Always the Courtesan (Never the Bride Book 3)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  “Honora,” he said in a cracked voice, “I am going mad without you. All my hopes for the future are with you, and without you, I am nothing. I love you. Please come down.”

  The air was still, and Josiah almost expected a loud bell to ring out, or a bird to start singing. Something to break this terrible silence.

  But nothing happened. Crying out in pure frustration, Josiah turned and kicked at the gravel, spraying it everywhere.

  “Excuse me, that is my gravel.”

  Josiah spun around. Mercia and Honora were staring from the window, neither of them with happy looks on their faces.

  This was not exactly how he had imagined making his declaration to her. For a start, Honora would have been alone. And not twenty feet above him.

  He took a tentative step toward the house. Honora moved away from the window, but Mercia grabbed her arm, saying something to her in a low tone, which Josiah could not hear.

  It looked as though she did not want to hear it either. Pulling her arm from her brother’s grasp, she glared. “I am not a child anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  She disappeared from the window.

  A noise startled him, and Josiah turned to see the front door opening and Honora walking down the steps toward him.

  She was certainly not Hannah any longer. Her skin was glowing, her hair washed and trimmed to the latest fashion, and she was wearing a gown even Caroline, the Princess of Wales, would be happy to be seen in. It was cut to the latest style, and she looked beautiful.

  She was also glaring. Josiah smiled nervously.

  “Did you mean it?”

  Her voice was so quiet, Josiah barely caught her words, but he nodded. “Every word.”

  Her glare diminishing, Honora stepped forward and took his hand in hers.

  “I have a few demons to be rid of,” she said softly. “Any husband of mine will have to accept that—accept me, exactly as I am. I was trained for a courtesan’s life, not a bride.”

  Josiah squeezed her hand. “I am more than ready for any demons and may bring a few along with me. I will scare them away with you.”

  Her frown disappeared. “And you do not mind…you are not concerned about my past? You think a courtesan can make an earl’s bride?”

  “I know you will,” said Josiah, pulling her gently toward him until she stood in his arms. “And I wish to marry you regardless of who you were.”

  A small smile crept across her face. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” said Josiah and lowered his voice with a grin. “Besides, I am sure there are a few perks in having a courtesan for a wife.”

  Honora laughed and leaned up to kiss him, and Josiah knew, finally, that he was home. This was it, this was what he wanted, all the complication, all the confusion, all the emotions. He wanted no half-measures with this woman.

  “I still have not given my permission!” William’s shout came down to them as they broke apart, and Josiah looked up to see him still glaring.

  Honora glanced at her brother and then looked back at Josiah and smiled. “I do not need it. The courtesan becomes a bride after all.”

  Epilogue

  Josiah took a good, hard look into the looking glass, and swallowed.

  “I must be mad to do this,” he said hoarsely. His cravat would not go straight no matter what he did to it, and his waistcoat felt too tight. Or was it his shirt? Either way, there was a vein throbbing in his temple. “Mad.”

  Someone walloped him on the back of the head, and Josiah flinched. “Harry, that hurt!”

  He turned away from the mirror to see his sister laughing as she threw herself into an armchair.

  “You deserve it,” she said with a grin. “Mad indeed. Are you not madly in love with Honora?”

  Josiah grinned. He could never find fault with his twin, even though her right hook was as good as any man’s.

  “Yes, I am, actually,” he replied haughtily. “What I meant was that I was mad to try and do my own cravat. Here, give me a hand.”

  Lady Harriet Stanhope rose from her chair, shaking her head. Anyone who did not know the twin sister of the earl found it confusing to hear him speak of his sister, Harry. Anyone who did know her found it perfectly natural.

  She was Harry. She had been since before Josiah could remember. Their mother had told them the story of when Harry, about six years old, had found some pinking shears on a table and given herself a haircut, and she was mistaken for a boy for so long, Josiah started to call her Harry.

  The name, and the sense of adventure, had stuck.

  “Come here then, you fool,” she said good-naturedly, pulling him toward her and making him stand upright. “You will have to be on your best behavior today. All the gang is coming.”

  Josiah groaned. “I know weddings are meant to be hospitable occasions, but I could do without everyone seeing me dressed like a fool. The whole gang?”

  Harry smiled as she nodded. Their parents had taken a house in London when they were quite small, purchasing it because so many of the great families had also taken up residence in the same square. It was comforting to have dukes, earls, and viscounts as neighbors. It meant you did not have to worry about meeting anyone unpleasant if you took the children for a walk.

  And so, he and Harry had grown up in a tight-knit group of nine. Themselves, the two Cavendishes—Montague and Albert—their cousin Letitia, Marnmouth, of course, Acton, and the Smythes. There was always trouble when five or more of them got together, and by the sound of it…

  “All of us,” Harry said, finishing off his cravat with a flourish. “Even little Letitia, and you know how much she loathes social gatherings.”

  She took a step forward, examining the whole picture, and Josiah turned on the spot with his hands aloft. “Will I do?”

  “You will,” she said with a smile. “Only, I think it is ‘I do’ later on in the proceedings.”

  “Very funny. They are all really coming. Even Devonshire?”

  Harry frowned as she smoothed her gown. “Especially Devonshire. You cannot tell me you do not wish your best friend attending?”

  “Your best friend,” Josiah corrected her, but there was no malice in his words. “Whenever he is here, I do not get a look in with either of you.”

  His sister did not look up from her ministrations to her gown as she said, “Well…that is not my fault.”

  “No, I suppose not,” mused Josiah, turning back to the looking glass to ensure his cravat was straight. “I thought Monty would be here by now, to tell the truth. After all, he is my best man.”

  There was a knock at the door, and before either of them could move to open it, the door banged open. There stood Montague Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire.

  “Harry!” He rushed forward and pulled her into a brief hug, and then released her to grin at Josiah. “Ready for the slaughter, then?”

  Harry hit Devonshire smartly on the chest. “He is very much in love, I will have you know, I checked at least twice this morning. He is looking forward to it, but you should get yourself in line, for if he disappears, you will be forced to marry her!”

  Josiah rolled his eyes at Devonshire, who laughed.

  “That put me in my place, and no mistake,” he said easily, grinning at Harry, who had not looked away. “Now, off you go, Harry.”

  Her face instantly fell. “Go?”

  Devonshire nodded. “You are needed by the bride—do not ask me what for, a lot of words were said, but they were all feminine, and so I ignored them. Off you trot.”

  Harry glanced at Josiah, who shrugged. “The bride is always right.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I suppose so. I will see you at the church, Monty.”

  Harry moved quickly through the door, closing it behind her.

  Devonshire had watched her go before turning seriously to Josiah. “So. You are truly going through with it?”

  Josiah’s face fell. His twin sister had been remarkably understanding, and not at all concerned about Honora
’s past. But just last night, as the two of them had enjoyed a glass of port over some cheese, she had warned him.

  “Not everyone will be so calm about this,” she had said quietly. “Not everyone will see her for what she is, a lovely young lady, the sister of a duke, and with a fine mind. Pretty, too. They may choose to see something else.”

  Josiah knew she was right and hated the society they lived in for damming a woman under such circumstances. But he had thought Devonshire, of all his friends, would have understood. Would have supported him.

  “What do you mean?” he said guardedly.

  Devonshire grinned. “Well, ’tis marriage! This is not exactly the same as engaging someone to dance at Almack’s. The old ball and chain. Are you sure you are ready—that she is the right one for you? No coming back from this.”

  Josiah relaxed. He should have had more faith in his old friend.

  “More than sure,” he said firmly.

  Devonshire sighed heavily, his grin still dancing across his cheeks. “Good. Because we are going to be late.”

  Panic tugged at Josiah as he tried to get his tangled pocket watch from his waistcoat. “What? Are you sure—how late?”

  But Devonshire was laughing as he threw himself into the same chair Harry had just vacated. “Or at least, we will be. If we do not leave in the next ten minutes. You worry too much, Chester, that is your problem.”

  Josiah smiled and tried not to allow his fingers to shake as he placed his pocket watch away. He did worry too much, and he could not help but worry for Honora. Today would be the first time she was in public—really in public—since she had left Madam’s. Was she ready for the gossip of the world? Was he?

  “Perhaps that is my problem, but yours will soon be me,” Josiah said jovially. “Come on, we had better go. The last thing we need is for the bride to reach the altar before the groom.”

  As they left the room and walked towards the staircase, Josiah heard a voice coming from another room. Honora.

  Darting across the hallway, he knocked on the door, and the voice went quiet immediately. There was muffled laughter, and then the sound of someone moving across the room.

  “What do you want, Chester?” It was Harry’s voice, and Josiah grinned to hear her mock coldness.

  “I have come knocking for my woman!”

  There were more giggles inside, and then Honora’s voice, haughty and trying to stifle giggles, came through the door.

  “My days of answering to bells and knocks are over—now go to the church! I shall meet you at the altar in twenty minutes!”

  He smiled. Even hearing her voice through the door was enough to warm his heart—and stiffen not only his resolve but other parts of him, too.

  Devonshire shook his head as they descended the stairs. “You really are smitten, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Painfully so.”

  The church was a short walk from Mulyrett Manor, but for Josiah, it was followed by an age of waiting at the altar, trying to ignore the chatter behind him.

  Let them talk. Let them wonder where the Lady Honora Lennox has been for the last few years. They do not need to know.

  When he finally saw her, Josiah knew every minute had been worth it. Dressed in a pale purple gown adorned with pearls, Honora wore a long veil and a smile. She had never looked so calm.

  She was accompanied down the aisle by her brother, and Josiah’s smile faded slightly at the look on Mercia’s face. When they reached him, the duke hesitated before handing her over.

  “I will take good care of her,” Josiah murmured.

  Mercia did not take his eyes from him. “You will.”

  Lady Prudence stepped forward and took her sister’s flowers, and Harry carefully pulled back her veil before winking at Josiah, who winked back, and smiling at Devonshire, who did not seem to notice.

  “You are the most perfect bride,” Josiah said as the Reverend Pomsey began welcoming their guests, “in all the world.”

  “…today,” said the reverend in his deep voice. “Please be seated.”

  Josiah could see the shame in his bride’s eyes, see the pain. Ignoring all protocol and making the Reverend Pomsey splutter and lose his place, Josiah reached out and took Honora’s hands in his.

  “All of that is behind you,” he said quietly. “It did not happen—or at least, it happened to someone else. Please proceed, Reverend.”

  His last sentence was louder, and the vicar, a little elderly gentleman with more hair in his beard than on his head, nodded.

  “Do you, Josiah Stanhope…”

  The vows went by in a blur.

  He placed the ring carefully on her finger and smiled. “Welcome to the life of a bride, Honora Stanhope, Countess of Chester.”

  She smiled as the congregation was led in prayer. “I like the sound of that.”

  Josiah grinned. “We will have our work cut out learning how to say it in French, Italian, Spanish, and Arabic.”

  His voice had been low, but she had still caught every word, and her eyes widened. “Arabic?” she breathed.

  “At the very least,” Josiah whispered. This was it, before they were presented to the world as a married couple. Man and wife. His wife. “You wanted the world? I am going to give it to you. Courtesan you may have been, but bride you are now.”

  Honora had never looked more beautiful as she asked, “Do you think this adventure around the world will take long?”

  Josiah shrugged as he took her hand, and they started to walk back down the aisle. “Six months, perhaps a little more. Why?”

  She smiled, and there was something knowing about that smile. “Because in about seven months, we will want to be in our own home.”

  Josiah frowned. “Why on earth for?”

  He could see familiar faces in the crowd, Devonshire and Harry were laughing behind them, but nothing else mattered. Seven months. What was happening in seven months?

  Honora squeezed his hand. “Because that is when we are going to meet our child.”

  The words were clear, but they made no sense to him until something jolted in his brain, and he stopped short at the door of the church.

  He turned to her. “No.”

  “I am almost certain,” she beamed. “So, let’s have our adventure in the world and then come back here and have another adventure…with our family.”

  “Oh, Honora,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms. “Our own family.”

  Please enjoy an excerpt from Always the Best Friend.

  Chapter One

  Harry knew exactly what Josiah was thinking, and it made her smile.

  “I must be mad to do this,” he said hoarsely. “Mad.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, she took a step forward and walloped her brother on the back of the head.

  Josiah Stanhope, Earl of Chester, flinched and turned from the looking glass, where he had been staring with an injured look. “Harry, that hurt!”

  She could not help but laugh as she threw herself in the armchair in the corner of his dressing room. What a baby.

  “You deserve it! Mad, indeed,” she said with mock severity. “Are you not madly in love with Honora?”

  He had better be. Lady Harriet Stanhope’s brother was getting married in less than an hour, and to a woman many of their society would refuse to acknowledge. Harry tried to keep the concern from her face. She had spoken about this with Josiah last night, as candidly as only a twin sister could.

  Lady Honora Lennox may be the sister of a duke, but she had been a courtesan for three years. Goodness knows what she had seen, and being rescued from captivity by her brother did not wash away the sins of her reputation, in society’s eyes.

  Despite all that, her brother had proposed. No brother of hers was going to go back on a promise like that, not twenty minutes before the wedding.

  “Yes, I am, actually,” Josiah replied haughtily, his grin never leaving his face. “What I meant was that I was mad to try and tie my own cra
vat. Here, give me a hand.”

  Harry sighed. Brothers. As she rose from her chair and shook her head in disbelief, she forced him to stand straight and reached for the errant cravat.

  When they had been children, few had believed the rough and tumble, short-haired, foul-mouthed little scrap of a thing playing alongside the heir to the Chester earldom was his twin sister, Lady Harriet Stanhope. The nickname Harry had stuck with their close acquaintances, and even now she sometimes forgot society expected her to be more…ladylike.

  “Come here then, you baby,” she said with a smile. “You will have to be on your best behavior today? All the gang is coming.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, but she pushed away the excitement. She would not think of him. This was her brother’s wedding day—she would not allow it to be overcome by her fanciful daydreams.

  Josiah groaned. “I know weddings are meant to be hospitable occasions, but I could do without everyone seeing me dressed like a fool. The whole gang?”

  Harry grinned as she nodded. The whole gang, it was a good name for them. When your parents are earls, dukes, and lords, it was difficult to find suitable playfellows—unless similar families had all purchased residences in Cavendish Square, London.

  And so, their childhood group was formed. Harry forced herself to move on quickly with her thoughts as her fingers made quick work of the cravat.

  “All of us,” she said severely, finishing. She caught a flash of her reflection in the mirror and ignored it. Dark brown hair, small nose, and lips that didn’t exactly fit her face properly. “Even little Letitia, and you know how much she loathes social gatherings, will join us.”

  Harry stepped back, and Josiah performed an inelegant turn with a lost look on his face. “Will I do?”

  She smiled. Her brother always knew how to raise her spirits. “You will. Only I think it is ‘I do’ later on in the proceedings.”

  Josiah rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Even Devonshire?”

  There it was, his name. Harry’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. She dropped her gaze immediately and tried to focus on something, anything else.