by Lucy Adams
A Truth Revealed
The King’s League Book Six
Lucy Adams
© Copyright 2020 by Lucy Adams - All rights reserved.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Chapter One
“I do.”
Lady Bridgette Callander looked at her reflection in the mirror and recalled the very moment she had said those words. Lord Callander had been hurried in his speech, eager to make his vows as though she might escape from him, whilst she had struggled to even form the words that had been required of her. She had never once wanted to marry the Earl, but for whatever reason, from the first moment he laid eyes on her, the Earl of Callander had made his intentions quite clear.
Sighing, Bridgette ran her fingers lightly over her cheeks, gently massaging the dark circles under her eyes. She had not slept well for some time, even though there was nothing, at present, to torment her mind. She was now a wealthy widow, her husband dead these last few years, and thus, she had been given the freedom that she had always wanted. Having silently determined that she would not marry again, it had come as something of a shock to realize that she was beginning to feel herself a little lonely. Last Season, she had found herself caught up in a dramatic set of circumstances that had her flung from one place to the next alongside her friend, Miss Hemmingway — who was now married and quite contented with her lot. This Season, however, had been markedly different. It was as though the ton now recognized that she was both wealthy and unwed, for she had found a good many more gentlemen had been eager to make her acquaintance this Season. She did not know them all, of course, but she suspected that a good many of them — if not all of them — wanted to know her better and mayhap even court her, so that she might bestow a little of her wealth upon them.
“My lady?”
Bridgette jumped in surprise, having been too lost in her own thoughts to see her maid come into the room.
“I am sorry,” the girl said, bobbing a quick curtsy. “I didn’t mean to —”
“It’s quite all right,” Bridgette said quickly. “I was merely thinking.” She lifted one eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?”
The maid hesitated, then shook her head. “No, my lady. It is only that your first caller has arrived and….”
Bridgette’s eyes flared, her mouth forming a perfect circle as she stared, horror-struck, at her maid. She had known full well that it would soon be time for her afternoon callers and thus, she had come to her rooms to check over her appearance before returning to wait in the drawing room. However, having let herself become much too caught up in her own musings, she had clearly made herself very late indeed.
“Oh, goodness!” she exclaimed, rising from her chair and hurrying towards the door. “Who is it? And where are they at present?”
The maid hurried after her, not even a quirk of a smile on her lips. “It is Viscount Hazelton, my lady,” she said, as Bridgette flung the door open and hurried out into the hallway. “Franks has asked him to wait for a moment by the front door, stating that you were just finishing some correspondence.”
“Thank goodness for Franks,” Bridgette murmured to herself, her breath quick as she walked with quick steps towards the drawing room. Her butler, whom she had chosen herself some years ago, had proven himself entirely invaluable time and again and this, she knew, was another of those moments. Reaching the drawing room door, she pushed it open and hurried inside. “Have Lord Hazelton come in,” she gasped, trying to arrange herself in her chair as though she had been doing nothing other than waiting for the gentleman’s arrival. “And then return to this room, if you please.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lady.” She scampered off, leaving Bridgette to try and catch her breath in the few minutes that were left for before Lord Hazelton arrived. She did not explicitly need a maid to linger in the room, given that she was a widow and thus, able to entertain without a companion or the like, but Bridgette had always been careful to do so. She did not want any gentleman to think that she was improper in any way and certainly that she was rather loose with her morals or expectations. Lifting her chin, Bridgette managed to quieten her ragged breathing, preparing for the arrival of Lord Hazelton. Her introduction to the gentleman had been when he had practically fallen into her during one of the many dances at what had been her first ball of this Season, but she had found his apology to be quite lovely and his begging for her forgiveness to be utterly genuine. However, Bridgette was still wary. She did not know the gentleman’s situation, nor just how wealthy he might be. No doubt, if he lacked some funds or had found himself in a difficult situation with debts, then that was the sole reason for his eagerness to call upon her.
The door opened and Bridgette turned her head towards the door, lifting one eyebrow as though she was surprised by the interruption. “Yes?”
The butler walked into the room and stood by the door. “Viscount Hazelton, my lady.”
The gentleman strode into the room, his chest puffed out and a broad grin on his handsome features. The moment he caught sight of her, he stopped dead, as though struck by her beauty. And then he bowed low, giving her a slight flourish with his hand as he did so.
“Lord Hazelton,” Bridgette murmured, rising to her feet and curtsying beautifully as she did so. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Callander,” he boomed, looking at her with a warm expression. “I thank you for allowing me to call upon you this afternoon.”
Her smile, whilst present, was not entirely warm. She eyed Lord Hazelton with a glimmer of suspicion in her heart, seeing how he fawned over her as she gestured for him to sit down. His eyes were fixed to hers, his smile ever present and the eagerness in his expression seeming to grow by the minute.
“You must forgive me for my tardiness in receiving you,” she told him, seeing how he shook his head as though to suggest there was nothing she needed to apologize for. “I had some important correspondence to complete.”
“But of course,” he replied, with another broad smile that did not bring her any joy but rather only added to her suspicions. “Sometimes there are letters that simply must be written, no matter what else is waiting for you.”
Bridgette frowned, wondering if Lord Hazelton was intending to provoke a little guilt within her, tilting her
head to look at him but finding nothing in his expression save for a small glimmer in his eye that she could not quite make out. Was he hiding something from her? Or did he merely hope to provoke a reaction from her by such a statement? Did he want her to tell him just who it was she had been writing to, out of fear that she had written to another gentleman? Choosing not to make any remark in response to what he had said, Bridgette merely looked back at the gentleman, keeping her smile fixed but allowing no comment to pass her lips. For a few moments, silence grew between them, with Lord Hazelton shifting in his chair, perhaps a little uncomfortable now.
There came a quiet scratch at the door, and then a maid came into the room with a tea tray in her hands. Setting it down between Bridgette and Lord Hazelton, she quietly asked Bridgette if there was anything else before scurrying away again. Glancing towards Lucy, her lady’s maid, Bridgette saw that she was sitting quietly in the corner, her back towards them both, just as she always did. Satisfied that this visit from Lord Hazelton would soon be over, Bridgette reached to pour the tea for them both, fully aware that Lord Hazelton appeared to be watching everything she did. His steady gaze was rather discomfiting, although Bridgette forced herself to ignore it. Having not spilt a single drop of tea, she smiled tightly at Lord Hazelton and then handed him his cup.
“You are very kind, Lady Callander,” Lord Hazelton said, with a warmth to his voice that troubled Bridgette. “You are truly delightful, I am quite convinced of it.”
This, now, was the beginning of what would soon follow, Bridgette realized, sitting back in her chair and picking up her teacup. “That is very kind of you to say,” she answered, with a small smile, ready to find the words to tell him quite firmly that she had no intention of marrying again. “My late husband was always very complimentary when it came to such things.”
Lord Hazelton sat forward in his chair, his eyes bright. “I was introduced to Lord Callander a few years ago,” he said, as Bridgette arched one eyebrow in surprise. “Before you and he were wed, of course. The Season before that, I think it must have been.”
Bridgette swallowed hard, her brows furrowing as she looked back at Lord Hazelton, wondering at his manner and what he meant by such a thing. It could not be true, given that Lord Callander had never once been to London aside from the time he had come specifically to find a wife — and even then it had been for a little over a month. Her frown deepening, she wondered if he was simply mistaken.
“Indeed?” she queried, with a slight lift to her shoulders. “My husband did not once mention you, I am afraid Lord Hazelton.” It was a bit of a set down, of course, but Bridgette wanted to speak the truth, as well as encouraging Lord Hazelton to change his topic of conversation. She did not want to speak of her late husband, especially when she had so many conflicting emotions in her heart because of him.
“That is not surprising,” Lord Hazelton replied, with a chuckle. “I am sure that he did not mention me simply because I refused to do as he asked! Although I am certain that he would have found someone other than I to do as he wished.” Again, he chuckled, his eyes growing a little distant. “I always found him most entertaining and he certainly made me laugh on numerous occasions. How sad you must have been to have had him taken so early.”
Bridgette stiffened, her fingers tight on the handle of her teacup. When the Earl had died, she had found herself caught between guilt, sorrow and relief. She had never cared for her husband. When he had asked her father for his permission to marry Bridgette, Bridgette had known that her future had already been decided. Whilst the Earl had been eager and ready for their marriage, she had been reluctant and afraid. That had changed shortly after their return to Lord Callander’s estate, of course, for she had discovered her husband to be rather dull and disinterested in her, giving her a good deal of time to do as she pleased and to go wherever she wished. He had not made great demands on her time nor insisted on her company whenever he wanted it. They had rubbed along very well together for the first few months, and Bridgette had been surprised at how her husband had never once come to demand his husbandly rights. He had pressed her hand or touched her shoulder briefly, but he had never tried to kiss her, had shown no eagerness to pull her into his arms and certainly had not come to her bedchamber at night. It had been an awkward way of living, Bridgette had found, for she had not known the Earl’s intentions for their marriage and certainly had not the gall nor the strength to ask him such a thing, so when he had passed away from a weakness to his heart, she had felt such a myriad of emotions that, even now, she could not quite make out all that she felt.
One thing she knew for certain, however, was that the Earl of Callander had cared very little for the beau monde, had not been particularly entertaining and certainly had never been to London on any other previous occasion, save for the time he had come in search of a wife.
“I do not think my husband was very entertaining or humorous, Lord Hazelton,” she said, as primly as she could. “I knew him very well, of course, and found him to be very dull indeed. He did not often converse but rather spent his time in his study or his own rooms, doing whatever it was that he was so eager to do. In addition, he did not like the ton and only came to London for a very short time indeed.” She lifted one shoulder, thinking to herself that Lord Hazelton must be confused with someone other than her husband and chose not to state that her husband had not been to London more than once for fear of insulting the fellow. “But if you found him to be an interesting and engaging character, then I am glad.”
Lord Hazelton looked nonplussed for a moment. His bright blue eyes stared at her, his smile no longer present and his jaw a little slack.
“How very odd,” he murmured, presently. “I am quite sure that I recall being in your husband’s company and finding him to be very jovial. We were often at Whites together, although mayhap he did shun balls and soirees and the like.”
Bridgette frowned, then looked away. There was no need for them to discuss whether or not her late husband had been a decent character or not, for he was long in the grave and she did not need to think of him anymore. “Regardless of that,” she said, eager now to change the conversation and hoping that very soon, Lord Hazelton’s visit would be over, “I will say that I am glad you were acquainted with him, Lord Hazelton. It seems as though not many here in London knew of him.” This was, of course, simply because Lord Callander had only been in town a few short weeks but given that Bridgette simply wanted the conversation to turn to something entirely new, she chose not to pursue the matter.
Lord Hazelton’s eyes narrowed, his lips pulling tight. Bridgette, taken aback by this sudden change in Lord Hazelton’s demeanor, darted her gaze to the door and held it there, feeling as though a cold breeze had run across her arms.
“I think I must be entirely mistaken, Lady Callander,” Lord Hazelton said, after a few moments. “Either that, or you thought very ill of your husband and wish to ensure that I do not think well of him also.”
Her eyes shot back to his, her spine stiffening as she lifted her chin a notch. “I do not believe, Lord Hazelton, that you have any right to speak to me in such a manner,” she said sharply, expecting the gentleman to deflate a little and mayhap, to apologize, only for Lord Hazelton to shake his head and hold up one hand towards her, as though he wanted to silence the words that came from her mouth.
“I speak only of what I see before me, Lady Callander,” he said, his tone now a little ugly, his eyes burning and his brows knotted. “You say things of your husband that I know cannot be the truth, and yet you demand that I believe them!” He shook his head, as though he pitied her. “Lord Callander was one of the most excellent gentlemen in all of London, with a kind nature and a good humor,” he continued, as another protest burned on her lips. “His plans for his business were very sound indeed and whilst I was sorry not to — ” He stopped dead; a small twist of his lips and a distant look in his eyes told Bridgette that he was lost in past memories. “Upon occasion, I might suggest tha
t Lord Callander was a bit of a flirt, but only on the very rare occasion that we were with mixed company,” he continued, as Bridgette closed her eyes and shook her head, knowing full well that Lord Hazelton was becoming quite confused in what he said. No doubt, he was thinking of someone else entirely different but had mistaken him for Lord Callander.
“In short, Lady Callander, your late husband was the sort of gentleman I must hope one day to be,” he finished, with a flourish. “Good natured, good humored, filled with delightful conversation and always willing to explain his intentions for what he had planned — and he managed it all with ease and grace. I never once would have found him dull or dispirited. You are mistaken there, Lady Callander, although why you would speak such mistruths to a gentleman who knew your husband, I cannot say.”
So saying, he sat back in his chair and eyed her coldly, as if he expected her now to fall at his feet, to beg his forgiveness and to admit that yes, she had been doing just as he said.
Bridgette only smiled, shaking her head at him as she did so.
“Might I ask, Lord Hazelton, what you recall of my husband’s appearance?” she asked, knowing for certain that this would ensure that she knew whether or not he had made a mistake. “Would you describe him as somewhat aged?”
Lord Hazelton frowned hard, his gaze like ice. “Your husband was not an old man, Lady Callander.”
“I am aware of that,” she told him, primly, “but he had the appearance of age, given that he was always so dulled and quiet.” Seeing him about to protest, she held up one finger, silencing him. “The color of his hair?”
