by Jaimey Grant
Honor
A Regency Romance
By Jaimey Grant
PUBLISHED BY:
TreasureLine Publishing on Smashwords
Honor
Copyright 2011 by Laura J. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only or provided by the author of publisher, then please purchase your own copy out of respect for the author’s work.
The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.
Views expressed in this work are solely those of the author.
*
Acknowledgments
Many people had a part in making sure this story saw the publishing light.
My readers, who expressed their love of Connor and Verena when they first met them in Betrayal.
Special thanks to Rachel Rager, author of By Love or By Sea, for her endless critiques. Without you, Verena and Connor would not have been given their chance in the limelight.
And finally, TreasureLine Publishing, specifically Linda Boulanger, whose belief in me is more than even I can comprehend. Your positive attitude and winning spirit were exactly what I needed at a time when I needed it the most. Thank you.
Dedications
This one is for my husband, who pushed me to be myself, and refused to allow my personal insecurities to get in my way.
And for my family, who were proud of me for writing “The End” on something but not afraid to tell me where it needed improvement.
*
Note to readers:
Honor is a prequel to one of my previously released titles, Betrayal. While Honor was written first, I made Betrayal available in the belief that Honor would never see publication.
Reader demand has declared otherwise.
Thank you for your understanding and I hope Connor’s story is everything you hoped it would be.
~Jaimey
Connected Regency Romances
by Jaimey Grant*
Honor (1815)
Betrayal (1816-17)
Deception (1818)**
Spellbound (early 1820)
Heartless (late 1820)
Redemption (1821)
*For maximum enjoyment, read in this order.
**Also available from TreasureLine Publishing.
*
One
Autumn 1815
Under the cover of absolute darkness, a slight female figure climbed awkwardly down an ivy-covered wall. With a cautious glance left and then right, the cloaked figure darted across the open parkland at the rear of the manor house and managed to reach the relative safety of the trees. Just before she reached the woods, a shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds, highlighting the pale features of a young lady, beautiful and desperate. In a swirl of midnight cloak, she was lost among the trees.
She carried nothing more with her than a very small and very shabby valise containing one extra, equally shabby dress, some underthings, and enough money to catch the southbound stagecoach once she reached the posting house—money that had been given to her by some of the servants who wanted to help her escape.
The time neared four o’clock and considering her past, she should have been terrified out of her wits to be alone in the dark of early morning. But she found fear of her father’s plans lent her the courage she needed to traverse the night-blackened forest with little thought for her past experience there.
She reached the village with some time to spare as the stage left promptly at six; the clock boasted only half past five. She purchased her ticket and sat down in a chair in the far corner of the taproom of the small posting house, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible. Thankfully, her shabby cloak and coal scuttle bonnet concealed her enough to elicit no more attention than the landlord’s wife asking her if she wanted breakfast.
After the homely woman left, Lady Verena Westbridge looked about her with wary interest. She longed for a more simple and peaceful life where she didn’t have to worry what imaginary offense she had committed to warrant her newest punishment.
Two men—highborn gentlemen to judge by their dress and manner—entered the taproom then and she watched them nervously. Why were they there so early in the day? One glanced in her direction but looked quickly away as he and his companion moved on to sit at another table. She endeavored to ignore them, but their voices, while not overly loud, carried to her isolated corner.
“I don’t know how the devil Feldspar roped me into this,” the one with the blue eyes and blond hair remarked lazily to his friend. “The only members of the female persuasion that will be there are ladies and servants. The one is untouchable and the other is best left that way.”
“True,” said his companion, a rather tall man with black hair and strangely colored gray-green eyes. “Nevertheless, you agreed to go, as did I, and at this point we cannot honorably renege.”
The landlord’s wife approached at that moment and set a plate of eggs and toast as well as a pot of tea before Verena. She thanked her and darted a nervous glance at the gentlemen who had continued to speak. The one with the blue eyes stared at her intently and she turned away praying he would leave her alone.
Images flashed in Verena’s mind, hazy recollections of the past, a past too painful for her to fully remember. She shook her head, banishing the thoughts.
The gentleman must have satisfied his curiosity, for she heard him say, “But Hereford? Good Lord, there is nothing of interest at Feldspar’s. As much as I consider him a friend, the man is a complete bore. And he never has enough servants to take care of everyone. Anyone with the least subservient attitude can be sure to be hired yet no one applies because even the servants find it a bore to live and work there.”
Verena could hear a strange inflection in his tone and she chanced a peek at him through her lashes. He watched her again, his eyes half closed in lazy attention. What game did he play?
Before she could reflect much upon it, she heard the call to board the stage.
Swallowing the last of her breakfast and throwing a few coins on the table, she darted out into the early morning gloom. She handed her single valise to the coachman who threw it into the boot. Then she climbed into the coach.
Her eyes soon adjusted to the dim interior. Only two other people waited in the carriage: a rather worn looking farmwife who confided she traveled to see her ailing mother, and a ponderous man dressed in old but professional garb who journeyed to see his first grandchild. Verena favored them with a tremulous smile but refused to share anything about herself other than to tell them the name she’d chosen to use while hiding from her father.
Doll Rendel.
The three passengers lapsed into silence as the coach pulled away from the posting house.
Verena passed the time thinking about where she could go. Unbidden a pair of deep blue eyes flashed through her mind and she remembered Hereford. A house party with too few servants guaranteed work. She would much rather be a maid of some sort than a lady who could be forced into a distasteful marriage. With determination, she d
ecided to change in her ticket at the next posting house and purchase one to get her to Hereford.
Her decision made, Verena sat back and let the rocking of the coach lull her into much-needed sleep.
“Very well, I’ll hire you despite your lack of references. Lord knows we need the extra help. But you must work very hard to prove your worth.”
Verena agreed gratefully. Mrs. Watts had proved to be a kind but stern woman and Verena knew she would have no difficulty working for her.
“Have you any special abilities, Doll?”
“I’m a dab hand at dressin’ hair, I’d say, mum,” Verena answered softly, trying to hide her cultured accent as much as possible. She experienced a rare spurt of gratitude toward her father for disallowing a lady’s maid in his home. How else would a lady have learned to dress hair? Necessity ever was the mother of invention.
“Excellent! We have need of an abigail for those ladies who neglected to bring theirs. And when you are not busy with those duties, I will give you some other chores to give the other girls a hand.”
“Thank ‘ee, mum,” Verena whispered as she sank into a curtsy.
“Bridgette! Come here, child.”
Verena watched a girl of about her own age approach. Masses of dark red curls framed a face dominated by large green eyes. Her countenance lacked the freckles that so often cursed girls of her coloring. Carrying herself as though she didn’t realize her own beauty, Bridgette gave the housekeeper a blank look.
“Mum?”
“Take Doll and explain her duties as ladies’ maid.”
Bridgette grinned and curtsied. “Yes, mum.” Turning, she tipped her head at Verena. “Follow me.”
Verena walked behind the girl and marveled at her ability to remain so cheerful even though her servitude probably made her prey to all sorts of rakes and libertines.
“First, I’ll show ye where yer ta sleep.” Bridgette pushed open the door to the attics and ushered her fellow servant into a low-ceilinged room. “Ye’ll be sharin’ with me, Doll. You take that cot, there.” She pointed at a cot placed in one corner of the tiny room, a thin woolen blanket stretched neatly over it.
Verena dutifully walked over and placed her valise on the bed. “And this here’s yers,” Bridgette continued, pulling open the lid of a small trunk at the foot of the cot. “You can unpack later.”
Removing her cloak, Verena laid it carefully on the bed. “Yer to be a ladies’ maid in that dress?” the other girl clucked reprovingly.
Verena looked down at her plain gown of brown serge. As it boasted a rather unfashionable cut to match the serviceable fabric, its suitability for work could not be argued.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked in surprise, forgetting to mask her voice.
“That’s what I thought,” Bridgette mused, her own accent slipping. “I could tell you were highborn. You have such an innocent look about you and although you try hard to sound like a servant, you still sound educated.”
“As do you,” Verena pointed out with a rare flash of spirit.
“So I do. If you don’t pry into my past, I won’t pry into yours. Agreed?”
Verena hesitated for barely a second. “Agreed.”
And there began a friendship that helped carry Verena through a very trying time. Bridgette, or Bri as she insisted on being called, helped Verena to acquire a uniform of unfashionable black bombazine but fashionable cut with two white muslin aprons and two lacy white mobcaps. Both had thought the black would make Verena look a trifle sallow but it merely magnified her shining hair and large dark eyes. While her friend enthused over Verena’s beauty, Verena shrugged it off as inconsequential. She favored her mother, a woman Verena never knew and inwardly resented.
Despite the demanding ladies with their spiteful natures, Verena was content in her new life, moving through her days well occupied and falling into her bed each night pleasantly exhausted.
Women, spiteful or not, did not present a constant threat. The gentlemen, on the other hand, caused a nervous fear in Verena that refused to lessen. She went about her days, anxiously aware of any and all men who gazed at her with more interest than was proper.
In defending her virtue, Bridgette had proven an apt teacher. The other girl taught Verena how to deflect most gentleman’s advances, using physical means if necessary.
Only one gentleman refused to be repulsed. Viscount Steyne was a thorn in her side, a constant annoyance that made her wish it was in her to permanently maim a fellow human being. He offered her carte blanche on a regular basis, his constant refusal to accept her negative response galling in the extreme. She had little actual dread of him, however. Lord Feldspar may have been an easy master to work for, but he was known to have no tolerance for dalliance with the servants.
Despite all she endured, Verena felt safer as a maid among strangers than in her father’s house as a lady, the only daughter of the Earl of Carstairs.
*
Two
“Did you see the new arrivals, Doll?”
Verena looked at Bridgette with feigned interest. She really didn’t care who else arrived so long as they left her alone. Lord Steyne had been particularly annoying that day, cornering her and demanding that she accept his insulting offer. She had taken to carrying a small knife secreted on her person just in case the aggravating gentleman decided one day not to take no for an answer.
“The tall one with the black hair is very handsome,” Bridgette said in the same low tone she’d employed before. When together, they dropped part of their servant façade, allowing their voices to slip into the accents most comfortable for them, always careful to keep them low enough so others didn’t hear.
“Hmm,” was all Verena said, much to her friend’s annoyance.
“His friend is handsome too but I don’t find blond hair quite as pleasing.”
Verena stopped polishing the table and stared at the other girl. Her heart skipped a beat then picked up speed when she happened to glance past Bridgette. The very objects of their discussion were that moment crossing the landing in their trek to their assigned chambers.
It was him. The man from the posting house. She had wondered where they were, knowing as she did that they were due. She had somehow managed to put it in the back of her mind.
Now he was looking at her. And smiling.
With a little gasp, Verena grabbed Bridgette and fled down the corridor.
Verena managed to avoid the new arrivals for an entire week. She stood in the corridor, diligently polishing the legs of a chair. It was not normally a duty of a ladies’ maid but with so many guests, Verena’s duties changed to match the demand. With Bri’s help, she’d managed to learn all the little things she’d never learned to do at home.
It was mindless work. She went through the motions, free to ponder her situation and wonder what she could do after the house party ended. She could not expect to be kept on.
Which was just as well. She realized the previous afternoon that she would not be able to stay anywhere for long. It was only a matter of time before she met somebody who knew her father or her mother and realized who she was. She knew how much she favored her mother.
A step from behind made her tense and turn. Heart sinking, Verena dropped a curtsy and lowered her eyes to Viscount Steyne, praying he would just pass her by. For once.
He stopped. “If it isn’t the lovely housemaid. When will you cease this silliness and accept my offer?”
Verena glanced up through her lashes. He sidled closer, his pleasantly handsome features wreathed in a charming smile that did not reach his pale brown eyes.
A shudder of distaste and horror made its way from her stomach to her throat where she firmly suppressed it. “It would not be right.”
His smile widened as if genuinely amused by her statement. “Of course it would not. You are only a maid.”
Verena did not find this as funny as Lord Steyne apparently did. She frowned, a surprising surge of anger rising to the fore.
/> “And you are not a gentleman!”
That wiped the smile from his face. “You dare much, little maid.” He reached out and took her arm in a painful clasp.
Verena twisted her body in a fruitless attempt to free herself. “Leave me be, you big oaf!”
A strong arm snaked around her waist but Verena was ready. Her little knife appeared in her hand without thought. He saw it and leapt back, the surprise on his face almost comical.
“Northwicke, a little assistance, if you please.”
Verena hadn’t noticed the silent approach of another man. He stood only a few feet away, a still being, calmly observing them both. It was with some concern that Verena realized his main focus seemed to be on her.
She knew who he was. He was the one she had seen at the posting house and the one who had only recently arrived with his dark friend. Lord Connor Northwicke, younger son of the Duke of Denbigh, an unmarried young lord who was not in the market for a bride.
Oh, the things one could learn when in the presence of gossipy ladies who saw servants as inanimate objects rather than fellow humans!
Verena ignored him. Her mouth opened to release a string of rough cant that Bri had taught her, words she barely understood that felt strange to her tongue.
Lord Connor chuckled. “As much as I would love to see that, my dear, I would advise against it. He is a lord and would take great pleasure in seeing you hanged for attacking him.” Hard blue eyes bored into Steyne. “Although, he does deserve it, from all that I hear about him. Mayhap if I were to simply challenge him to a duel and run him through myself, would that satisfy your thirst for blood?”
