The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  It was the first son’s duty to bear heirs and take the seat and the second son’s duty to go into the military.

  Now, over a decade later, the Duchess of Ayers was gone and with a long military career ahead of him, he’d made it his focus, seeing no time for anything else. Certainly not the care that would go into having a family.

  His family was not like others who’d be content to marry and then put a wife to the side. Their father had never been that way. As a general, Hero could be called away at any moment, even to his death, and he’d not leave a wife and children home to grieve over him.

  Though it had been some time since a woman had tempted him toward having such thoughts.

  Sometimes, when he was alone, he thought about what life would be like if he’d chosen to live the simple life of a lord. He was a second son to a dukedom. He’d owned land before he could spell the word.

  But the life of leisure had never held any appeal for him. Defending his country had.

  It was unfortunate that he’d fought one battle after another on the Continent and had walked away with little more than a scratch, only to return to England and be stabbed in less than a day.

  “Do you know who hurt you?” Betty asked.

  “No, but I managed to get a good look at them.” He’d find them.

  “You should tell one of the passing soldiers about what took place,” she advised. “Let someone help you.”

  His lips twitched. “I am a soldier.”

  “Ah, well… Even soldiers need help, do they not?”

  That was clear. He’d needed her help. “My name is Hero.”

  She looked at him again and, this time, a smile curved her lips. “Hero?”

  He nodded. He’d decided that just for a short time he didn’t want to be seen as a general, but a man, and he feared she’d move away or treat him differently if she knew the truth. He liked her close. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman. Months.

  “A soldier named Hero,” she said aloud. “Your parents must be very proud.”

  “My father is. My mother is gone, but I imagine she would be very proud of me as well.”

  Soon his father would be dead as well. His father was ill, though Hero decided not to tell her that. It was the reason he wouldn’t tell his family about his injury. They were dealing with enough heartache.

  Her smile fell. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

  “And what of your parents?” he asked. “Are they still alive?”

  She shook her head and turned back to where she touched him. “No. They’ve been gone for years.”

  “I’m sorry. Any siblings?” He wanted to hear her speak. He wanted to see if he could place her accent. From the north?

  “One sibling,” she whispered. “A brother.”

  “Are you close?”

  She shook her head.

  “A husband? Children?”

  She stared at him. “Do you think we’d all fit in this room if I did?”

  No family then? No one to protect her?

  She looked at him again. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Two brothers. One sister. I had another brother, but he both lived and died before I was born. There are only four of us now. We are all very close.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad you have each other.”

  He touched her hand, needing to, though he wasn’t sure why. “Thank you.”

  They were silent again, but this time, something else hung in the air, a string that seemed to be tied between them.

  “Betty! What is this? A man in your rooms?” A large man stood by the entrance to her bedchamber. Beside him was a smaller man with a bag that announced him as the doctor.

  The large one, who had a wide girth and a menacing gaze, was the one who put Hero on alert. Who was he that he should address her as he had?

  His rescuer paled slightly as she stared at the man. “Mr. Thump. He’s… hurt.”

  “We’ve had others hurt here before. You didn’t take any of them to your bed,” Mr. Thump announced. “You know my rule.” Then he looked at Hero. “You’re not her husband, are you? Likely not.” He turned to Betty and narrowed his gaze. “I knew you were trouble from the moment—”

  “I am,” Hero said.

  Everyone turned to him. Hero noticed another man standing behind the doctor and Mr. Thump. The servant, John. His eyes were wide. Hero had not meant to make Betty’s life difficult by coming here.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Thump asked.

  “I’m her husband.”

  Everyone’s eyes went wide, but no one could see Betty’s expression since her back was to the others. Only Hero saw her astonishment and then she schooled her features and turned back to the man who was clearly her employer. “This is Mr. Gillett. My husband. He’s returned from the war just as I said he would.” A glance from her begged him to play along.

  Hero had to fight to not give her a puzzled look. So, she had claimed there to be a husband. A soldier even? Excellent. “How do you do, Mr. Thump?”

  Thump straightened. “Mr. Gillett. I’m glad you’ve returned safely from the war. Will you be taking our Betty now that you’re back?”

  “No, I fear I’m set for Asia once I leave here.” That was true enough. The man didn’t need to know that his leave would end some months from now. “I hope she’s been in good hands while I’ve been away.”

  “Of course. I always take care of those in my employ.” Thump stood proudly then motioned to the doctor. “Dr. Robins will see your care. Please, stay as long as you wish, though Betty will have to continue her duties in the morning. We’ve more soldiers to greet.”

  “Of course,” Hero said.

  Thump excused himself. John left as well, wearing a grin. He was a young man but very tall for his age.

  Betty had already moved away so Dr. Robins could see to Hero’s wounds.

  He lifted the cloth and nodded. “Not too deep. A few stitches and you’ll be as good as new.” He glanced up at Betty. “If you are the fainting sort, I’d suggest you leave now.”

  “I work in a tavern, Dr. Robbins. Any green within me was ruined long ago.”

  Hero didn’t agree. She was very much the innocent. She’d not even laid with him, though perhaps, she simply didn’t find him attractive.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  Dr. Robins finished bandaging Hero and gave Beatrix instructions for his care before departing with a few of Hero’s coins.

  Beatrix watched as Hero grabbed a few more and handed them to her. “This is for a hack and a room in the better part of the city, since I have need of yours until the morning.”

  She looked down at the money in her hands and knew it would get her far more than a good room and a hack. She could hire a private coach to take her to Scotland with this amount. “It’s far too much. I couldn’t.”

  “You must. I’ve inconvenienced you for hours. Please, get one of the finest rooms in London and return by hack in the morning.”

  It was morning. She had only a few hours to rest now, yet the thought of doing so beneath fine sheets with a feathered pillow under her head…

  “I know that look.” He smiled. “You want it. Have it. You deserve it.”

  “But who will take care of you?” she asked, recalling Dr. Robin’s instructions.

  “I’m a soldier. I can take care of myself.”

  She’d not protest again. “Oh, thank you!” She took no issue with him staying in her room. There was nothing to steal, nothing that mattered anyway. “Thank you.” She placed the coins in her pocket and moved to straighten his sheets.

  He grabbed her hand before she could truly move away. “Thank you, Betty Gillett.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Hero.”

  A soldier Had her father been alive, she imagined he’d have liked her to have wed a man like him. She was the daughter of an impoverished earl, though that mattered little now.

  Their gazes held, and she wondered at the tho
ughts behind his eyes.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she promised as she grabbed a few things. A brush. A night rail. She placed them into a small valise and then went to the door. With one last look at her wounded guest, she departed.

  She took a hack straight to the West End and paid the fee. She was given a disapproving look when she entered the hotel, but at the presentation of coins, the footman gave her a smile and took her bag to her room.

  By then, she was much too tired to take in the extravagant beauty of the room. She didn’t even bother to change from her cotton dress. The moment her body touched the bed, she was gone from the world.

  She awoke far too soon for her liking.

  It took her a moment to realize where she was and then to recall how she’d gotten there. Once she did, she smiled and buried herself into the sheets. The pillows were better than she’d imagined. She wanted to strip and rub herself against the fine linen. It was a luxury she’d never had, not even when she’d been Lady Beatrix Gillingham.

  Her father had married well but had invested poorly. Thus, it was gone. She had no clue where her twin brother was. When she’d refused to marry his friend, they’d had words and he’d dismissed her from the family home.

  She had no other living family. She hadn’t known her mother’s side, since they’d not approved of her marriage to a penniless lord, earl or not.

  She turned over and stared at the ceiling. The geometric design was beautiful. Diamonds and squares were intricately patterned with deep grooves that caught the light of the sun.

  The sun!

  She shot up to a sitting position and then scrambled off the bed.

  She was late. She’d lose her position. She’d never slept so late in all her life.

  Thankfully, she’d not changed last night. With no time to do more than relieve herself, she dashed from the room, left the hotel, and thankfully found a hack in short order.

  She had to stop herself from chewing her nails—a childhood habit—as she thought of what Mr. Thump would say and what he’d demand of her.

  She straightened her wig and made sure her own darker hair was hidden.

  Was Hero still there? Likely so. He was hurt. He needed her.

  She had to get to the tavern. At the first hint of the Thames in the air, she knew she was close.

  It seemed to take forever for the hack to finally stop. She paid the man and then dashed across the stone-flagged road and into the building.

  The tavern was always full for breakfast. A few dock workers were in regular attendance for the meal. There were soldiers sitting and eating as well.

  She looked around and saw no sight of Mr. Thump but noticed two women serving that she’d never seen before. She moved toward the kitchens and found John.

  “Morning, Betty.” John grinned. “It was good of your husband to find two maids to take your position for you this morning. I had offered to go and fetch you, but he warned me against disturbing you. He said you needed to sleep. How did you sleep? Well, I presume.”

  She nodded slowly.

  Hero had hired two maids at his own expense? When did the giving stop?

  “Is he still here?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I helped him into a hack this morning. He said he left you a note in your room. It’s sad that he had to leave so quickly when he’d just returned. I don’t know how you can stand the distance.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  “I won’t be here tonight,” he told her. “Mr. Simms found me a position at Covent Garden for the play this evening. But if you need anything, just have someone send a message for me.” John Perry had ambitions of being a footman. He was handsome enough and hardworking.

  He often worked for Mr. Thump’s cousin, Mr. Simms, a man who was very different than the tavern owner. Beatrix had met Mr. Simms once or twice. He was kind and had a son in the navy who he and Mr. Thump were quite proud of.

  John often spoke of the man’s home on the edge of Hyde Park, dreaming that one day it would be him who greeted whoever walked through the door.

  Beatrix was certain that one day he’d be noticed and find a position in a wonderful home.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, John.” She went around him and the cook and opened the door to her room.

  The note was there on the stand. He’d left his purse as well.

  She picked up the note and read it.

  To the angel who rescued me from the throes of death, I leave you a gift. May it bless you as you have blessed me.

  Hero

  She smiled and touched the purse. It was full. In disbelief, she opened the back and dumped the coins on her bed.

  Tears built and spilled from her eyes.

  It had been years since she’d cried.

  There was enough for her to afford a better room elsewhere. She’d no longer have to sleep at the tavern if she didn’t wish it. She counted the coins over and over again and imagined how much her life would improve with this gift.

  She’d done nothing to gain it. His wound had brought him nowhere near his demise.

  But there was no way she could return it now. She didn’t know his surname, though she thought with a name like Hero, he’d not be too hard to find.

  But what was the point? This was a gift. A wonderful gift and she’d use it well.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 4

  Hero had barely settled into his own bed when his footman arrived to tell him that his sister had arrived. Since there was no way he planned to climb back down the stairs, he told the lad to escort her up.

  Valiant swept into the room with a radiant smile, but it fell when she noticed him. “Hero, why are you still abed?”

  “I fell and hurt a rib yesterday. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” He knew the lie had been the right choice when her shoulders relaxed.

  The footman moved a chair by the bed and his sister fell into it.

  She was short and lovely and though she’d also inherited the family nose, somehow it suited her. Like her siblings, she was blonde and blue-eyed. “So, this is the reason you did not come to dinner last evening like you promised?”

  He was forced to take short breaths to hide his discomfort. “I would have missed it for little else. How is our father?”

  Her expression waned again. “Not well. Did you find Hatcher? I think he’s only fighting to see him again.” The dog had been missing for months.

  “Not yet, but I’ll find him.” Hero had arrived home only to find his father gravely ill with a final request to see Hatcher again. His brothers had tried to look for him but to no avail. Hero vowed he would find Hatcher if it was the last thing he did.

  “Do you believe you’ll be well enough to attend the theatre this evening? There is a new play. I’m sure it’s been years since you’ve seen one. We plan to sit in Asher’s box.” Asher was their eldest brother. His real name wasn’t Asher. Like Hero’s own, it was… odd, but the name was never spoken aloud.

  Assurance

  Their parents had made an agreement. If the first child they had was a boy, their mother could name their children anything she wished. Asher had been first, then Hero.

  Then came their younger brother Laurel, who everyone called Lore, and finally Valiant, who adored her name though most everyone knew her as Lady Val or Lady Beaumont, since she was married.

  Their parents had enjoyed life. They’d never needed a reason to celebrate. They’d been in love and full of joy. Lady Ayers had christened all her children with odd names in the hope it could contribute to their character.

  “Save me a seat,” he told his sister.

  She stood. “Excellent. Then it will just be the four of us.” The four meant her husband would not be joining them.

  Beaumont was a very busy man. He had the mind of a lord of old. He was agreeable but calculating and forever trying to grow his own empire. If the man were to fight for possession of the Crown, Hero would not be surprised.

  The Curbain family o
nly liked him because he had a tendency to dote on his wife.

  Valiant rang the bell. “I’ll have a servant bring up a deck of cards and you can tell me how you truly hurt yourself.”

  He laughed. He’d never been good at lying. “All right.”

  Thinking about how he hurt himself forced him to think about how he’d gotten better. While Betty’s bed had been terribly lumpy and uncomfortable, he’d regretted having to leave. Her scent had surrounded him.

  It was not one that could be named. No flowery perfume. Only her. Soft. Delicate.

  He’d wanted to see his little sketch artist again but had known better than to not be home if one of his family came to call. They would worry about him, especially after he’d informed them that he’d be going to the docks last night.

  He’d returned just in time, no worse for wear and only a few coins shorter.

  He imagined the look on Betty’s face when she realized how much he’d left.

  A part of him wanted to see her again, to say thank you in person, but what was the point? They were from different worlds, or at least they were now.

  She was a barmaid, but he suspected she’d been something else once upon a time. Something more.

  Perhaps the child of a low gentleman?

  He’d tried not to think of her, especially since he couldn’t seem to do so and not imagine all the many things he’d have enjoyed doing with her in that narrow bed at the tavern. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  He craved her and wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

  He always did like a good mystery. He would see her again once he was well enough to do so.

  He played cards for hours with his sister. He told her the less ghastly stories about his time in the war, and she spoke about her life in London. They shared a meal before she departed. After going through the various correspondence he’d received, he fell asleep and didn’t wake again until it was time to leave for the theatre.