The Duke—or Norman as she forced herself to think of him— was seeing them off. She noted how rigidly the Duke stood and the generous space between him and Lord Ogbent, the only one out of the carriage. Lord Ogbent said something and stuck out his hand, which Norman shook and stepped away.
The dukedom of Horenwall had been turned upside down when at the very last moment, the wedding had been called off. No one knew exactly what had happened, and Rosaline feared that the Duke and the Duchess had a very tense next few days in their future. Just as Lord Ogbent entered the carriage, she sensed someone behind her.
“Miss Hall, may I speak with you?”
Turning from the scene before, Rosaline nodded to the Duchess. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Duchess Horenwall inclined her head and her smile was faint, “I must apologize, for throwing you into their company. If I had known that the three were so objectionable, I would have never invited them to my home. I have spoken with a few of the maids who told me horror stories about what Miss Fawcett had them endure. I have never encountered a woman so skilled in deceit in my life.”
She stepped forward to the balustrade and laughed quietly at the dust lingering in the air from the Ogbent’s carriage wheels. “I was blinded, Miss Hall. In my noble intentions of getting Norman married, I failed to see what was so apparent to everyone else. I saw the bloodline, the prestige, and education without seeing the reality of her character.”
Rosaline felt a bit uncomfortable, “Your Grace, I do not think this is necessary. Well, not to me.”
“Are you telling me she was not nasty to you?”
“Oh, she was,” Rosaline added, “But what I mean is that you don’t have to explain your motive. Any mother worthy of the name would have wanted to see their son married to a wonderful lady. I’d rather think it was not your fault that you did not see it, it was her who purposely made you to not see it. As His Grace said, she was a master at deception when it counted.”
She smiled a little wider, “No wonder my son loves you.”
Instantly, her head dropped, and her eyes were on her feet, “I’m…sorry?”
“For what?” the Duchess returned, “My dear, love cannot be explained no matter what you think the circumstances are. Norman saw something in you from the day you two met in my drawing room. I was not sure what it was at that time but I know now.”
Slumping on the wall behind her, Rosaline sighed, “I love him too but I cannot see what he saw in me.”
“A pure soul, my love,” Norman said from the doorway, “Mother, will you give us a moment?”
“I’ll be in the drawing room then,” the Duchess said as she turned away, “Be gentle, Norman.”
With her stepping away, Norman took her hand and tugged her closer, “Rosaline, I know you think that all the women of the peerage have to have the accomplishments like Miss Fawcett. Knowing how to dance, sing, or speak French, Italian and Latin. But I don’t care about what the peerage think is the norm. I look beyond those to what the real talents are and those are compassion, decency, honesty, and love. French, dancing and all the others can be learned at any age, but you have to be born with those virtues.”
Breathing out slowly, Rosaline took his hand and pressed it to her face, “Thank you…for defending me that night with the Ogbents. If it was proven that they had committed a crime against my sister, would you have sent them to prison?”
Norman lips thinned, “Darling, if I had the slimmest shred of proof that they had sent her die knowing she had weak lungs, Ogbent would be in the deepest dungeon of Newgate by now. I do think that what they are going to face from now on is going to be much, much worse than prison. Their shame will destroy them eventually, but honestly, I don’t know. Ogbent would not survive a day in prison, Lady Ogbent might only because of her hard and sour nature but then, who would cater to Miss Fawcett’s every want?”
“Speaking off…” Rosaline wondered, “I wonder who her child’s father is.”
“Come with me,” Norman said, “I will tell both you and Mother the answer to that question.”
With her hand in his, she was led towards the drawing room where the Duchess sat with a book on her lap. “Mother, Rosaline, yesterday Lord Ogbent and I had a very frank discussion and he told me the gaps that will fill in the gaping holes and paint a very disturbing picture.”
The Duchess closed her book, and Rosaline sat beside her while the Duke took his seat, “Five years ago at Dame Northgate’s autumn ball, the very same one Lord Ogbent mentioned to you, Mother, Miss Fawcett did see me, and she became taken with me. The Viscount had already had a line of suitors for her, but she rejected them all, demanding, in her selfish way, that they find a way for her to marry me.
“Her mother also held her back and taught her that she only deserved the richest man who could give her everything she wanted and she developed deep conceit and pride syndrome. For five years they held onto her, resulting in her being considered almost a spinster, while they tried to get to me, they still sought the wealthiest candidate available.”
Norman shook his head as if trying to displace a repugnant thought. “Then Lord Bakersville entered their lives. He was the son of a Marquess and a distant relative of Empress Marie Louise in France. They thought they had won the lottery. She was enamored, thinking of summers in France and dining with French aristocracy. Unfortunately, she succumbed to his seduction and he left her with a child while he skipped away and off to the colonies with his father.”
“When was that, Norman?” Duchess Horenwall asked.
“Two weeks before you decided that I had to get married,” the Duke said, “I don’t know to call it good luck or a curse when Lord Ogbent happened to be in London when the news of a Duke in the marriage market hit the town and that it was me. The very same one their daughter had been hoping to sink her claws into for over five years.”
“Lord Ogbent sent in the details about Miss Fawcett and, not to blame you, Mother, as I know you were only looking out for the best, she was chosen.”
Through a quick glance, Rosaline saw the Duchess looked mostly unbothered, but the tightness around her lips told the seamstress another story.
“Multiple tries to get to Lord Bakersville proved unsuccessful and they needed to get Miss Fawcett married as quick as possible to stave of shame. Since the opening to marry me was there, they took it and had hoped for a quick walk down the aisle, but I stymied their plans, with the first month of courtship. And when I postponed it to another month, they were getting frantic. Miss Fawcett was getting sick and she was terrified of showing. Her mother hovered over her every day and emptied the chamber pots herself, not wanting any of the maids to see Miss Fawcett’s sick and report to you, Mother, or me.
“Now though, they have not gotten anything they wanted from us, Miss Fawcett will be living in shame for the rest of her life unless they can con some ignoramus to marry her and take care of her bastard child.”
Rosaline wet her lips briefly, “And what of Lord Ogbent, did he tell you any more on Mary?”
The Duke sighed, “Yes and it is not a pretty tale either. I was told that after bearing Miss Fawcett, the Viscountess decided to not bear any more and that started a rift between them. It grew and grew for many years with the Lord growing distant and the Lady becoming a shrew. The catalyst, however, was when the Viscountess had gotten used to her husband being detached, this woman, Mary, young and beautiful came, and all of a sudden the Viscount is showing attraction.”
Norman’s smile was tired. “When Mary was given the position of Miss Fawcett’s abigail, the Lord instantly took a shine to her. His sweet spot for Mary quickly grew into an obsession. Over and over again she refused him no matter how many promises of love, care, attention, and financial help he would give her. Lady Ogbent caught on quickly and despised him for it. One night the Viscountess thought she had caught them kissing —but it she did not see that Mary had rejected him. Even though it did not happen the Viscountess thought Mary had wante
d her husband and despised her for it. She had no idea Mary was innocent but she planned to get rid of her still.”
Rosaline’s head was down as she tried to bring up the last faded memory of her sister while the Duke spoke, “One evening, months into her role of abigail, Mary begged leave to go visit her sister and she was given it.”
In shock, Rosaline’s head snapped up and she met Norman’s soft sympathetic eyes. “She was about to leave when Lady Ogbent acted and dropped her diamond necklace in her bag. Just as Mary was about to leave, she put up a ruckus, demanding to know who stole her necklace and ordered Mary to turn her bag out. The necklace was found and Mary, innocent Mary, kept pleading her case but was detained in the manor and arrested the next day. And…three days later her life became a tragedy.”
There was a thick lump in her throat, but Rosaline managed to swallow around it, “I…I had not known that. Thank you for telling me.”
“Believe me, love,” Norman shook his head, “I wish I had not had to.”
Her hands clenched on her skirt before she asked, “Will Your Graces excuse me?”
“Of course, Miss Hall,” the Duchess said, “Norman, I know you will follow, but now I need a moment with you first.”
Rosaline silently left the drawing room and went to one place where she had agonized and toiled over Miss Fawcett golden dress. Gravitating to the dress that was still on the mannequin, Rosaline fingered the beautiful cloth.
The silky texture slid smoothly between her fingers and the dull shine of the cloth gave off the wonderful sheen when the sunlight from the windows took it. Nights of heartbreak had been sewn into this dress and days of frustration had been embedded in the chemise, corset and stays. Even with the pain it had taken the dress was magnificent.
“What should do with them?” Norman asked as he came to stand by her. “Throw them in a fire pit maybe?”
Rosaline was tempted to laugh but the situation was too serious, “No…we should have given it to her when she left. I think the only fitting solution is to send it to her. After all, she nearly did sell her soul for it.”
“With such wisdom, how can I not marry you?” Norman said while taking her hand. “However, my vote is still for the fire pit.”
Rolling her eyes, Rosaline slowly disentangled her fingers from his and reached into her pocket. The second handkerchief that she had sewn many days ago was in her hand.
“I made is as a thank you after our first kiss on the terrace and after you sent me that poem,” Rosaline explained while unfolding it. “But every time I tried to give it to you, something happened and I could not. It has been waiting for—”
She was silenced by a kiss, “Hold onto that thought.”
Rosaline was mystified when the Duke rushed out. What in the world?
When he did come back bearing a small box, she frowned, “And this is?”
“Something I got for you the last time I went to London,” said he as he opened it to reveal a glittering pale jade comb. “I saw it and I could not think of anyone but you.”
Tenderly, Rosaline took the comb from its bed and ran over the smooth curves, “It’s beautiful.”
Norman laughed softly, “The lady says in her homeland the gift of a comb is a love gift. Funny story actually, Mother saw it and thought it was a present for Miss Fawcett. I had to tell her it was a wedding gift, but I didn’t tell her whose wedding it was going t—”
Rosaline cut him off by kissing him. Norman instantly dropped one hand to her hip and kissed her back but at the end pretended to be appalled, “My word, Miss Hall, where did that come from?”
“Are you complaining, Your Grace?”
“Not in the slightest,” he grinned and kissed her back.
“There is a third handkerchief you know,” she added, “I do not know what to put on it yet.”
“I do,” Norman said, “My initials with the words ‘with love from. Rosaline Kinsley’ surrounding them. Does the sound right to you?”
She smiled, “It sounds perfect.”
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
About the Book
Trust is a dangerous game…
Thrown into a world she never chose, Leah Benson was raised to be the perfect thief.
When her own partners turn against her, Leah must run for her life. With an ingrained dislike for nobility, she never thought she’d end up under the wing of the Duke of Worthington.
Kenneth Wilson, Duke of Worthington, saves a young woman from being assaulted by unsavory individuals. However, he doesn’t anticipate the secrets her presence alone will expose about his very own past or the feelings she will evoke within him.
In a race to discover the one that wants them dead, there is something important that Leah and Kenneth don’t realize: someone’s set a trap for them and they are walking right into it…
Chapter 1
The August wind blew through London, forcing its way round corners and down cobbled corridors. Dark clouds filled the skies as the day came to an end, bowling into each other with gusto. From those twisting shapes came the irregular, forcible splatter of rain, crudely and absentmindedly discarded by the storm.
The citizens of London, wise as they were to the August weather, took shelter in their homes, penny houses, workplaces, and hideaways. Taking advantage of the storm, the adventurous few remained against the gale ever ready to seize whatever wealth they could find.
Leah Benson tried to hide the scar on her face. She adjusted her borrowed cap and lowered her head. The wind sliced through the thin gentleman’s coat she wore – drenched as it was – and chilled her to the bone. Her clothes were matted with sweat at the neck and on her collarbone; she crouched, panting, letting the torrent of water surge down around her in the alleyway.
Too close, she bit her lip and staggered to stand against one of the dirty brick walls. The windowsills and garden boxes above her gave some shelter from the pelting rain, but not enough. I was far too careless. They nearly had me.
In an abrupt instant – as it often seemed to happen – the storm gave way. A strange sense of quiet befell Leah as the pounding of raindrops on flagstones ceased, replaced only by the hard whistle of the wind and the dribble of gutter spouts. Then her serenity was rudely interrupted.
“Snatch her, boys!” Leah heard Nash’s slurred words coming around the corner, and she sprinted for the alley.
Taunting screams and hollering came from behind her. The grubby pack of foxed pickpockets was made up of street urchins and ruffians belonging to her old crew. Leaping and bounding like wild dogs, they charged after her, waving looped belts and slick knives.
She’d been found, despite her greatest efforts. The men gave chase as she weaved through the alleyways, ducking under clotheslines and hurtling over low fences. The stench of sewage and toxic waste in the air thickened as she drew near the river, but she didn't much mind it. She had spent more than enough time in the bad parts of town to become acclimated to the stench of an urban industrial city.
Leah tucked a lock of hair into her ragged cap and pushed over a wagon of rubble to divert her chasers. The barrels bounced and bashed against the street, causing her pursuers to scramble. One went down howling over his toe, but the others pressed on, tossing only a few insults his way.
Nash laughed when he jumped over the wreckage, avoiding the diversion with an ease that spoke to his years as a runner. As one of Riphook’s most trusted anglers, he held the loyalty of almost every thief in England, or at least, those that mattered.
Nothing happened in the underground without Riphook hearing about it and having a say so. To act without Riphook's permission was on a bad day a death sentence and on a good one a beating. The world of London crime was his to lord over, and he had become very efficient at doing so.
As a child, Leah had been taught how to move quickly through the city. The key was to be smarter. In that jungle of side streets and courtyards, one had to know every route in order to survive.
Riphook had trained her to fight, thieve, and hide with the best of them. There was a time when they had been the only real family she’d ever known. Thick as thieves the saying went, and none knew it better than she. It was these criminals who had fed her, clothed her, and looked out for her. It was those same criminals that now chased her through the streets with knives and rotten teeth.
Everyone knew Riphook was building an empire. He started by recruiting gypsies, then rogues and pickpockets, and eventually anyone who was looking to make a bit of coin, and didn't mind a bit of dirt. Now it seemed every hired blade and sneak thief in town was in Riphook's pocket, and that was the way he liked it.
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