by Joyce Alec
The sound of a gunshot had her screaming and, as Edward reeled back, Dorothea clung to him all the more, trying to help him to remain standing. He let out a bellow of pain and fell back onto the floor, landing in a heap with Dorothea beside him. Slamming one hand over his arm, he groaned loudly as Dorothea scrambled to her feet, seeing her father stuttering over his lack of finesse when it came to attempting to shoot Edward dead.
Lady Lauder was screaming with rage, attempting to usher Lord Gaines from the room, her eyes wide and golden tresses tumbling down from the back of her head.
And then, in the midst of it all, the door opened and Lord Johnston, accompanied by another gentleman, stepped inside.
“Put it down, old boy.”
Lord Johnston shut the door firmly behind him, gesturing towards Lord Gaines and his now redundant pistol. Evidently, he had been waiting outside the library door, perhaps with his ear pressed to it, so that he would know just when to enter.
“I said, put it down.”
The firmness of his tone made Lord Gaines do precisely that, although he then began to look about him for another way of escape.
“Are you quite all right, Lady Turner?” the second gentleman asked, moving closer to her. “We did not think that Gaines had a pistol, nor that he would have the courage to fire it, else we would have entered much sooner.”
Dorothea had been unable to lift her eyes from her husband, who had managed to sit up, shrug out of his jacket and was now examining what appeared to be a rather nasty wound to his arm. The sight of blood did not overwhelm her, but rather the fear that her husband would suddenly collapse and die, leaving her entirely alone.
“I am quite all right; I thank you,” Edward muttered, as the second gentleman nodded and stepped back towards Lord Johnston. “Can you help me stand, Dorothea?”
Somehow, she managed to take his arm and help him to stand, despite the trembling in her limbs. Edward seemed to notice this and, with a reassuring expression on his face, drew her into his side and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“It is just as well that your father is known to be a terrible shot,” he whispered, his lips brushing her temple. “I am all right, Dorothea. It is nothing but a graze. You need not look so afraid.”
Looking up into his eyes, Dorothea felt herself shudder violently, before a sense of calm flooded over her. Her husband was alive and well, and her father, her terrible, cruel father, had attempted to do his worst but had failed. Edward was safe and now, in his arms again, so was she.
“This is the magistrate,” Lord Johnston said calmly, as Edward led Dorothea towards the others. “He will be making a full report to the judge and the sentence will be passed accordingly. I am afraid, Lady Lauder, Lord Gaines, your confession has been heard by us all.”
Lady Lauder dragged in a ragged breath, suddenly seeming to shrink to half her size. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and one hand pressed to her heart as though she might faint. “I cannot endure this,” she whispered, staggering backward slightly. “This is all too terrible for words. Pray, you must believe me that I had nothing whatsoever to do with this. This was entirely Lord Gaines’s—”
“Spare us your excuses,” the magistrate interrupted firmly. “You have been found out, Lady Lauder, and despite your highborn status, I am afraid that you must now accompany me.”
Lady Lauder staggered back again, one hand now draped across her forehead. “No, I cannot. I am weak. Too weak to stand. I…” She trailed off and gracefully fell to the floor, as though in a dead faint.
No one moved.
“Transportation will be easier, Lady Lauder, if you do not pretend to be a lady with a particular weakness,” Lord Johnston said firmly. “Weakness is not tolerated on board ship and certainly will not be tolerated in your new…home.”
“Transportation?” Lady Lauder’s head lifted from the carpet, her eyes rounding with fear. “No, you cannot mean it! I–”
The magistrate opened the door and beckoned in a few gentlemen, who were all clothed in black. Lady Lauder began to shout and wail, and Dorothea buried her head into Edward’s shoulder, unable to look at such a thing. She knew that Lady Lauder deserved her punishment, but the wails that escaped her lips tore at her heart.
“No, Dorothea, no!”
She raised her head and saw her father staring at her, his hands now held behind his back by one of the magistrate’s men. Her heart dropped to the floor, seeing for the first time, that he was truly afraid.
“No, you cannot allow this to happen!” he exclaimed loudly. “I am your father! You will convince your husband that–”
“Dorothea will do nothing of the sort!” Edward shouted, his voice breaking through Lord Gaines’s demands. “Can you not understand that she is no longer under your control, Gaines? She is free. She is to have the love, the care, and the consideration that she should always have experienced. She is to be cherished by one who truly loves her. There will be no more fear, no more dread, no more terror from you and your demands. This is the time of your parting, Gaines. You will not see your daughter again.”
Dorothea let her eyes linger on the face of her father. She could remember how he had told her, so callously, that he had never really cared for her. There was no love between them, only fear and pain. She would not mourn his parting. There was, as Edward had said, a freedom in this moment. A freedom that brought with it a peace and a healing.
“Goodbye, Father,” she whispered, her arm going around Edward’s waist as he held her tightly. She could say nothing else, the words pouring from her father’s lips as he demanded she act fading away into nothingness.
And then, it was over.
Epilogue
The door closed behind Lord Johnston, the magistrate, her father, Lady Lauder, and the magistrate’s men. She was alone with her husband, the air seeming to lose the tension that had filled it only a few moments ago. Letting out her breath, she turned in Edward’s arms and looked up into his face, thinking him the most wonderful gentleman she had ever known.
“I will make sure he does not face the gallows,” Edward promised gently. “Transportation will be enough.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears that he would be so considerate in the face of such hatred.
“You did not deserve that fire, Edward,” she said gently, her voice shaking just a little with all the emotion rifling through her. “Your pain and suffering were not just punishments for the man you were. I would not like you to ever believe that it was deserved. My father should have been more responsible if he chose to gamble. Nobody forced him to waste away his fortune.”
He shrugged, his expression a little sad. “And yet, I feel as though it has brought me its own share of good, Dorothea. I have learned to reflect on the man I was. I have learned not to give into the vices that held me for so long. I have learned what it is to love another with my whole heart.”
She smiled up at him, tears dampening her cheeks. “I love you too, Edward. For the trust you have given me, for the care you have shown me, my heart is filled with none but you.” Her smile faltered as she reached to brush her fingers down his cheek, recalling that he did not want her to touch his scars.
Edward drew in a long breath, his eyes fixed on hers. There was a fear lingering in his eyes, a fear that she could not entirely understand. Capturing her hand, he lifted it slowly, evidently afraid and yet pursuing this action regardless.
Her hand pressed against his face, and Edward closed his eyes tightly, as though in pain. His hand was still over hers, and she held it there gently, unmoving and yet filled with wonder and delight that he had allowed her to do the very thing he had refused her to do for so long.
“These are my scars,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have never allowed anyone to see the extent of them.”
“Why not?” she asked softly, her other hand now resting lightly against his chest. “Did you think that they would turn away with horror?”
He shrugged, his eyes opening to look
down at her again. Oh, how she wanted to reassure him. How she wanted to bring him the same peace, the same freedom, that he had brought her.
“I have never thought you a monster,” she continued when he said nothing. “You have heaped names on yourself, but I have seen the kind of gentleman you are. I have seen your heart; I have seen your character; I have seen some of your scars, both inside and out. None of that changes my affections for you, Edward. In fact, I would say that they are increasing all the more, even at this very moment.” Slowly, she tugged her hand free of his and ran her fingers lightly down his cheek and over the scarred markings on his neck. They looked painful and sore, and yet, as she touched them gently, she saw his expression becoming more open, more at peace. The fear in his eyes had faded entirely, a small smile tugging at his lips. At long last, there was nothing at all between them.
“I fear I shall have another scar to add to them,” he muttered, indicating his bloodied shirt sleeve. “But I trust you will not shirk from that one either.”
Dorothea laughed, winding her arms about his neck and pulling herself in close. Edward looked down at her tenderly, before lowering his head and capturing her lips with his. She melted into him, her happiness overflowing.
“My heart is filled with love for you, Edward,” she whispered against his lips as he held her tightly.
“And I love you, Dorothea,” he whispered, his scarred cheek pressed against her own for a moment. “I love you more with every breath. My heart is mended and I am complete.”
An Earl’s Wager
Gentlemen & Brides
An Earl’s Wager
Gentlemen and Brides
Text Copyright © 2018 by Joyce Alec
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2018
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
Prologue
London, England
1835
“My dear Hartley!”
George, the Earl of Hartley, laughed aloud and slapped his friend, Viscount Morton, on the back.
“Morton, how good to see you!” he exclaimed, his eyes bright. “I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance again.”
Viscount Morton chuckled, a gleam in his eye. “I know full well why you have been looking forward to returning to London, and it is not my company that has drawn you.”
George attempted to look both shocked and upset, aware that he was failing miserably. “What are you talking about, Morton? I am more than delighted to see you again.”
Lord Morton snorted, rolling his eyes. “You need not pretend, Hartley. You have come to see how many young ladies you can pursue, is that not the case?”
George grinned, unable to hide the truth from his long-time acquaintance. “Indeed, I confess it has been a long, cold winter, and I have been very much looking forward to dancing with some warm bodies again.”
Morton laughed aloud and gestured for the footman to bring them over a drink. “White’s has not been this loud in some time,” he replied with a grin, as the footman offered them both a glass of whisky.
“You have been here over the winter?”
His friend shook his head. “I came for the little Season, but it was rather dull compared to this. Not half as many pretty young ladies and a lot more grimacing mothers and companions.”
George chuckled, sitting back in his seat and letting his heart fill with contentment. “I have missed it, I confess. Of course, there have been the usual responsibilities back at the estate, but they will wait for the time being. I have a very good steward who can take care of most things whilst I am away.”
“And no intention of marrying this time?”
Snorting in derision, George shook his head. “None at all. I still find the idea as repulsive as I did last year. Of course, at some point, I shall need to find a suitable wife, but I am in no particular rush.”
“Your father would not agree,” Morton replied, with a slight smile.
“My father is, most likely, turning in his grave over my behavior,” George replied, with a slight sniff. “Not that I ever really cared.”
He and his father had never been particularly close, not even when George grew to be a young man. There had been all the duties of the estate to learn about, of course, but George had grown to hate spending time with his father, finding him to be a hard and somewhat cruel man. Oftentimes, he had mocked George’s lack of understanding, unable to understand why something he thought to be so simple was so difficult for George to understand. It had been something of a relief when the old man had passed away, leaving only George behind. His mother had died some years ago, in an attempt to produce the ‘spare’, and so, being entirely alone in the world had brought George a measure of freedom he had come to cherish.
He had spent the last few Seasons enjoying himself entirely. There had been many stolen kisses and a great deal of liquor and cards to go with it all. Yes, indeed, the Season was a time when George could simply forget all about his duties to the title and the estate and throw himself into all that society had to offer him. He was more than aware that he had something of a roguish reputation, but found that it did not concern him. He had no intention of marrying any time soon, not when there was so much fun to be had. Mayhap when he was older, then he would choose a younger wife to produce his required children before living their own entirely separate lives.
George was of the opinion that marriage was nothing more than a contract, one which bound two lives together for the rest of their days – although, with more than one property of his own, he was quite sure he would not have to spend a great deal of time with his wife once the children had been born. He relished his freedom, and even when it came time for him to wed, he was certainly not going to let his wife curb that in any way. He would continue to do as he pleased and to live as he pleased, regardless of what his wife thought.
“Well, I have heard that there are quite a few new young ladies due to make their come out this year,” Lord Morton began, interrupting George’s train of thought. “One, in particular.”
“Oh?”
Lord Morton grinned, his eyes darkening just a little. “Indeed. Lady Ellen Newton, daughter to the Earl of Fancot.”
“The Earl of Fancot?” George repeated, a slight frown on his face. “I had thought that the man had been terribly ill.”
“Appears he has recovered,” Lord Morton replied, with a slight shrug. “His daughter is a little late to be making an appearance, of course, but I doubt it will affect her chances of finding a husband if she is as pretty as they say.”
George’s frown slowly faded, replaced with a small smile. “Indeed,” he murmured thoughtfully, looking over at his friend. “A challenge, mayhap?”
Lord Morton snorted, shaking his head. “I doubt she will come anywhere near you, Hartley. She will be well warned to stay away from the likes of you. On top of which, her father is a ruthless man. I have heard that he has taken away the fortune of those who cross him, although I am not quite sure how he has done it. You would be best to stay well away from the lady, Hartley. She is not worth your time.”
“And yet, I am quite sure I will be able to steal one little kiss,” George replied, with a wide smile, a sense of anticipation beginning to swirl through him. “And I do believe I have never been unable to get exactly what I want.”
Lord Morton lifted one eyebrow, a look of surprise etched across his face. “Truly? You truly mean to chase after this lady, even though I have wa
rned you about her father?”
George shrugged, picking up his glass and throwing back the rest of his whisky. “Why not? I have never stood down from a challenge, and should I succeed, then you will pay my White’s tab for me. If I fail to do so by the end of the Season, then I shall pay yours.”
There was a short pause as Lord Morton considered his suggestion. “On your head be it then,” Lord Morton replied darkly, shaking his head. “I would not do such a thing, no matter how beautiful she might be.”
Grinning, George called for another whisky, settling back in his chair. “Ah, but just think of the satisfaction of it!” he exclaimed, as the footman poured them both another measure. “I can hardly wait to see the lady, whatever her name is.”
“Lady Ellen,” Lord Morton replied, a little brusquely. “Do not expect me to stand by you when the earl comes for your head, Hartley. You will find yourself quite alone there.”
George laughed, not put off in the least. “I look forward to standing victorious, Morton,” he said, still chuckling. “And Lady Ellen shall give me her kisses willingly, have no doubt about it. I intend to conquer the lady, regardless of her parentage.”