by Em Taylor
The Cinder Earl’s Christmas Deception
Em Taylor
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
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Cover Art: Verónica Muñoz Fernández and Em Taylor
This book is dedicated to the ladies who have helped the book come to fruition. To Suzie and Jo who kept me writing it. To Michelle, Joanne and Lindsay who checked for inconsistencies, grammar mistakes and spelling errors. To Vero who made so many changes to the cover it’s not funny. She must be cross eyed by now. And to anyone who has believed in me the many, many times my own faith in myself has wavered. Thank you all.
Chapter 1
December 4th, 1816
“Have you finished polishing Mr Cedric’s Hessians, my lord?” asked Cochrane, the valet of Gabriel Marchby’s half-brother. Gabriel pointed to the gleaming boots sitting near the fire and admired his own work. Even Cedric couldn’t complain about the shine he had achieved on the fashionable boots.
Gabriel tossed the shirt he was mending on the large table in the servants’ hall and sat back, stretching his arms and legs. What would the grande dames of the ton think if they knew the eldest son of the Duke of Hartsmere sat below stairs mending his bastard half-brother’s clothes, instead of living in the country because of his poor health as they had been told?
Cochrane picked up the boots just as Annie, one of the scullery maids, came hurrying into the room and over to the large dresser. She picked up a serving salver and flashed Gabriel a ‘come hither’ smile. It was tempting, he had to admit. Annie was voluptuous—big-breasted, broad-hipped, pouty-lipped—and the lock of blonde hair escaped escaping from her white cap was somewhat arousing to a man who had been without for some months. But while aesthetically she was pleasing, she was not his usual fare in the muslin. He did not make a mess on his own doorstep, nor did he bed maids. He bedded the gentry. They knew how to keep their mouths shut.
Governesses were best. They may not plan to marry but they wanted no one to know they no longer possessed their virtue. And he was seldom the man to take it. But they were willing, pliant, intelligent, and excellent students in the bedchamber. And on occasion, in his younger years, it had been he who had been the student. He did doubt, however, that one could call his small servant quarters a bedchamber. So Annie was out of the question. He would have to wait until he could find a woman who was up to his higher standard. More befitting the legitimate heir of a duke.
The maid bustled out and Cochrane sat down on the chair next to Gabriel.
“Do you fancy a night in the Boar’s Head? You have the night off and Thomson and I plan to get drunk. We might pick up a couple of tarts. You never know your luck.”
Gabriel studied the valet. “What time do you need to get home for Cedric?”
“He won’t be home until three at least. It’s the Haringey ball.”
“Oh, he shall be out carousing after that. He may not even need you. He may bring home his own tart.”
“I had better be prepared to have the whole room treated for lice, fleas and God knows what all. I can feel myself scratching at the very thought. Where does he dig these creatures up from? I swear the tarts that us mere paupers bed are much cleaner than the things he brings home.”
“You know it’s possible he’s the one with fleas and the French pox, rather than the tarts,” suggested Gabriel, unable to hide the wicked gleam in his eye. Cochrane’s mouth twisted as he attempted not to smile.
“I am sure I have no idea what you mean, my lord.”
“Stop calling me ‘my lord.’ I’m as much a servant here as you and always have been.”
“You are the Earl of Cindermaine and heir to the Duke of Hartsmere. You are and always will be a lord to us, my lord.”
Gabriel sighed. “As you wish.”
“How many times have we had this discussion?” asked the valet as Gabriel picked back up Cedric’s shirt.
“Far too many.”
“Indeed. It’s time to put things right.”
“I do not want to hear this.”
“You’re a stubborn bastard.”
“As I recall, the problem is that I am the one who is not a bastard.”
“Indeed, you are not, my lord. There are many things you are not and it is time you knew and accepted those too.”
“Bugger off and get on with your work, Cochrane.”
Cochrane tugged his forelock and bowed low, the sarcasm evident from his gesture. Gabriel found the rip he was mending and began to sew, ignoring the muttered curse from his departing friend.
Chapter 2
“He is the illegitimate son of a duke,” Miss Kathleen Roberts grumbled as she strolled through Hyde Park with her sister on the fourth day of December 1816. “Mr Cedric Onslow.” She thought the name over and over in her head a few times.
“Onslow is not a terrible name. No worse than Roberts,” pronounced her sister.
“His father acknowledges him and his brother, but honestly Teresa—an illegitimate son. Alas, Papa tells me it is necessary for the business and I must do my duty. I suppose I always knew it would come to this—an arranged marriage. I had hoped to become a viscountess at the very least, rather than a mere Mrs.” She huddled into the fur collar of her winter pelisse, trying to ignore the blustery wind and the sleet.
It was not the best weather for a walk in the park but she had wanted to get out of the house before she had said anything to her parents she may have regretted.
“Mama has no title and she is perfectly content,” replied her younger sister, who looked equally cold and threw a longing glance back at the barouche which sat on the carriage drive next to Rotten Row just a short distance away.
Hyde Park was quiet that afternoon. A couple of nannies walked along the grass with small children. A few men on horseback rode along on elegant mounts, chatting and chuckling heartily and a few young bucks came charging up Rotten Row on their snorting brown steeds calling out challenges to one another.
Kathleen considered her sister’s words and turned from the race she was watching. “But she married Papa for love. I do not have that luxury.”
“Indeed. But perhaps he will be handsome and charming and have a scintillating personality.”
“Perhaps. I can but hope.”
“Do not be downhearted, Kathleen. Oftentimes love grows between a man and a woman when they must marry for the sake of their families. Mr Onslow might be exactly what your heart desires, even if he does not seem it at first glance. And you shall meet him tomorrow.”
“Yes, and then our betrothal ball is the next evening. It is all rather rushed. But I suppose Mama wishes to return to America as soon as possible so she wishes to see me settled and happy.”
“Indeed. She would like to return in time for the birth of Patrick’s baby. Oh, I cannot wait to be an aunt. Then it shall be your turn and I shall be an aunt twice over.”
Kathleen smiled at her sister who was just eighteen years old. She would be allowed to be part of the entertainments this Christmas Season before being whisked away, back to America and the long six-week voyage to get there. Teresa would enjoy the delights of ton and all its lavish entertainments, of that, Kathleen had no doubt. And young men aplenty would solicit her hand for a dance or a stroll. She hoped her flighty younger sister would not have her head turned
too easily. And she would hopefully be back next year for her own entry into society.
“Perhaps I have been too harsh on Papa. After all, how awful could this gentleman be?”
“Quite. Therefore, now you have convinced yourself that you are not destined for a life of marriage to a fairy tale ogre, please can we return to the carriage? I believe my feet have turned to ice and I have ruined my half-boots with this wet grass.” Teresa’s voice had a whiny quality to it and frankly, while she had a little more optimism about her future, Kathleen still could not help feeling uneasy about this arranged marriage. She did not like it one bit. But she held back her misgivings and smiled sunnily at her sister.
“Fine. Let us go home and get a warm cup of chocolate to heat us through. I cannot wait to read more of Sense and Sensibility.”
“Don’t you just love Edward Ferrars?” asked Teresa.
“Edward?” asked Kathleen, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you mean Colonel Brandon.”
“Brandon? But he’s old.”
“Hmm,” Kathleen replied. “Come, my little Marianne, let us get you home before you catch a fever and some ne’er do well sweeps you off your feet.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
∞∞∞
The street was quiet as Gabriel walked home from returning books to the subscription library for his twin sister. Christina often used his services for less taxing jobs, knowing it would mean his sire would not make him do dirty and physically demanding tasks. The Duke treated Christina as a family member, not a servant. But then she had not done what Gabriel had done when they were five years old. Christina was not a bad person. He shook the thought aside. He never dwelt on the past—on what he had done. There was no point.
But he should have been paying attention that day, especially on the streets of Mayfair. He should have been looking out for people who may have still recognise him from Eton and Oxford. Because Gabriel would inherit the Ducal title and estates in the event of his sire’s death, the man had felt it his duty to send Gabriel to the best school and university money could afford even if he cared nought for his legitimate heir. And so, Gabriel had worked as a servant in the holidays and gone to school and university like a normal Duke’s heir in term time. Now the Duke treated Gabriel as a servant all the time.
But in town, most people did not see beyond his cap and servants clothing. Thus, today Gabriel had let his guard down.
“Cindermaine?” The man who had called out his name was almost past him. Gabriel lowered his head and continued walking, but a wooden cane blocked his path at chest height. “Cindermaine, it is you?”
Affecting an East London accent, Gabriel tried to push past the barrier.
“Sorry Guv’nor. You got the wrong bloke.”
A chuckle then, “Oh no. I’d know you anywhere, Gabriel.”
Myles, Viscount Stalwood, his best friend from Eton and then Oxford, took a step back and bent down to peek under his cap.
“I don’t fink so, milord. Please let me by.”
He pushed hard and the cane gave way but Stalwood was upon him. The viscount had him by the scruff of the neck and was holding his cane to his throat as though it was a sword. Gabriel realised it probably had a damned sword inside. He winced as he recognised that while his street brawling skills may be top notch, his upper-class fighting and fencing skills needed polishing.
“Say what, did this ruffian try to rob you, old chap?” asked a well-heeled, well-meaning passer-by. “Shall I get the Bow Street Runners?”
“Oh, no need for that. He’s one of my servants who ran away. Got the kitchen maid in an interesting condition. Just going to make sure he does the right thing,” said Stalwood, glee dripping in his tone.
“Ah, quite right. Quite right. Too many poor young girls left carrying the baby. Make him face his responsibilities.” The passer-by gave Gabriel a prod in the belly with his own cane as he walked off. Gabriel winced. He was grateful though. He suspected the passer-by had been aiming for his groin. Thank heavens the old man was a dreadful shot.
“You can let me go now?” Gabriel growled.
“Will you try to run away?” asked Stalwood.
“No.”
“Nice to see you have retained your accent after all.”
“Bugger off.”
“It is lovely to make your acquaintance too after all this time, friend.”
Gabriel scowled as he straightened his clothing.
“I refer you to my previous statement.”
“We need to talk,” said Stalwood.
“No, Stalwood. We do not. I need to go home. Goodbye.”
“Cindermaine, if you move, I will yell that you have robbed me. You shall be in Newgate within half an hour. Dressed as you are, we both know, I have the advantage here.”
Gabriel sighed and turned back to his former friend. Then he bobbed a servant’s bow. “My sister will cover my absence from my duties if you can think of a suitable place where we might talk, my lord.”
“My townhouse is just around the corner. We may as well go there.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
They walked in silence to Curzon Street, then Stalwood took him in through the front door. Gabriel who had been attempting to walk a step behind Stalwood all the way to his townhouse arched an eyebrow at this sign of equality.
“At least enter ahead of me, my lord,” Gabriel muttered. “I am after all a commoner, being an earl only by courtesy. While you are a viscount and thus, a peer of the realm.”
Stalwood glowered but walked ahead of Gabriel, giving his hat, gloves and great coat to the butler and waiting for Gabriel to give his cap to the butler. The butler, to his credit, did not show his distaste for his master’s company.
“Tea and brandy, Campbell. In the library.”
“As you wish, my lord.” The butler bowed and moved off and Stalwood led the way to the library. Gabriel could not help feeling like he was back at Eton and heading to the master’s study for punishment. He could almost hear the Greek declensions rattling around in his brain.
“So, you dress like a servant, yet I’ve seen your father, your sister and your half-brothers around town. Your family are not paupers. What the devil is going on, Cindermaine?”
Gabriel swirled the brandy around his glass and considered his answer. At Gabriel’s insistence, Stalwood had already sent a note to his sister to explain what was going on. Christina would ensure that no one missed him from his duties. It was nice to sit at a proper hearth in a real library opposite his friend the way he was supposed to do.
“I did something many years ago, and this is my penance. When my father dies and I inherit the title, he cannot stop me living the life I was born to lead but until then, he holds the purse strings. If I want to eat, I work for a living.”
“What did you do?”
“I refuse to discuss it.”
“Was this before or after university?”
Gabriel hesitated. “Before.”
“So, you were a boy.”
“Yes.”
“Before or after school.”
“Before.”
“You were in leading strings?”
“Not quite but I was young, yes. But I knew right from wrong.” Gabriel watched the fire as he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his old friend’s face.
“Why do you work for your father if you have no money? You have an excellent education. You could work in a career that the gentry would hold—a doctor, a solicitor, a man of business.”
“I am the spitting image of my father and one of my half-brothers. Someone would recognise me. It would be a scandal. I am protected as a servant in my father’s household. More importantly, this way my twin sister is protected from the scandal. She has to marry eventually though she shows no sign of settling down yet. Besides, I owe my father. It was he and my mother whom I wronged.”
“Your mother died when you were about five, did she not? Were you responsible?”
> “I said I did not want to discuss it.” Gabriel drained his brandy in two gulps. The burn as the expensive spirit rushed down his gullet soothed his frayed nerves.
Meeting Myles Stalwood again after all this time had set him back on his heels. He had left that part of his life behind him—a time when despite the cloud of his mother’s death and the darkness of his home life, he’d been carefree and happy. Eton and Oxford had been wonderful. He’d had many friends, but Myles had been the best. They had got into so much trouble together, dreamed great dreams of joining the army together, though, as heirs apparent to their respective titles and estates, that could never be.
But that was a long time ago and now Stalwood was prying into things that did not concern him.
“Well it has been lovely to catch up, but I must be off, Stalwood. Thank you for the brandy.”
“Oh no. We are not done yet. What are you going to do?”
“Well, I thought I’d go to White’s, read the papers, have dinner and then go the Harringay’s ball. Then perhaps a gaming hell or three,” replied Gabriel, making sure the sarcasm was dripping off every word. “You?”
Stalwood’s gaze narrowed. “I thought I might punch you in the face until your attitude changed then I may get some sense out of you. I like my idea better.”
“But if I hit back, your poor butler would find you on your arse with a broken nose, a broken jaw and crushed ballocks when I had accidentally stepped on them on my way out.”
“You and whose army, Cindermaine,” chuckled Stalwood derisively.
Gabriel opened his mouth to reply with a witty rejoinder when a knock sounded at the door. Campbell, the butler, entered holding a small silver salver with a note on it. He held it out to Stalwood, who took the note, read it, and thanked the butler.
“Show her in, Campbell. Looks like your cavalry has arrived, Cindermaine.”
Stalwood rose to his feet and Gabriel did likewise. His eyebrows practically flew into his hairline when Christina, a vision in a dark pink pelisse with fur collar and matching bonnet strode into the library.
