Always the Courtesan (Never the Bride Book 3)

by Emily E K Murdoch

“Come on,” murmured Honora. She led them down the stairs, watched by all the others. This was it. This was what she had been waiting for, longing for, praying for, all the months and years she had been here.

  Andrews was standing by the door with Madam to his left. Honora tried not to look at them as she walked past them through the door into the cool night air.

  And there it was, the family carriage with the dukedom crest on the doors. It was waiting for them.

  “We’re leaving now,” snapped William, evidently eager to be off.

  Honora walked more quickly, and Ellen matched her speed.

  “Wait for me,” panted Mabel.

  Honora turned to see Mabel struggling to keep up. Even in this dim light, as the wind blew against her, it was clear her pregnancy was further along than she had ever let on. Why, she should be confined any day.

  “We will not leave without you,” said Honora, stopping to allow Mabel to catch up and taking her bundle from her. “We are all leaving together.”

  William opened the carriage door and offered a hand to Ellen, who had arrived at the carriage first. She gingerly placed her hand in his. Honora and Mabel panted as they reached the carriage.

  “In you get,” said William bracingly. “After you, m’lady.”

  Mabel looked startled to be addressed so politely but allowed William to help her into the coach.

  Then he turned to Honora with a smile. “Ready to go?”

  Honora returned his smile. “You do not know how ready.”

  When all four of them were secure and settled, William tapped on the roof, and the carriage jolted into motion.

  This was it. They were leaving. Honora did not bother to look back, although Mabel, who had spent the longest time there, did glance at the place which had been her home for so many years.

  She was free. Honora slumped into the seat and felt the luxurious velvet.

  Mabel and Ellen, seated opposite each other, were sharing frightened glances, and it was not difficult for Honora to see why.

  William looked furious. His brow was furrowed, and he was glaring at Honora, who looked evenly back. What did he want her to say—that she was sorry? She was more sorry than anyone could be for anything, but she was not to blame. She would not allow anyone to blame her for what she had become.

  Nevertheless, it was discomforting, receiving such a glare from one’s brother.

  “Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

  “Home,” snapped William as though he had been waiting for an excuse to speak. “’Tis nearly twenty miles to the nearest Mercia property, so we will journey through the night. It will be worth it.”

  Neither of her friends looked calmed by her brother’s words. He was evidently burning to shout at someone, anyone, and Honora did not want to give him a reason. And yet…

  “I was wondering whether you could tell me,” she began quietly, her eyes meeting William’s, “whether you had heard anything from…whether you had seen Josiah recently. Do you know him? Did he tell you—”

  “You are never to see him again,” snarled William, the pent-up rage finally spilling out. “Do you hear me, Nora? Never.”

  She had never seen William so angry, but Honora found herself full of fire.

  “I shall obey no such command,” she said, aware of Mabel’s wide eyes on her. “You may be my brother, but you do not own me, no matter how much you paid for me.”

  William’s eyebrows raised in shock. This was clearly not the response he had been expecting.

  “Josiah is the kindest man in the world, and,” Honora hesitated, and then continued, “and I would be lucky to see him again.”

  “You do not know what you are talking about,” said William gruffly as the carriage jolted over a stone. “Do you even know his name?”

  Honora hesitated. “No.”

  Her brother’s eyes were fierce as he said, “The man you have given yourself to—the man who willingly paid for you is Josiah Stanhope, the Earl of Chester.”

  She stared, unblinking, at her brother’s face. The Earl of Chester?

  Josiah?

  Her mind raced back to their conversations. He was Eton born and Cambridge bred, clearly wealthy, with more elegance of phrase and wit than any other gentleman who had visited her.

  But an earl? How could she have not known—he must have thought her so stupid, not knowing!

  And yet, a small voice in her mind reminded her, you are the sister of a duke. How foolish you both were, keeping these secrets from each other.

  What would have happened if they had learned to be honest with each other?

  “The Earl of Chester,” she repeated aloud. “Well, a fine match for me, then.”

  William’s laugh was bitter. “Do not expect him to arrive at our gates with a proposal, Nora. Gentlemen like him, if I can use the term, do not consider their courtesans worth time.”

  Honora bristled. “You do not know him.”

  “You have no experience with men,” he bit back.

  Honora laughed bitterly. “Trust me, brother. When I say he is a good man, I know what I am talking about.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I know you’re in there!” Josiah’s fist ached, but he would not give in. He had come too far, and there was that small matter of the gate he had destroyed. Mercia was not going to like that. He could not give in now.

  He knocked again, ignoring the pain in his wrist. “I know you can hear me!”

  There was no answer. The silence did nothing to quell Josiah’s determination. His blood was boiling so hot he was almost glad there was no answer. He wanted to feed the rage and determination, allow the flames to spill over from his fears and frustrations. He needed this energy, the drive to succeed.

  He wanted a fight. He would do anything, including bringing his locksmith from Chalding to physically take this door apart, if that’s what it took.

  She was in there. She was inside, and only a few yards of doors and walls kept him from her.

  Josiah banged on the door again, before looking at the great façade of the building. The dukes of Mercia had outstanding architects, there was no denying that.

  “I am not going away!” he shouted, a smile on his face. After spending so long unsure what to do with women, worried he was doing the wrong thing, uncertain whether he could or should act—this was something he was sure of. “I can keep going, all day and all night if you force me to!”

  Was that the sound of footsteps on the other side of the front door? Did he hear a person speaking in hushed tones?

  But there was no reply. The duke, evidently, did not want to see him.

  Sighing, Josiah turned to look into the faces of his three footmen waiting for his next instruction. They looked a little concerned for his welfare, truth be told, and Josiah did not blame them. It was not every day a lord instructed one to come on an errand, which may be a breach of the peace.

  “You,” he said smartly. “Each of you, twenty minutes of knocking at a time, in shifts. That should cover the hour until reinforcements arrive.”

  I was a soldier. I have done and seen more terrible things than you have had hot dinners.

  Josiah smiled. He may never have actually fought in a battle, but he and Harry had stormed the battlements at Chalding plenty of times, and he had studied the greatest battles in history at Cambridge. He was more than a match for Mercia.

  His footmen, however, did not look so convinced. After exchanging glances, one of them stepped forward and bowed.

  “My lord,” he said timidly. “It does not appear anyone is at home. Would it not be more prudent to return—”

  “I know full well both the duke and his sister, Lady Honora Lennox, are inside there,” barked Josiah. “And by God’s teeth, I will see one or the other before the day is out. Now get knocking.”

  Had he gone too far? There were always strange orders to follow when your master was a nobleman, and most servants had become accustomed to this.

  But knockin
g at a door that was obviously locked?

  Josiah held his gaze. Blenkins nodded, and the other two relaxed and took their stations on either side of Blenkins, who began knocking rhythmically and steadily.

  Their loyalty outshone any reticence they had about the task. Josiah tried to hide his smile as he walked down the steps of the house. It was reassuring, after everything that had happened, to see his servants would still obey orders, no matter how strange.

  He looked to see if anyone was peering through the windows. It had been a challenge, to be sure, getting through the gatehouse. He would have to remember to send a boy around with an order to his banker for Mercia. It would certainly take more than a few sovereigns to mend the stonework, and a good metalworker would need to be found to untangle the remains of the gate, now Josiah had rammed it with his carriage.

  But no number of gardeners were able to keep him from the house.

  What did not make sense was the numbers. He had brought his carriage and three footmen, unsure of his reception, and there was almost two score of Mercia servants surrounding them. Watching and waiting, not moving a muscle. What did that mean? Were they under orders to keep an eye on him, but not interfere?

  Josiah could see a figure watching him from the corner of his eye. It was the head gardener keeping an eye on him, as though he might suddenly rush toward the kitchen gardens and pull up all the carrots.

  He stifled a grin and turned back to the house. The only thing he wanted to steal away from this place was Honora. She was in there.

  Honora. That was her name, her real name, and it suited her perfectly. To think, all the time he had known her, he had heard her brothers speak of her in sad tones. He had commiserated with them over a glass, wondered whether there was any other way to find her.

  And what had he said to her?

  Why, my friend’s little sister even did it a few years ago, and I ask if the sister of a duke can do it, why not you?

  He had never realized Lady Honora Lennox and Miss Hannah were one and the same.

  “Honora,” Josiah shouted, unable to stop himself. “Honora, I know you are in there. I just want to talk to you!”

  There was movement—something was happening. A window two stories above him closed, and Josiah frowned. Had she been there? Had she heard him, closed the window because she did not wish to hear another word?

  Or had the window been closed for her? Did she want to hear him, want to speak with him, but was being denied?

  His heart thundered, and his whole body ached with desperation. She was in there.

  Running to the front door and jumping up the steps, Josiah pushed past his servants to stand beside Blenkins.

  “Mercia, damnit!” he thundered, banging heavily on the door, ignoring the stabs of pain from his knuckles. “I know you are there—come down and face me like a man!”

  A juddering sound erupted from the door, and Josiah took a step back, mirrored by his footmen. A key was turning slowly and agonizingly in the lock.

  Josiah’s heart, already thundering, now started to actually hurt. He brought a hand to his chest, as though that would slow its pace. This was it. His chance to explain himself.

  But not to Mercia.

  “May I help you, sir?” A gentleman was standing in the barely opened door, dressed in the trappings of a butler. “Ah, it is you, my lord.”

  “Let me in,” Josiah said heavily. “I will be but a few moments, and then your master can throw me out, or fight me, or whatever he wants to do with me.”

  “Hang you by your thumbs in the courtyard and flay you alive, at the last count,” the butler said smoothly.

  Josiah blinked. He had not expected such specifics. “I demand to see him.”

  “And he demands you be barred at the door,” the butler said calmly.

  Why was it so difficult to rattle butlers? Perhaps because they were emperors of tiny kingdoms, Josiah mused. They have their own fair share of disasters below stairs, and their responsibility is to ensure the family never knows.

  “You know why I have come, I think,” Josiah said quietly, attempting pleading rather than brute force this time. “And I have a right to—”

  “Any rights you may or may not have,” cut in the butler with a wry smile, “ceased when you took my lord’s gate down. I think it best, sir—”

  “My lord.” Josiah rarely demanded it from servants, for sir would always do. But he would not let it slide today.

  The butler’s smile became a grimace. “My lord, I do apologize. And I apologize again that I must turn you away. The duke will not see you. He is not seeing anyone. He is tired and needs rest.”

  “Well, I am tired,” Josiah said bluntly. The time for pleasantries had passed. “Tired of having to wait around for Mercia to decide what to do with me, because I know if he was truly unwilling to see me, these gentlemen,” and he turned to wave a hand at the almost forty gardeners, stable hands, and other servants, “would have had me carried off.”

  The butler blinked.

  “So, he has not decided what to do with me,” Josiah smiled. “He needs to. I will wait here all day.”

  He grinned at the butler, who hesitated. I was right. I knew it. Mercia has no idea what to do with me, and so is waiting me out. Far easier than actually deciding.

  “Do not worry yourself,” he said cheerfully to the confused butler. “I have been here what—three hours? I am more than happy to wait at least another three. I am determined to see Lady Honora, and you can tell your precious duke I want to marry his sister, and I am not leaving until Honora—Honora herself, do you hear?—has said aye or nay. Carry on.”

  Josiah was not sure what response he would receive from the butler, but the servant did not disappoint. Without a reply, he slammed the door in Josiah’s face—missing it by a few inches.

  Blenkins howled in pain. He had attempted to wedge his foot into the gap and had paid dearly for his loyalty.

  “Remind me to pay you double this year, Blenkins,” Josiah said absentmindedly. He leaned forward, pushing his hands up against the door as though sheer willpower alone would open it.

  The slow torturous sound of the key turning in the lock echoed in the silence, and Josiah sagged against the door. They were not going to be opening that again.

  What else could he do? Josiah walked heavily down the steps and started to pace on the gravel driveway. Dust rose in the dry afternoon as he tried to think.

  “How could you have allowed yourself to be so stupid?”

  “My lord?” One of his other footmen, Graves, spoke.

  Josiah waved him away. He had spoken aloud. It was a practice he had forced himself out of when he had left home for Cambridge, but he and Harry had always used it when one of them needed to work through a problem.

  “I need to think—I need to talk the problem out. God, this is when I need Harry.”

  He continued to pace, ignoring the surprised stares of the Mercia servants who were watching him.

  His footman nodded and returned to the front door, where Blenkins was still knocking. Josiah smiled. No questions, no concern, just obedience.

  “How stupid I was,” he muttered, his voice growing louder as the thoughts spilled out. “Why did I not ask more questions—why did I not demand answers? She laughs like Mercia, and I knew I had heard the laugh before, but I did not put the two together.”

  She had laughed that night they had spent toasting bread on the fire at Oak Avenue Lodge, and the fire had glittered in her hair, making the chestnut color gold.

  “I should have known something was amiss, but I was so captivated by her,” Josiah said wretchedly, pacing. “The thrill of her, tricking Madam, taking her away—oh, God, I thought I was so clever.”

  She had spent an entire morning completely naked with him, and he had been embarrassed for her, and she had laughed and asked him whether she had anything to be ashamed of, and he had kissed her fiercely all over to prove she hadn’t.

  “And all I did was fall i
n love with her.” Josiah shook his head. “I was entirely lost in her. I love her, and she is in there, and I cannot get to her!”

  An unexpected sound caught his attention. The door had not opened, but a window had.

  Josiah swallowed. Raising his voice slightly, he returned to his pacing. “I was so captivated by her I forgot to think, and in the end, it was I who was the prisoner there, not her. She was free to think of anything, and all I could do was think of her.”

  It felt ridiculous, saying these things aloud. One of the gardeners shifted uncomfortably, but Josiah had to ignore it all except the hope that at that window, out of sight…

  “She was so beautiful and so intoxicating, I forgot myself,” he continued, his voice still raised. “I forgot who I was because it did not matter, for all I needed was her.”

  He stopped pacing, unable to resist the temptation to look back up at the window—but he could not see anyone. Had Honora opened the window, hoping to hear his voice? Was it Mercia, opening the window to allow his nonsense and foolishness to become obvious to his sister?

  What difference did it make? It was cathartic, getting it all out of his system like this. Speaking aloud did wonders. It was hard to remember why he and Harry had stopped the habit.

  Josiah sighed. If he was going to do this, he should do it properly. Time to admit all of the pain, all of the hurt, and most of all, all the love.

  “Hannah was the most beautiful courtesan—the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” Josiah said simply, no longer pacing but staring at the window. “Now I know she is Honora, that does not change the way I feel about her. I still…I still want to make you my bride. Because I am going mad without you, Honora. Everything I am is for you, everything. I need you. I want you.”

  He waited. Surely if she could hear him, she would come to the window. Even if it was to tell him to leave and never return, she would say something.

  There was no movement whatsoever. If there was someone listening at the window, they were being careful to stay out of sight.

  Josiah coughed. He may as well lay all of his cards on the table. There was nothing left to offer her except his honesty and his dignity, and he would miss neither of them.