by Alec, Joyce
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present a somewhat late arrival to our party,” the duke said, patting her hand. “This is Miss Sophia Weston. My betrothed.”
A ripple of surprise ran around the room, but to Sophia’s relief, no one appeared shocked or discomfited in any way by the announcement. In fact, most of the ladies there were smiling at her.
“Is your brother not here, Miss Weston?” she heard Arthur say, her eyes traveling across the room to find the duke’s brother. He was leaning on the mantlepiece, a grin on his face. “Lord Brookridge, where are you? Are you not to offer congratulations to your sister?”
Sophia swallowed hard, as her brother and sister-in-law stepped forward, both with rather white faces and the viscountess with pursed lips. They did not look pleased in the slightest.
Before she could speak, the duke cleared his throat, capturing the room’s attention once more.
“Unfortunately, I think I shall have to ask you both to leave my house this very night, Lord Brookridge.”
An audible gasp came from the rest of the guests, as they looked from one to the next.
“It is my sad duty to inform you all that Lord and Lady Brookridge threatened to spread rumors all around London about myself, so much so that my daughter would not be able to enjoy her come out when the time came,” the duke continued steadily, as the guests continued to look from one to the next. “I will not go into the specifics as to why you intended to do such a thing, but be assured that I will not allow it to stand.”
“How dare you threaten a duke with such a thing, Brookridge!” Arthur exclaimed, coming away from the mantlepiece and striding toward them. “You ought to be run out of this place!”
The murmurs of the guests began to grow somewhat louder and angrier. Pointing fingers jabbed in the viscount’s direction, who, to his own failing, did nothing to deny what had been said.
“You have failed in your scheme, Brookridge,” the duke continued calmly. “Now, pack your things and get out. You and I will never cross paths again.”
Sophia watched as her brother’s face paled all the more, his eyes turning from Sophia to the duke and back again. He had no real courage in the face of the duke’s anger, whilst the viscountess appeared to have nothing at all to say. It was as though she realized that her standing and her influence were now entirely ruined. There was no doubt that the news of what they had tried to do would spread all around London and Bath, meaning that she would not be able to show her face there for a good many years.
“Goodbye, Peter,” she said softly, as her brother stumbled toward the door. He paused and looked back at her, his jaw working, but finding nothing to say, he quit the room.
A sense of relief washed all through Sophia the moment the door closed, and she felt herself slump inwardly. The room was abuzz with chatter, questions being thrown at both herself and the duke, none of which she could bring herself to answer.
“Now, now!” the duke called, bringing the room to quiet. “I know there is a great deal that must be asked and explained, but can I suggest we go through to eat? I would much rather explain it all over a good meal!”
There were a few chuckles, and after a moment or two, the guests began to file out of the room. Sophia felt her hand pressed, her cheek kissed, and whispers of congratulations filling her ears. Her happiness knew no bounds; her heart freed entirely of the shackles it had once been held in.
“My dear Sophia,” the duke murmured, as the last of the guests quit the room. “You have shown so much courage and fortitude that I confess myself almost in awe of you.” He turned to face her, smiling down gently. “You have a beauty in your character that draws me nearer to you every day. Sarah loves you and cannot wait for you to be a permanent part of her life.” He swallowed, his fingers reaching up to gently lift her chin. “I love you so much, Sophia. I cannot wait to make you my wife.”
Thinking that she had never experienced such joy before, Sophia smiled back at him, her fingers twined with his. “And I cannot wait to be your bride,” she whispered, seeing her bright and happy future in his eyes. “I love you, Matthew. With all of my heart.”
* * *
LOVE THIS STORY? ENJOY THE COLLECTION
SECRETS OF LONDON: REGENCY ROMANCE COLLECTION
Diamonds of the Marquess
Season of Brides
Diamonds of the Marquess
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
England, 1816
“Papa?”
Lady Emily Dove, daughter to the Marquess of Rawson, stopped dead just inside her father’s study. Her hands scrabbled for a hold, as she struggled to take in what she was seeing. She had only just returned from a short walk and had come to take tea with her father, as was their custom. However, her father was not ready to take tea. Instead, he was sitting back in his chair with one arm covered in blood, his breathing ragged and face pale with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His entire study was ransacked. Papers were all over the place, glasses and ornaments lay smashed on the floor, and almost everything had been overturned.
“Emily,” her father groaned, pushing himself back in his chair. “You must get to safety.”
She shook her head, her face paling and her legs beginning to shake. As much as she wanted to go to him, as much as she wanted to help him, she could not so much as move. “You said this would never happen, Papa. You said—”
“Please,” he gasped, one hand pressed against his chest. “You know what you must do. Cynthia will be waiting.”
She did not want to leave him. She did not want to step away and leave her father alone. There was no way to tell what was happening to him, no way to tell if this would be the last time she would see him. Her fingers dug into the doorframe, forcing herself to remain upright.
“Go, Lady Emily.”
A strong hand grasped her arm, tugging her away. Spinning, she saw her father’s butler tugging her out of the room, his face white.
“He was asleep in his chair, and I heard no guest come into the house,” Jefferson said hoarsely. “But I will deal with the master. You must go, my lady. Do you have them safe?”
She could barely speak, giving a jerky nod.
“Then go,” he said, grasping her arm and pulling her gently away. “You will be safe with Lady Millington.”
Her breathing was ragged, her feet stumbling along the hallway. She had her father’s most precious possession, the thing that had brought him nothing but fear these last few months even though they had been his long before Emily had been born. It was already safely stored in her bedchamber, and now, even though they might have cost her father his life, she would not leave them behind. They would come with her, just as she had promised her dear papa. She had made that promise every night for the last few months, never really believing that anything would happen.
Each of the threatening notes her father had received of late, she’d read and then immediately dismissed with a laugh. It was nothing more than a foolish halfwit trying to get what he could from a rich marquess she had told her father, rolling her eyes at him. After all, they had been living quite contentedly these last few years and never had even a hint of trouble. Besides which, she had told herself, they were quite safe here in her father’s country estate, and Emily had been certain that no one would ever be able to reach them.
How wrong sh
e had been.
Gasping for breath, she stumbled into her bedroom, seeing the maids scurrying about, hauling her belongings onto the bed. There was no time for her to take much.
“Here, my lady,” one of the maids murmured, throwing a cloak over Emily’s shoulders. “You’d best make sure you’re warm. It’s a long way to London.”
Emily blinked but did not respond, feeling as though she were simply watching everything happen around her instead of actually being involved. She let her gaze drift across the room, knowing that she would not see it again for some time.
“You have them, my lady?”
Slowly, Emily turned her head back towards Sarah, the maid, not quite sure what she was asking.
“They’re still where they always were?” the maid asked, putting a tentative hand on Emily’s arm. “You haven’t moved them, have you?”
Blinking slowly, Emily finally worked out what the maid was saying and shook her head. Everything was moving so slowly, so carefully and tentatively, and she could not understand what was going on around her.
It was only when she found herself in the carriage, Sarah sitting opposite her as her lady’s maid as they were being driven out of the gates of her father’s country estate, that the coldness began to leave her bones. Her mind slowly came back to life as she worked through everything that had occurred that afternoon. Turning her head, she stared out of the back carriage window, desperate to see any sign of her father. No one had come to tell her what had happened to him or even whether or not he still lived. She was going to her new life without any real knowledge about her dearly loved father.
Her throat began to ache as she turned away from the window, her mind dulling with pain. Grief tore through her, as tears slipped from her eyes, unabated. This had never been more than something of a joke to her since she had never really believed that either she or her father was in any real danger. But now they were to be separated after all. Perhaps forever.
Closing her eyes against the sea of pain that threatened to drown her, Emily dragged in air, trying to steady herself. Her life was about to change completely, and it was something that would require all of her strength. Sniffing into her handkerchief, Emily leaned her head back against the squabs and, tired of fighting her tears, gave into her sorrows completely.
1
Two months later
“How are you, my dear?”
Emily closed her eyes, hating that there was still such a degree of sympathy in her patron’s voice, even though she had been with the family for some months now.
“I am quite well, Lady Millington. I thank you,” she replied, giving the lady the same response she had done for the last few weeks. “Thank you for your concern.”
Lady Millington sat down opposite Emily, her expression sympathetic, and Emily immediately felt a wave of guilt crash over her. Cynthia – who had been a dear friend of Emily’s late mother – had been nothing but kind to her since she had arrived on her doorstep some weeks ago, broken and afraid with only Sarah, her maid, for company.
Cynthia had been horrified to hear what had occurred and had treated Emily as though she were some fragile possession. The first month had been torturous, knowing nothing about what had occurred with her father and whether or not he still lived, but the beginning of the second month had brought a little respite with it. She had received the smallest of notes, bearing the words: “Alive. Hidden. Remain where you are.”
She had known what those words meant, well remembering the plan her father had gone over with her time and again, but having never expected to need to play it out. Sighing to herself, she looked across at Lady Millington, who was regarding her with those sharp blue eyes of hers.
It was not as though she disliked Lady Millington, but rather that her constant sympathy was growing a little wearying. Emily wanted to do something but knew she could not. All she was permitted to engage in were a few short walks around the gardens. There had been no outings to the many wonderful places London had to offer, no company to speak of, and certainly no thought of pursuing social affairs. Then again, social engagements had not been of particular importance to Emily. All she had been concerned about was her father.
“I can tell that you are struggling to be here all on your own,” Lady Millington began gently, her smile warm and friendly. “I have a proposition for you.”
Emily looked back at her patron, taking in the smile on Lady Millington’s face. Lady Millington had not yet displayed even an ounce of ill thought, always behaving wisely. She was elegant and graceful, with blonde curls that always were set just so, even though Emily knew it must take the maids a good deal of time to do so. She was still very beautiful, even though she would have been ages with Emily’s mother, had she lived. Her husband, the Earl of Millington, had passed away some years ago, and Emily had no recollection of meeting him although she had been told that she had done so some years ago.
Lady Millington was now enjoying life, having been left a townhouse in London and a smaller residence in the country near the Millington manor house, where her son, the new Earl of Millington, now resided.
“Emily?”
Jumping slightly, she realized that Lady Millington was waiting for her to respond.
“I do beg your pardon,” she stammered, a little flustered. “I was lost in thought for a moment.”
Lady Millington chuckled. “I can see that. You have done very well to be so strong thus far, my dear.”
Emily managed a small smile, aware of the heat in her cheeks. “I cannot tell you just how relieved I am to know my papa still lives. Even though I do not know where he is gone, it has brought me a good deal of happiness in the knowledge that he is not gone from this world, as I had feared.”
Reaching across to pat Emily’s hand, Lady Millington smiled gently. “I can imagine. Although why he does not simply get rid of those ridiculous gems, I cannot understand.”
Shaking her head to herself, Emily thought of the Hatherley diamonds, which were still hidden safely away amongst her things. They were the reason for all of this, and she could well understand why Lady Millington would think such a thing. But then she recalled how her father had often told her about his life before he had returned to England, how the diamonds had come into his possession, and she knew that she would fight to retain them despite the danger they brought.
“My father would be broken hearted,” she explained softly. “You know very well that they are precious to him.”
Sighing heavily, Lady Millington nodded and looked away, her expression tinged with frustration. She knew and understood the reason for the diamonds, although she clearly felt that the danger that came with them was much too great. However, out of loyalty to Emily’s late mother, as well as to the marquess himself, she did not press the matter of the diamonds any further.
“Ah, here is the tea tray,” Lady Millington murmured, as the door opened. “I thought you might be in need of some refreshment.”
As Lady Millington continued to talk about a good many things – the weather, the fashions, the fact that Lord Featherstone was much too old to be wearing such gaudy clothes, Emily let her mind drift back to the Hatherley diamonds, recalling the day her father had first shown them to her.
He had never been destined to be Marquess of Rawson. That had been his elder brother’s responsibility, and so, without an inclination towards anything in particular, he had gone into the army. With purchased colors, he had done rather well and had forged a strong bond with one Lord Thomas Ferguson, who was in his regiment.
Thomas had been the second son also, and the two had become firm friends. Emily closed her eyes for a moment, remembering her father’s exact words as he told the story to her. It was as if he were in the room, his familiar voice surrounding her.
Thomas and he had returned to London for a short respite, and it was here that Thomas had shown him the Hatherley diamonds. They were a family heirloom, but on winning a bet against his elder brother, he had claimed them for hi
s own. He had in mind to bestow them on his dear love, a Miss Eleanor Castleton.
However, it was not to be. Thomas had been brought down, far from the fair shores of England, and the marquess had cradled him in his arms, as death had approached his friend. Out there, on the battlefield, he had promised to give the Hatherley diamonds to Miss Eleanor Castleton, whomever she might be. Thomas had made him swear that they would be given to her and never removed from her family line. Since they were Thomas’ to give, the marquess had accepted the request without hesitation.
Once back in England, he found the lady after a good deal of searching and had told her all that had occurred. He had bestowed the Hatherley diamonds on her, and she, from what Emily recalled of the story, had sobbed in his arms. It had been from that moment onwards that their lives had become intertwined. The marquess had married Miss Eleanor, having fallen deeply in love, and it was only a year after their marriage that he found himself ascending to the title, thanks to his brother’s premature death from a duel of some kind.
Emily was the second of their two children, with her elder brother currently abroad looking over his father’s holdings. The diamonds had remained in their family, just as Thomas had wanted, and there had never been even the smallest hint of trouble – until a few months ago. The old Marquess of Hatherley had passed away, and now his son had taken his place in line – and he did not appear to be pleased that the Hatherley diamonds remained in the Marquess of Rawson’s possession.
Whilst there had been no formal request for the return of the diamonds, Emily was quite sure that the notes that were sent to her father, demanding that he leave the diamonds in one place or another so that they might be collected by the writer of the notes, had come from no other than the current Marquess of Hatherley.