The Lady's Fate (The Reluctant Grooms Volume II)

by Anne Gallagher

  The Lady’s Fate

  Anne Gallagher

  Shore Road Publishing

  P.O. Box 804

  King, North Carolina 27021

  U.S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 Shore Road Publishing

  Second Edition © 2013 Shore Road Publishing

  All rights reserved

  The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole in part, in any form by any print, electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of any copyrighted materials in any form. To do so is a violation of the author’s rights.

  Cover by Straw Hill Designs © 2011

  Portrait by Claude Marie Dubufe 1790 – 1864

  Anne-Louise Alix de Montmorency with her daughter c.1840

  Chapter One

  23 June 1810

  London

  From the edge of the picnic blanket, she whirled a small fan in front of her flushed face. How could it be that she, Lady Violet Flowers, had to take after their father in stature, while her four siblings were whip slim? It was so unfair to have curvaceous contours perspiring beneath a thin chemise and calico day frock.

  She longed for the cool of the house while her youngest sisters played in the meadow behind her. Her older sister and mother spoke with friends on the Row. Fatigued by heat, Violet’s gaze fell on the gentle curve in the river. The boat dock stood alongside a little swell beneath a weeping willow, where a drake and hen tugged at the weeds along the edge of the riverbank. How enticing to dangle bare feet in the cool water. She glanced at Gwynnie, their old housekeeper, snoozing against the trunk of the shady maple where they had chosen to have the picnic. Could she dare ask to dip her toes?

  As if by magic, Gwynnie opened one eye. “Does your mum mean to keep the girls out here much longer?”

  “I do not believe so,” Violet answered.

  A lovely carriage, turned out with a pair of high-steppers, caught her eye as it clipped past the dock. The lady driver sported a red riding-jacket and jaunty hat. From the opposite direction, a large pony pulled an old-fashioned trap, carrying a gentleman, small child, and her nurse. The gentleman pulled off the drive, leaving the road open for the lady in the carriage to pass. She did not, but stopped and spoke to the man.

  He stepped down, approached the woman, and the nurse and child stood. The little girl pointed across the meadow. Violet’s gaze followed the child’s finger to the now grazing ducks on the bank.

  Violet stifled a laugh as the nurse gave in to the little girl’s demands and helped her off the contrivance. The child immediately set for the ducks. The nurse, hailed by the gentleman, stopped at the lady’s carriage and did not notice the giggling, pointing child bounding over the grass.

  The ducks waddled onto the dock, pecking at the scent from the left over crumbs Violet’s sisters had strewn across the edge of the wood. The child laughed, and picked up her pace. Violet saw that neither the gentleman, nor the nurse knew the little girl faced the possibility of peril.

  Without thinking, Violet heaved herself to her feet, and ran down the short hill. One step too slow and the poor thing would end up in the water, gentle though it may be, still chilly in the early summer.

  The ducks meandered to the edge of the dock and pecked at the stale bread. Violet realized as she drew closer, the ducks would frighten and take off, and the little girl, not old enough to realize that being on the edge, she could fall headlong into the water. Violet knew she wasn’t fast enough if she ran all the way to the end of the dock. And she didn’t dare shout and frighten the child off the other side. No, she would have to catch her on this side, from the water.

  Violet raced into the freezing river, arms outstretched to catch the little girl. The ducks, hearing Violet’s splash, took off. The laughing girl ran after them. Violet’s skirts sucked at the water and dragged her back. Desperate to reach the child, her foot gained purchase on the river floor and she pushed. The little girl fell effortlessly into her arms and Violet struggled to stay upright.

  The little girl smiled at her. “Imma,” she said.

  Violet turned toward shore, her skirts wrapping between her legs. Standing in waist deep water, Violet reached out for the dock, only to find it out of her grasp. She took a tentative step, but her slippers were no match for the uneven bottom and the bouncing child in her arms. Violet stood, precariously frozen.

  Gwynnie hobbled down the hill. The nurse and the gentleman ran across the swell in the grass. The gentleman did not even stop to take off his boots, but ran into the water, his arms extended to the little girl. The toddler reached for him and Violet let her go.

  “My good woman, are you all right?” His eyes locked onto hers. “Words cannot express my gratitude. How may I ever repay your kindness?” He held the child in one arm and turned with his other for Violet’s hand.

  She grasped his strong fingers gratefully, but her skirts still held her in place and as she placed her foot, she slipped, landing face first into the cold water. A strong arm reached about her waist and hauled her up. Sputtering for breath, Violet found herself slammed into his side, inhaling bay spice and clean cotton. She steadied herself against his warmth and placed her arm around his back as he guided her out of the water. The little girl clapped and laughed.

  Gwynnie held out a shawl and wrapped it around Violet’s shoulders as the man gently tugged her to the grass.

  “My dear miss, I am ever indebted to your service,” he said, his tone grave. He placed the little girl on the ground. Down on one knee, he looked the child over, gently turning her, this way, and that. Violet saw the tender care he took of his daughter, but noticed his expression did not change. His face wore a mask of rigid control.

  Violet said, “It is quite all right, I assure you. I had been fretting about the heat becoming over tiring. I see now, a little dip was all I required to refresh me.” Violet smiled, trying to overcome the stranger’s penetrating gaze.

  The stare he settled on her and the seriousness displayed in his mountainous grey eyes overwhelmed her. Almost as if this man saw into her soul, Violet looked away. In a small way, it mattered to her what he saw. Her teeth chattered and she wrapped the shawl tightly around her.

  He took off his jacket, and placed it around her shoulders.

  She once more breathed in his delicious man-scent. Snuggling deeper into his coat, she watched her mother descend the hill with her sisters following.

  “Violet. Oh, Violet. Dearest, what has happened?” Countess Rose Flowers swept up to the group and enveloped Violet in a hug, a rare thing. Her mother did not care for displays of affection.

  The man said, “Lady Flowers, I am to blame.”

  Rose Flowers placed her fingers on Violet’s face. “Dearest girl, are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mother, I am well. This nice gentleman quite saved me from drowning.” Violet flicked her eyes to the stranger. Had his countenance not been so hard, she might have thought him quite handsome.

  “Is your daughter unharmed?” Violet’s mother asked the man.

  “She is very well, thank you,” he said. He leaned against a post from the dock and poured water from his boots.

  The child cam
e and stood beside Violet. “Papa.” She pointed to his coat.

  “Yes it is, Poppet, this is Papa’s coat, and I must give it back to him.” Violet began to take off the coat.

  The man held out his hand. “Please, wear it home. Tis the least I can do.”

  Violet noticed the contours of his face were not quite as harsh. She settled the coat back over her shoulders.

  Lady Flowers turned to the stranger. “How did this happen?”

  “I stopped to speak with an acquaintance,” he explained quietly. “And when I turned to speak with the nurse, Jane ran for the ducks. I did not see her until she was quite far onto the dock. This heroine raced into the water to save her. Unfortunately, on the way out she fell into the water.”

  “I am no heroine, sir,” Violet said. “I did not want the child to get wet. The water is frightfully cold.” Her teeth still chattered.

  Violet took in his soggy vest and wilting cravat. Broad shoulders tapered into wet black breeches and river ruined boots. Dark blond hair fell across his eyes as he bent to pick up his daughter.

  “Lady Flowers, this is my daughter, Jane.”

  Violet’s mother touched the flaxen curls. “She is beautiful, Haverlane. She reminds me of Anne.”

  He kissed the little girl’s cheek. “Yes, she does.” He looked at Violet.

  “Haverlane, this is my second eldest daughter, Violet. Violet, this is Ellis Smith, Fifth Marquess of Haverlane.”

  Violet managed a sodden curtsy. “My lord.”

  “Enough o’ this tea party,” Gwynnie blustered. “C’mon wit’ ye, let’s get ye home and dried.”

  “Yes, forgive me. Do not let me keep you.” The Marquess stepped back and handed his daughter to the hovering nurse.

  As Violet gathered her skirts and slogged up the hill, a strong arm came around her back and his other hand clasped hers.

  “Please allow me to escort you.” The Marquess guided her with a firm step.” It was entirely my fault you fell.”

  “Nonsense, my lord, ‘twas an accident,” she whispered. Reaching down with her free hand, Violet grabbed the soaking wet dress and pulled it higher to gain the slope. She did not care who saw her ankles. She refused to trip again.

  Up close, his scent surrounded her and Violet breathed in the heady aroma, clean, without powder or pomade. Violet felt his hip through her wet dress as he bumped her.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “Just a few more steps and you shall be safely in your carriage.”

  Unexpectedly close, she felt his breath on her neck and shivered, although not from the cold. They made it to the rise where her mother’s carriage waited. Violet wasn’t sure which had been more refreshing, the tumble in the freezing water or the Marquess’ hand firmly on her back.

  Settling her into the big carriage with all her sisters, he tucked the picnic blanket around her feet. Haverlane took her hand. “I am ever indebted to you.” He raised her hand and kissed it.

  Violet blushed, certain steam rose from her wet clothing. “’Twas nothing, my lord.”

  Lady Flowers ascended the carriage and they set off.

  On the way home, her sister Camelia asked their mother if she knew the Marquess well.

  “His mother, Marion, the Duchess of Chesnick, is my second cousin, once removed on my mother’s side. Your father and I danced at his wedding. Such a sad thing. The loss of his dear Anne. They were so much in love. Marion has told me, however, after almost two years, she has finally persuaded him to come out of mourning. ‘Tis a shame you are not older. He would make a handsome husband for either of you girls.” Rose shared looks with Lilly and Violet.

  “Mama, do be serious. He is fully my own father’s age.” Lilly, the eldest at eight-and-ten, pouted.

  Her mother snorted. “Haverlane is no where near your father in age. In his middle thirties, if he is a day. Still, a considerable match for some lucky woman. He is well-kept, handsome, and has significant financial holdings. He holds a seat in Lords and I hear, is quite the orator.”

  Violet could not picture herself with Lord Haverlane. He did not smile, even at his own child. In Violet’s mind that did not bode well for a choice in a future spouse.

  “I wonder, perhaps, if Lord Haverlane is looking for another wife the way you wish him to be,” Violet said. “Surely, if his love for his late wife was so great, he would not want another.” Did one ever truly get over that kind of loss? Her mother still pined over the loss of their dear father even after these many years.

  “It is different for widowers of his station,” Rose said. “Haverlane needs a wife. That child needs a mother, not a nurse. He will be one of the wealthiest men in England before too long and with that, come responsibilities to his people, not to mention his place in government. A wife will help him achieve his goals.”

  Violet saw her mother flicking her eyes back and forth between herself and Lilly. She had already married one of them off to him.

  “Mama, it sounds as if Lord Haverlane needs a secretary rather than a wife,” Camelia giggled. Violet agreed.

  “Either one of you would suit him admirably,” Rose continued. “However, I also know Haverlane to be something of a miser. Tis said he keeps a minimum of servants and has not redecorated any of his estates in more than a decade. I will not subject either of you to such a life. You do not deserve the hardship for all the standing his title would bring.” Lady Flowers managed a slight smile. “However, the woman who does manage to gain his heart will be a lucky woman indeed. For all his penurious ways, Haverlane is a gentle man, and was, as I recall, very affectionate to Anne. Nevertheless, as I said, you are too young. Neither of you have anything that would be able to secure him.”

  *****

  Lady Marion Smith, Duchess of Chesnick, bounced her granddaughter on her knee.

  “Darling, Haverlane, think about what I have said. Jane is old enough now to go to the country. Living in London is no life for a child. I know you have grown quite fond of her scampering about, but it is high time you rejoined your place in Society. It is time for you to marry again. Jane needs a mother, dearest, and you need a wife. You must realize this.” His mother gazed at him as he stood by the terrace window.

  “Mother, please, let us not have this argument again,” Ellis said. The idea of marrying for a second time repulsed him. He would never find another woman as capable as his Anne.

  “Dearest, you cannot put this off forever.”

  Jane did need a mother, he reluctantly agreed. If only he could find one he did not have to marry.

  “Would you consent to a nanny?” Ellis asked. “Jane is old enough now not to require a nurse at night. I could hire a woman to take care of her during the day. Yes, I believe a nanny would do quite nicely.”

  “A nanny would be lovely,” his mother said. “Out in the country, dear. I’m afraid there is no escaping it. Jane needs more now than you can give her. Babies are delightful, but they sleep most of the time. She will soon be out of her nappies and be a constant interruption, in and out, all day long. She needs someone to give her all that attention. Not to mention, London is no place to raise a child. Why, look at what happened today.” Marion placed her granddaughter on the floor with her rag-doll and approached her son. Her hand touched his sleeve.

  “Forgive me, darling,” she continued. “If dear Anne was still alive, you would not need to trouble yourself, but this is how we raise our children in England. We are not savages, keeping our babies suckled to our breasts. Jane’s place now, is the country, in the fresh air, with someone to care for her, to give her the attention you cannot.”

  Ellis turned away from his mother. Perhaps Jane would be better off in the fresh, country air. What little he remembered from his own childhood, warm hay, sunshine and Mrs. Jeffers biscuits stood out most. His mother, unfortunately, was right. He would miss Jane, but this was the right thing to do.

  Resigned, he said, “Depend upon it, Mother, I require someone forthright and virtuous, with family lines, a mem
ber of the Peerage. She must be fluent in languages and play the pianoforte. I do not mind if they’re young or old, but I insist she must be pleasant, have very good manners, and common sense. I will not have a flibberty-gibbet. This is for Jane. You must find me the perfect nanny.” Someone like Anne, he wanted to say.

  “Me? Why me?” Marion stared open-mouthed at her son.

  “I should think as you are the one who is forcing me to hand over my daughter to a complete stranger, the least you can do is pick her out for me. Inevitably, when something goes awry with this foolish scheme, I shall know who to hold accountable.”

  Chapter Two

  “The Duchess of Chesnick, and the Marquess of Haverlane, ‘as come to call,” Gwynnie said and quit the small parlour.

  Rose nodded to Violet who sat in the corner by the window, painting a small watercolor. Violet placed her brush down and came to stand with her mother.

  “Haverlane, Marion, what a lovely surprise,” Lady Flowers said. She kissed her cousin’s cheek.

  Jane pushed by her father’s legs and stood before Violet holding a limp bouquet of bedraggled wildflowers.

  “Imma,” she said and thrust the wilting stems at Violet.

  “Why thank you, Jane, they’re lovely.” Violet picked up the sorry botanicals, held them to her nose, and sniffed. She curtsied to the duchess. “Your Grace.” She said nothing to the Marquess.

  “We came to enquire after your health, Lady Violet, hoping you had not taken a chill,” Haverlane said.

  Somber eyes bore down on Violet. Why was his look so disapproving? This was her prettiest frock.

  “When Haverlane told me what happened,” Lady Marion gushed, “I was shocked, but not surprised it happened to be one of your girls who saved our precious child.” She took up Violet’s hand and patted it.

  “Please, do sit down,” Lady Rose said, walking to her own chair.