Not Quite a Baroness: A Sweet Victorian Gothic Historical Romance (The Boston Heiresses Book 2)

by Ava Rose

  Not Quite a Baroness

  The Boston Heiresses

  Book 2

  by

  Ava Rose

  Not Quite a Baroness (The Boston Heiresses) © Copyright 2020 Ava Rose

  All rights reserved

  Published by Flourish Books

  Cover design by Milktee Studios

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and events portrayed in this work are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Armstrong-Leeds House, Boston

  October 1891

  Her Royal Highness, Princess Elizabeth Armstrong-Leeds, Baroness Esk, had been through enough ordeal for a lifetime. Getting kidnapped by a man who had posed as a pen friend and admirer, and then being held in a dungeon and forced to sign marriage papers, had taken a toll. Any lady with a constitution weaker than Libby’s would have crumbled under it all.

  But here she was in the drawing room of her home with her best friend, Lady Anna Trevallyn, going through the latest fashion magazines in search of the perfect wedding dress style for Anna. The best part of it all was that Anna was getting married to Libby’s brother Penforth. A match Libby had been hoping for, for a long time.

  “What about this one?” Her younger sister Mary joined in the discussion, poking her brown head between them from behind the sofa. “I do love the lace frills.”

  Libby stared at the dress in question and shook her head, just as a snort from Anna confirmed it. The two shared a quick smile. Despite the fact that Anna was a duchess, lace and frills were not her style. “Definitely not.”

  “But a wedding dress should have a lot of lace,” Mary argued.

  “Will you two darlings allow Anna to make her own choice?” Libby’s mother Christiana was seated on the other sofa, reading the day’s papers.

  “Is there anything interesting in the paper today, Mama?” Libby asked.

  Her mother, understanding her meaning perfectly, raised a brow. “What does it say about you, you mean?”

  The papers had already had a thing or two to say about Libby’s scandal, on a daily basis, it seemed, and although her mother and Anna always discouraged her from reading, Libby’s curiosity was stronger than their warnings. What she read pained her, of course, but she learned from it. Society could be cruel, especially to an unwed lady who had brought scandal to her name. Libby felt it would be easier to bear if she took the meted punishment alone, but Boston society did not work that way. Instead, her entire family had to be dragged through the dirt along with her.

  “It doesn’t say anything,” her mother announced with a sudden smile.

  Libby moved to sit beside her mother and took the paper, flipping the pages and anticipating libel. She found nothing. Her mother had spoken the truth.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Not that I’m complaining, but…why?”

  Anna piped up. “It means those vultures of the press have finally lost interest in your situation.”

  Dare she hope? Dare she hope that at last, there was some respite from it all?

  “Have you ever known The Brahmin Times to carry a story for more than two weeks?” Anna asked.

  It was true. Scandals happened all the time and a fresher story was sure to take the place of hers. She turned the pages and found it. The new story. The engagement of Lady Dianne Belleville to Lord Remington, a prominent political figure.

  Libby released a sigh of relief. She had spent the past two weeks—since the time of her rescue—on tenterhooks. She could not go out and did not receive callers. But now, at last, she was free. Perhaps she could finally—

  “My lady,” called Antoine, their butler.

  All four ladies turned their heads expectantly in his direction.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” the butler clarified.

  “Yes?” Libby asked.

  “Mr. Graves from the Boston Police Department requests a word with you, my lady.” Antoine’s nose wrinkled, as if the visitor had brought in a bad smell.

  “He’s here?” Mr. Graves had been in charge of her kidnapping case. His presence in her home today suggested two things. One: Sir Anthony, her kidnapper, had possibly been caught. Unfortunately, he had gotten away when his accomplices had been arrested. Two: the police needed more information from her. They seemed to be requesting a lot of that, lately.

  With a sigh, she got to her feet. “Where is he?”

  “Still in the foyer, my lady.”

  “Show him to the small salon. I shall join him shortly.” She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her jade green and cream dress and straightened her shoulders.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Anna offered. She seemed to understand exactly how Libby felt every time the police turned up. Anna had been through a lot, too. No doubt she disliked reliving the torment as much as Libby did.

  Libby nodded, grateful for her friend’s continued support, and together they walked out of the drawing room and across the grand foyer where they met Pen. Her brother must have been informed of Mr. Graves' presence also, because he was headed toward the salon.

  Mr. Graves was standing when they entered. He had come alone, thankfully. He often arrived accompanied by another officer or two, their presence only adding to her aggravation. None of them took a seat.

  “Has he been found?” Pen asked without so much as a greeting.

  The expression on Mr. Graves’ face was rather queer and it stirred a feeling of anxiousness within Libby. There was something terrible going on.

  “A body has been found,” the policeman answered in a slow drawl.

  Oh, no! The blood drained away from her face and she felt suddenly a little dizzy. Beside her, she heard Anna’s sharp intake of breath and then felt her friend reach out and squeeze Libby’s hand. She felt numb, unable to squeeze back.

  “Yesterday, we found a body in a ditch just outside of Boston. It was identified to be a Mr. Nolan Hart.”

  She did not recognize the name Nolan. Perhaps it was not as she had feared. Perhaps this Nolan was a relative of Sir Anthony’s, or another of his victims, a very unfortunate one.

  Pen frowned and took a step forward. “Nolan?”

  “Yes,” Graves replied. “Mr. Nolan Anthony Hart.”

  It was him! The last criminal had been captured, but not alive. Libby’s thoughts tumbled. Was she sorry that he was dead? She was not certain. On the one hand, she felt it was deserved given what he had put her through. On the other, she didn’t want to be glad that someone was dead.

  “How did he die?” Pen asked. He was doing all of the talking, for which she was grateful. She wasn’t sure h
er voice would work, right now.

  “Multiple stab wounds to the body, and trauma to the head,” Mr. Graves replied.

  Libby slowed her breathing, trying to banish the image his words had just conjured.

  Stay calm, she told herself. Stay calm.

  “He was murdered, then.” Pen stated the obvious.

  “Indeed.” Graves nodded before turning to Libby and pulling out a small book and a pen. “I would like to ask you a few questions, Lady Elizabeth, if you don’t mind.”

  Why did that statement suddenly make her feel even more drained and anxious?

  “Go on,” she said, as calmly as she could.

  “Records show that you are married to this man. What can you confirm about this marriage?”

  She scoffed inwardly at the term. It was hardly a marriage when her captor had drugged her and then threatened to harm Mary if she refused. “It was a forced marriage. I was kidnapped, imprisoned and my family threatened. I thought I had no choice,” she said carefully. The memory constricted her already aching chest.

  “Pardon the crassness of my next question. Has this marriage been…err…consummated in any way?” The officer’s eyes were intent when he asked the question. He was clearly trying to discern her reaction.

  Her cheeks heated uncomfortably. “No, it has not.” Thankfully. She didn’t know what she would have done if that had happened. “I was held captive throughout until my rescue from that crypt under the church.” Captive beneath a chapel where she’d had to share the silence with the dead while the fear of never being found ate away at her will to fight. Her whole body began to tremble at the memory.

  Graves’ gaze then turned to Penforth, and for the first time, she saw her brother look concerned. “Is there any action being taken against this marriage?”

  Pen answered firmly. “Yes, an annulment has already been filed.”

  Graves nodded as he finished scrawling in the book and put it away in his coat before addressing Libby again. “Princess Elizabeth Armstrong-Leeds, Baroness Esk, I regret to inform you that you are the primary suspect in the murder of your husband, Mr. Nolan Anthony Hart.”

  Very slowly, all feeling and perception drained from her, leaving only numbness. Somehow, her mind had known this was coming, and yet, now that the policeman had uttered the words, she felt as though her spirit had left her body and was observing the scene from a distance.

  “We will need to take you into custody as we further investigate,” the officer announced.

  Libby couldn’t think. She felt Anna’s arm snake around her waist as Pen released a loud curse. “That’s preposterous! Do you know who she is?” Her brother spoke in a low, menacing tone and he stepped close to stand beside her and Anna.

  “Sir—”

  “Lady Elizabeth is royalty, and a baroness in her own right, and one of the most prominent members of Boston’s elite. You seriously expect you will be allowed to simply take her into custody?”

  The officer’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. He was obviously contemplating the wisdom of crossing her brother.

  “Go on,” Pen said. The tone was dangerous now. “Take her.”

  Mr. Graves shook his head. “I…I…th-think she can remain here while we…investigate.”

  “Good choice. Now get out there and do your job. Find the real culprit.” Pen’s gaze was fierce as he added, “If I see you inside this house again, the police will have a real murder suspect to deal with.”

  The officer practically ran out of the room. What Pen had done was brave but also futile. It might have scared off Graves for today, but it would not keep the police away. Graves was only a low-ranking member of the department. His superiors were sure to follow up, and her brother would not be able to protect her forever.

  Anna turned to her then, saying something. Libby saw her friend’s mouth move, but she could not hear a word. Instead, her own shocked thoughts were screaming in her head, deafening her to all else. Her legs began to move as if of their own will, slowly carrying her across the room and out into the foyer. Her mother rushed up to her, grabbing her hand and talking to her. Again, she did not hear.

  Christiana pulled Libby into her arms and she could feel hands running up and down her back in a consoling motion. The noise in her head only grew louder.

  She dragged herself free of her mother’s embrace and climbed the stairs in stiff, mechanical motions. When she reached her rooms, she let herself in and then turned the key in the lock. And that was when the chaotic noise in her head stopped, and everything she was supposed to be feeling finally let loose.

  As if she had been hit, her legs gave way and she collapsed to the carpeted floor. Her hands went up to clutch her head and she curled her body into a ball.

  She had thought she was ruined before. She was truly ruined now. And so was her family…especially Mary who was only sixteen and yet to make her entry into society.

  With a sister kidnapped and forced into marriage, then suspected of the murder of her kidnapper husband, there was no hope of Mary joining respectable society, much less finding a suitor. She will be ostracized, and all because of me.

  Libby was a free spirit and, for herself, could not care less what society made of her. Whatever worry ate at her, was for her family. Her ruination did nothing to change her own plans, for she’d never quite fancied marriage. Unless the man was extraordinary. Anthony Hart, much to her regret, had almost made her fall for him in the lovely letters he had sent over the months of their correspondence, but after what had transpired, she didn’t think she could ever trust again.

  She had never met him prior to the incident, and she had first received his letter several months ago. The man had written that he had seen her at one of the balls she and Anna had attended but never got the chance to be introduced. Libby had felt a sense of adventure in corresponding with a man she had never met; it had been intriguing. The image he had presented was that of the perfect man, someone she could imagine herself with; an advocate for equality, intellectual and well-traveled. They had very similar interests and she could not help but be enchanted by him.

  He had wanted to meet her in person and had said so many times. His last letter, which had arrived a month before her abduction, had contained an invitation to meet in Cambridge. At first, Libby had been incredibly happy and even penned down the location and date, but after some days and a bit more thinking, she felt that something was wrong with the invitation. Why would a gentleman ask a lady to meet with him for the first time outside of town, and without a chaperone? It did not make sense. It was not proper. So, she had declined his invitation. She had thought to invite him to the house instead but decided against that, too. In the end, she did not trust his motives.

  One evening, during a soirée that she and Anna had been hosting at the latter’s home, Libby had had a dress mishap and retired upstairs to change. On catching a light flashing repeatedly outside her bedchamber window, Libby had decided to go investigate, despite her mind’s caution. That had been the moment she was taken.

  If only I hadn’t been so stupid that night. I should have listened to my inner voice.

  There were many things that she did not remember. They had covered her nose with a cloth and everything had gone black. When her senses returned, she had been tied to a chair in a dark crypt, miserable and alone.

  Her trust had been broken and her faith almost shattered, but Anna and Pen had saved her. Now, it appeared she was in another hell. They would not be able to get her out of it this time, for Sir Anthony—no, Mister—Hart was determined, even in death, to pull her down.

  Libby’s ability to marry or not, no longer mattered. She was done with it. But it did matter for Mary. Her younger sister should not be deprived of the right to wed, because of the actions of a selfish, callous man. It was not fair.

  She dragged herself up from the floor and moved to the large four-poster bed. Pulling back the covers, she lay down and pulled them back up to her chin. I just need some rest,
she thought. From her memories, and from the cruelty of life.

  Libby closed her eyes and allowed her head to sink into the soft pillow. Her eyes stung, but she dared not let the tears fall. Once she did, she feared they might never stop. Instead, she took this moment of peace and drew from it. She would need all the strength she had, and then some, to find the will to fight this to the end.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Algonquin Club, Boston

  That evening

  Detective Henry DeHavillend’s ears worked like a predator’s when he was in public places, especially in exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. He picked up names, voices, even tones, from all around him. He was at his table now, leaning back in his chair and sipping the last of his whiskey.

  Moments like this were usually an ideal way to relax after a long day of roaming the streets of Boston solving mysteries, but not for Henry. He only stopped working when he was asleep, and even then, he sometimes woke to pen down something he had thought, or rather dreamed about, while sleeping.

  “Would you like another, my Lord?” A waiter hovered nearby.

  Henry cast a lazy glance at his empty snifter before giving the man a curt nod. The glass was refilled quickly, and Henry left alone to once again indulge in listening and thinking. The Algonquin’s service was beyond reproach.

  Were Henry merely a detective, membership in one of the most exclusive clubs in Boston would have been well-nigh impossible, even given his reputation as one of the most ruthless private detectives in the state. When the police department was unable to solve a case, they called him in. Despite their numerous offers to lure him to work with them officially, he had remained adamant about staying independent. He worked best without meddling from others.

  His reputation was not the reason he had secured membership in this club. That bonus had been a boon from his family. Henry was a Viscount, and the first son of the renowned DeHavillend family who held prestige and wealth both in England and the United States of America. His family had everyone courting their favor. Everyone, except Henry himself. He couldn’t distance himself enough from the life he was supposed to enjoy now that the title had passed to him. He couldn’t imagine anything less satisfying than embracing life as The Right Honorable, the Viscount Henry DeHavillend.