “Then we are agreed,” Monique said, a little drowsily, for she had risen very early on her wedding day. “Good night, love. It is already a good night, because we are here, together, married at last.”

  His response was so fervent that it took several more minutes till she could compose herself to rest, and she suspected that the morning would be as active as the evening. Something to look forward to …

  Holding on to his arm and nestling against his warmth, to make sure her wonderfully solid husband would still be there when she awoke, Monique fell asleep with a contented smile on her face.

  The End

  Thanks for reading!

  The Impostor Debutante, published in June 2014, was May Burnett’s first Regency Romance. In view of several reviewers’ suggestion that they would like to read more about these characters and their friends, soon it became the first volume of the Amberley Chronicles.

  The second book of the series, My Last Marchioness, is set five years later, in 1822, and details the parallel romances of Lady Minerva Ellsworthy and of Celia Conway. In its pages readers first encounter Monique de Ville-Deuxtours, as a one-year-old just learning to walk.

  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 Lady Amberley’s younger brother Anthony 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.

  The subsequent volumes, like A Scandalous Journey, feature the next generation and take place during the early years of Queen Victoria’s reign. The Late Heiress is set in 1843. Like this novel, it features a mystery as well as a love story.

  May Burnett is also the author of 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. The third volume, A Lady’s Ruse, will appear in October 2015. See overleaf for a sneak preview!

  A (so far) standalone novel, A Priceless Gift, takes place earlier than the other books, at the very beginning of the Regency.

  Happy reading!

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  A Lady’s Ruse

  May Burnett

  Chapter 1

  “You are feeling drowsy... very drowsy... your eyelids are heavy as lead...”

  Milla had always prided herself on a strong will, but it required effort to resist the deep, monotonous voice of Doktor Petronius Rabenstein. She pinched herself in the arm, hard, and bit down on the side of her cheek for good measure. Except for her head, resting on a towel-wrapped pillow, her whole body was encased in a sarcophagus-shaped copper bath filled with very warm, vanilla-scented water. The underground spa was dimly lit, so with any luck Rabenstein and his assistant would not notice her resistance to a procedure for which she and the two other patients resting in similar contraptions had paid four whole gulden.

  As the Doctor droned on, his female assistant walked around, her slippers clapping against the stone floor of the cave-like room. Milla quickly shut her eyes at her approach.

  “They have all succumbed, as usual,” the young woman observed in a tone of s
atisfaction. “With whom do you want to start? Or can we do them all at once?”

  “Better safe than sorry.” To Milla's relief, the voice changed to a much brisker, business-like tone. “The Englishwoman first, then the other two.”

  Milla pretended to be asleep as she listened to the assistant wheeling the other copper boxes outside. Drat. That would make it much harder to eavesdrop on the rest of the proceedings. From the brief time it took, at least they were not going any great distance.

  She kept her breathing slow and even.

  “Lady Fenton,” the voice deepened once again and switched from German to accented English, “you are asleep but can understand me, can you not?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a drowsy voice.

  “You will stay in Regensbad for three more weeks. Within the next two days you will make the acquaintance of a gentleman by name of Major Kepler. You will find him the most wonderful, attractive man you have ever met.”

  Milla was hard put to refrain from a derisive snort.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever he asks of you, whether money, or intimacy, or marriage, you will not deny him.”

  “Yes,” she said again, tonelessly, wondering if such an open-ended command could really work on susceptible persons.

  “Tell me your most terrible secret.”

  Milla thought quickly. “When I was a young girl,” she confessed in a contrite voice, “I lied about my governess, claiming she had kissed a groom, to get my parents to dismiss her.”

  “And did they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that you are grown up, what is your current biggest secret?”

  “My will. Nobody knows to whom I am leaving my money. It will go to charity and everyone will be so very angry.”

  From his impatient sigh, this was not the kind of intelligence Doktor Rabenstein hoped for. “What about lovers? Who was your latest one?”