Lady of Mischief: Historical Regency Romance

by Lisa Campell

  Eliza knew he was waiting for a reply, and yet no words surfaced in her mind. She was frozen with fear. If anyone should come upon them, then she shuddered to think of what they would make of it. A lady, crying, an Earl, refusing to let her go back to the safety of the ball and Judith’s watchful eye.

  Later, she’d revisit this exact moment as the one she regretted the most. She tried to think of a polite excuse, one where Lord Wyhurst would have no choice but to allow her to go, back to her ball, back to safety. She should have run and screamed for help.

  The consequences were disastrous. One second, she was running through possible excuses, or, failing that, planning to make a break for the manor. The next, the Earl of Wyhurst’s lips were on hers.

  The kiss was not sweet, pleasant, or even particularly gentle. He smelled of acrid smoke and a faint undertone of perspiration, masked by too much cologne. As soon as she realized what was happening, Eliza squeezed her eyes shut tight and struggled to get free.

  She gasped upon release. The gentleman smirked at her through the deepening garden terrace shadows. Eliza felt sick to her stomach. How could she have been so careless as to allow that to happen? Almost at the same time that despondent thought crossed her mind, her eyes landed on the open terrace on the earl’s back. She covered her mouth.

  Formerly empty, there now appeared to be a small horde crowding the pavement behind them. Every single one of them stared in her direction, goggle-eyed. Whispers were moving through the crowd. She could hear soft gasps of shock.

  Tears welled up behind Eliza’s eyelashes. Though she knew the public shame was coming, it was wholly unnecessary. If she had had the ability to sink into the ground or fade away on the night breeze, she would have called upon it in an instant. As it was, she was left to stand awkwardly beside the foul rake who had just besmirched her name.

  Half a second too late, a harried Judith burst out of the doors. Her vision immediately locked onto poor, distraught Eliza. All the color drained from her face.

  “Eliza!” She ran past the onlookers, grabbed her husband’s sister by the hand, and pulled her away from the Earl of Wyhurst. “Darling, what happened? What has this…this villain done to you?” she snarled, glaring at the Earl.

  “I’ve done nothing that wasn’t within my rights,” Lord Wyhurst declared smugly. “Why, you should have seen her, Lady Colchester! The girl practically threw herself into my arms!” He spoke loudly enough as to be deafening to Eliza’s ears. It was all she could do not to crumple into a heap on the spot. A hush had fallen over the entire garden.

  Judith hissed, “I doubt that very much.”

  Lord Wyhurst shrugged his shoulders. “Think what you will, madam. Only she and I know what truly happened.” Thoroughly self-satisfied, he puffed out his chest and began to stride away.

  “And just where do you think you’re going, My Lord?” Lord Colchester’s voice shattered the stillness. Eliza winced at Matthew’s tone. She could hear the anger in it, the indignation. It didn’t take a genius to work out what sort of activity might transpire on the back terrace on the night of a coming-out ball. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking up in her own defense.

  Lord Wyhurst’s eyes narrowed. “Your only concern, should be for the conduct of your sister, My Lord.” He spat Matthew’s title back in his face as if it were a slur. “I’m afraid her reputation is sullied now. It’s all her own doing, too.”

  Matthew half-turned to stare at Judith and Eliza, shocked. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Eliza, answer me.”

  “Matthew—” Judith jumped to her defense, but her husband, so rarely brusque, waved her off.

  Eliza couldn’t force the words to come off her tongue. She felt as though she were about to be ill, or to faint. Her heart was racing, the sound of it a loud beat in her ears. What she wanted to say was that Lord Wyhurst had taken full advantage of her, luring her into the garden and pouncing on her while she was unaware. But then she’d have to admit that she’d been separated from her chaperone and had been alone with a gentleman on the fringes of the party. Neither option made her look as innocent as she truly was.

  The Earl of Wyhurst knew that. “She’s been out in society for less than a day, and she’s already loose!” he proclaimed, laughing derisively. “I don’t see how you can trust a lady like that. Frankly, My Lord, I don’t envy you.” As he breezed by, he clapped Matthew on the shoulder. “I wish you luck, Lord Colchester. You’ll need it.”

  The end of the night was blurred by tears and the excruciating pain of humiliation. Eliza’s wonderful ball dissolved in what seemed like a matter of minutes, the attendees departing with their tongues wagging.

  Judith accompanied Eliza upstairs, to her bed chamber, where she cried until there were no tears left. Matthew came upstairs, after seeing all of the guests out of the house. When he arrived, the two ladies were seated on the floor, with Judith’s arms wrapped around Eliza, as though she were her mother.

  “You know what happens now, don’t you?” he asked. His tone had never been so grave.

  She stood up, to face her brother. “Please, Matthew. You must hold him to account.”

  “I shall do nothing of the sort,” he replied. “You’re the one who must do something, for it was through your actions that all of this occurred.”

  A new wellspring of emotion filled Eliza’s eyes. She fought it back as best she could, but there was no stopping the rivers of anguish streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know what he was going to do, Matthew. I tried to get away, I promise! He was too strong. He wouldn’t let me go.” The last of her words got lost as she broke down into sobs.

  Matthew sighed deeply. “I don’t want to call you a liar, Eliza. Please don’t make me.” He crossed over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me.” When she raised her head, his face was sorrowfully compassionate, but firm. “You will have to marry the Earl of Wyhurst. It is the only way to fix this.”

  Horrified at the thought of such a union, Eliza let out a wail. Matthew grimaced, moving his hands to the sides of her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza could just make out Judith’s shape, standing just inside the room. Judith appeared to be wringing her hands, but she said nothing.

  “Get ahold of yourself,” Matthew demanded. “This is your own doing, Eliza. Everyone saw you in the garden with him. There’s no way out.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. I so wanted you to make a good match and be happy in your marriage. We tried our best to see to it that you had everything you needed.” He shook his head. “Now you only have two choices. Marry Lord Wyhurst, or throw it all away.”

  The ultimatum was all too overwhelming for Eliza. She broke away from him and turned away. She fell devastated onto her bed, huddling as she sobbed. The door to her bed chamber opened and closed as Matthew and Judith left her. The world that had been at her fingertips mere hours ago was torn beyond her reach by an awful, villainous gentleman, one who had simply wanted to ruin her reputation in the public eye.

  What had she ever done to deserve such cruel treatment? Matthew’s reaction didn’t surprise her as much as it broke her heart. Their family was one of modest means, specifically among the House of Lords. She knew he had hoped to elevate her standing through a well-placed husband, and that a fortuitous match would greatly improve all their lives.

  Eliza herself hoped to marry for love, of course. But neither remained an option. It was only a matter of time—weeks, or perhaps even days—before her fall from grace was complete. After that, she would be nothing, a fallen woman, a ghost haunting the minds of her former friends and neighbors.

  It was a long time before the thoughts in her head quieted down enough for Eliza to fall asleep. She dreamed of falling down through an empty abyss, her hands stretched out to grasp in vain at the sparkling paradise far above.

  Chapter Four

  Sebastian did not see hide nor hair of Lady Eliza Trent in the days following her catastrophic debutant
e ball. Neither did anyone else, but the poor lady’s name was on everyone’s lips even as the tenure of her absence stretched on. The more time went by, the more the story behind the scandal seemed to change, and Sebastian quickly grew annoyed by its prevalence.

  For him, however, the situation was inescapable. After all, Matthew remained his closest friend. Matthew’s emotions regarding his sister rocked back and forth on an uneven keel, swerving from contrition over the severity of his reaction to anger at her impetuousness.

  “She didn’t even have the decency to try and hide!” he exclaimed to Sebastian one day, pacing back and forth as he talked, his shoes drawing a track in the lush pile of the rug. “You saw her, standing out there like there was nothing to see!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her, Seb. I truly don’t.”

  Sebastian counted each frustrated step in his head, maintaining an expression of appropriate interest. Privately, his sympathies had gradually come to align themselves more with Eliza. The notion that she had flung herself at the first overly amorous and available bachelor just did not ring true to him—especially if that bachelor happened the be the Earl of Wyhurst.

  “Well,” Sebastian said at last, “she seems to be keeping out of the public eye for now, doesn’t she?” He glanced at the door of Matthew’s small study, in the general direction of Eliza’s room. “She’s all but disappeared.” He could imagine her sequestered up there like a princess in a tower, combing her hair and singing desperately sad songs to no one but the birds outside her window.

  “And that will do for a while.” Matthew rubbed his hands over his face. He had aged years in a matter of weeks. There might as well have been grey hairs sprouting at his temple. “But what if there’s no wedding soon, or none at all? That’s what the ton is expecting. I don’t know if it will happen. Eliza refuses to marry him.” Newly anxious, he resumed his pacing, which had briefly ceased.

  Seb took up the count of his steps again. “What did Lord Wyhurst say?” He leaned back in his chair in order to affect an air of nonchalance. Underneath the calm exterior, he fretted a bit for poor Eliza. Perhaps Matthew didn’t know everything about what the Earl was like behind closed doors, but Seb had seen and heard enough.

  Somehow beloved by the ignorant and the status-hungry, the gentleman was a notorious cad to everyone else. Many a hapless maiden had been left deflowered and brokenhearted in the earl’s wake. Sebastian thought Eliza was lucky to have escaped with just a kiss, though he felt it prudent not to mention the rumors of illegitimate children that had dogged Lord Wyhurst for years.

  No sense in stoking Matthew’s already raging fire. Besides, Seb’s latest question seemed to have done the job nicely. His friend’s jaw tensed, eyebrows lowered darkly.

  “Not a word,” Matthew muttered. “Can you believe it? It’s as if the whole night was just one long dream shared by nearly a hundred people.”

  Sebastian arched his eyebrows. “And you want your sister married to this shining beacon of dishonesty?” He understood Matthew’s worries about station. To an extent, he had admired them in the past. His sheer devotion to appeasing the ton was in large part what had brought him his current small fortune. But tying his sister to an ignoble louse was not an action Sebastian could or would abide.

  “What else am I to do?” Matthew burst out. He let his arms fall to his sides, a gentleman at the very end of his rope. “If she doesn’t marry him, she’ll be tainted for the rest of her life. You know how the ton never forgets.”

  Sebastian did know that, better than most. And he condemned the elites for it bitterly. It was hard for him to think of lively, spirited Eliza painted so far into a corner, reduced to the level of a caged beauty. He decided, right then, to do everything in his power to save her from the fate her brother threatened.

  “Speak now if you don’t want my advice,” he announced. “Not that you’ve asked, but I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re grasping at straws. Besides, I refuse to believe you want to give Eliza over to that idiot. His reputation would hurt her far more than she’s ever done on her own.”

  “What do you mean?” Matthew asked the question warily, as if he already knew the answer wasn’t one he wanted to hear.

  Sebastian drew in a deep breath. “Honestly, my friend, it beggars the imagination to think you haven’t heard tales of Lord Wyhurst until now. All the gilded speech about him can only hide so much.” He went on to recount some of the Earl’s exploits in as much detail as he thought Matthew could handle. The accumulation of massive debts through gambling, which were often settled with money Lord Wyhurst conned off other people. The relentless fraternizing with women of the night. The drinking and carousing until all hours of the morning.

  At first, Matthew brushed off the accusations. “You’ve been had, Seb. There’s not a chance the ton would allow such behavior from one of its own, let alone one so unanimously revered. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the country were willing to fall on their swords for him. Or fight you for smearing his name.”

  Sebastian stood his ground. He had to, for Eliza’s sake. “I’d take on every one of them. The Earl of Wyhurst is a liar and a coward who lives off a fortune he couldn’t possibly have made with his own hands.”

  Matthew turned to him, taken aback by the force of his declaration. “I want to say you must be joking, but your face tells me otherwise.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, then, and honestly, is Lord Wyhurst a rogue undeserving of my sister?”

  Sebastian nodded grimly. “I would not deceive you about this, Matthew. My chief concern is nothing other than Eliza’s safety. I truly do not believe that she is the one at fault. The Earl of Wyhurst is nothing short of a predator.”

  “Of course,” Matthew muttered, in a way that suggested a healthy dose of skepticism over Sebastian’s motives. He trudged over to the chair behind the desk and threw himself down upon it, burying his face in his hands. His voice was despondent and muffled. “What do I do? I love my sister, Seb. I swear I do. She’s all I have left in this world aside from Judith. But that’s the very reason I refuse to see her utterly disgraced. She’ll be dragged through the mud.”

  Sebastian acknowledged that the situation wasn’t good. He had an inkling that Lord Wyhurst had orchestrated it that way on purpose, which made him despise the Earl even more. The motivation behind an act of such meaningless cruelty baffled him. Had he sensed Eliza’s disinterest and been so enraged that he sought to destroy her immediately?

  Knowing the Earl’s reputation as he did, Sebastian figured anything was possible. But he considered it most likely that Lord Wyhurst simply wanted to hurt the central figure of a celebration as grand as the one Matthew and Judith had put together for Eliza. He was unquestionably petty enough that his ego wouldn’t be able to withstand having to play second fiddle under any circumstances.

  Even to a young debutante on the day of her coming out.

  “I suppose it can’t be helped.” Matthew’s melancholy musings trickled back into Sebastian’s thoughts. “If she can’t be married, I shall have to send her away.”

  Alarmed, Sebastian sat up. This was an eventuality he had not taken into account, and it caused the error of his previous argument to yawn before him. “Away to where?” he inquired.

  Matthew glanced at his friend, puzzled. “To Ireland. Where else? It’s not like we’ve got our pick of land.” He grimaced. “She’ll hate it, obviously. The estate is striking, but it leaves a lot to be desired. We’ve not been out there in a long time.”

  In addition to Colchester Manor, there was a county seat that went with the title, although it was all of the way to the North, in Ireland. The family rarely went there. Sebastian had gone with them, once, while the late Lord and Lady Colchester were still alive. It had been a journey of nearly a week. And when they had arrived, it had seemed as though they had come to the very end of the world itself.

  It pained Sebastian deeply to think of Eliza so far awa
y, and so very alone. At least in London she had her brother and her sister-in-law. Colchester Manor was the only place she had to call home. What would become of her if she was left to her own devices in a falling-down house on the sea cliffs of Ireland? Those were the makings of a sad legend, a myth about a wandering, permanently displaced ghost.

  “There’s no other solution?” he prodded hopefully.

  Matthew scoffed. “Not unless she finds a different husband, and I don’t think any of the gentlemen would touch her with a ten-foot pole. Lord Wyhurst told them she was free and easy, that she’d take a night walk in the garden with most any gentleman.” Black disgust masked his features.

  “Not Eliza.” Sebastian flat-out rejected the notion. He hated Lord Wyhurst for spreading slander, and he hated the ton for lapping it up like dogs. “She wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Well, I thought not.” Matthew heaved another great sigh and slumped in the chair like a scarecrow losing its straw stuffing. “Maybe I was too harsh with her. Do you know she hasn’t so much as set foot out of her room since the night of the ball? Judith’s spoken to her, but she won’t say more than two words at a stretch to me.”