Ladies and Their Secrets: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  Thomas’s throat worked. He wanted to remind Francis that he had been the one to find Francis standing over a man’s body with a bloody knife in his hand, but he could say nothing of the sort. His voice would not work as it ought.

  The rest of the courthouse fell silent as Francis continued to speak, with almost everyone hanging on the condemned man’s words.

  “I tell you the truth, Sharpe. I swear it to you. What you saw was not as things were. I found the knife, and—stupidly—I picked it up. The fact that I knew the fellow did not stand me in good stead, I admit, but I give you my word that I had nothing to do with his death. As for my other crimes…” He looked away, his expression grave. “Some of them were my own foolishness, but others have been placed upon my shoulders in the hope that I will be found guilty. You must find out why, Sharpe. You must.”

  Thomas shook his head, not quite sure what to say or what to think. He did not have an easy answer for his friend, for as far as he was concerned, the verdict had been read out. The next few years of Francis’s life would be spent in incarceration before he was allowed his freedom—should he survive that long.

  “Then if you will not do this, then you must promise me to take care of my sister,” Francis stated, as a few gasps came from the assembled crowd. “You know she will not be able to hold her head up in society again. That shame is not hers to bear, Sharpe. You know it is not. Swear to me that you will take pity on her, that you will take care of her. She has no other.”

  Slowly, Thomas let out his breath, recalling Francis’s only sister, Julianna. The youngest of four, she had never really caught Thomas’s attention—even though it would have made Francis more than delighted if Thomas had chosen to court her. Francis was correct to state that Julianna would not be able to even attend a single ball or social occasion from this day onwards. What would become of her then? Would she become a spinster, broken and alone? He could understand Francis’s concern.

  “You have brothers,” he stated weakly, aware that everyone in the court was listening to his reply—although why the magistrate was allowing such a conversation, he did not know. “Can they not care for her?”

  Francis shook his head, his mane of brown hair flying about his face. “You know full well that such a thing would never occur,” he stated plainly. “Please, Lord Sharpe. Consider this my final request to you.”

  Thomas’s heart bled. This gentleman had been his friend, even though he now felt as though he’d never really known Francis at all. He couldn’t refuse this request, knowing that he would not see him again. “Very well,” he said, feeling as though he had no other choice. “I give you my word; I will ensure she is taken care of.” He did not state that he would court her himself, nor that he would make sure she found a husband, but rather promised that he would simply ensure she was cared for and not left to a life of loneliness. How he was to go about that, he was not quite certain, but the relief that flashed in Francis’s eyes made Thomas feel as though he had made the right choice.

  “Then, I have nothing else to say,” Francis finished, turning back around to face the magistrate, as he fumbled for something in his pocket. “I will not bear the shame of a guilt I have no reason to bear. Let this be a lesson to you all.”

  Thomas stared in horror as Francis pulled a small bottle from his pocket. Before anyone could stop him, he had pulled the small cork from the top and threw back the liquid before throwing the bottle to the ground, letting it smash into tiny pieces.

  “Do not forget your promise to me,” Francis said, turning around to look up at Thomas again. “You have sworn it.”

  “I will not,” Thomas whispered, seeing how Francis began to pale. He watched in shock as Francis closed his eyes tightly, his expression one of severe pain. Then, slowly, he began to crumble, his legs too weak to hold him up any longer. A gasp ricocheted around the room, as Francis Newton, second son to Baron Hollard, collapsed to the floor, his head striking the ground hard.

  For a moment, no one moved. And then the magistrate hurried towards the fallen gentleman, his face wreathed in horror.

  “He is dead,” he pronounced, after a moment or two. Rising to his feet, he shook his head as the courtroom came to life with all manner of exclamations. “Take him away.”

  Thomas stared in utter confusion, as two men came to lift Francis’s lifeless body from the floor, his head pounding with confusion and his heart aching with pain. What had just occurred? What had Francis drunk that had rendered him so? Poison of some sort? Staring, unblinkingly, at the space where Francis’s body had lain, Thomas tried to come to terms with the fact that his friend was gone, his body soon to be laid to rest in the cold ground outside the churchyard. He would not be allowed to be buried with the rest of his family, not after his crimes.

  Do not forget your promise.

  Those words whispered in his ear, as though spoken by Francis’s spirit as it ascended. Thomas shuddered violently, his eyes squeezing shut as he dragged in air. He had made a promise, yes, and he was not likely to forget it. He would do as he had said, just as he had said, for the sake of the friendship he and Francis had once shared.

  His friend was dead. The torment was gone. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, Thomas could not forget just how earnest Francis had been in his promise that he was not guilty of the crimes put to him. Could it be true? Could Francis have somehow been made to take on such a guilt so that the true culprit could go free? Francis had never been particularly wise, which meant it would have been easy for someone to manipulate him into doing something which seemed entirely innocuous but had a more sinister end.

  “You should leave the court, my lord.”

  Shaken from his stupor, Thomas tried to clear his mind enough to realize what the gentleman to his left was saying.

  “Tis not wise to remain here,” the elderly, white-haired gentleman said, with a kind look in his eyes. “Mr. Newton was your friend, then?”

  Thomas barely realized that he was being led from the courthouse until the cold air hit him in the face, shocking him back to his senses. “Yes,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, Mr. Newton was my friend once.”

  The kindly gentleman nodded and patted his arm. “You did him a kindness in agreeing to what you did,” he said, tugging his coat around him a little more tightly. “I’m sure this sister of his, whomever she is, will be grateful for your company. She will need it in the months to follow.”

  “Yes, of course,” Thomas replied, without really thinking. “There will be the funeral and the mourning first of course.”

  “But then you will be by her side, escorting her through London, will you not?” the gentleman asked, looking at Thomas with a firm eye. “Just as you said.”

  “I will,” Thomas answered quickly, feeling as though he were being put to the test in some way. “But that will not be for a year.”

  The gentleman nodded. “Then I insist that when the time comes, you both call upon me. I shall ensure that she is not barred from any social events that I should run.”

  Thomas blinked, a little confused.

  “I am the Marquess of Thurston,” the gentleman continued, seeing Thomas’s confusion. “I may not be a duke, but I have some sway over the beau monde. And I am not truly convinced that Mr. Newton was as guilty as they all say. There is more at work here, I am quite sure.” He shook his head, his lined face a little grave. “But that is all at an end now, I suppose.”

  “Quite,” said Thomas faintly.

  “Until next year then,” the marquess said, a little more cheerfully. “Good day to you, Lord Sharpe. And thank you for helping me from the courthouse. It is much appreciated.”

  Thomas did not quite know what to say, watching the older gentleman walk away and finding that he was more than a little confused. After everything that he had witnessed, after everything that had occurred, he was more than a little troubled.

  “To White’s then,” he muttered, ensuring that his hat was firmly on his head. He did not hail a h
ackney but rather began to walk, praying that the many brandies he intended to down would clear his mind of all the disquieting thoughts that were already beginning to torment him.

  1

  One Year Later

  Miss Julianna Newton was dressed in the highest fashion, with what could only be described as the most beautiful bonnet she had ever seen placed delicately over her blonde curls.

  She looked to be the picture of perfection, but yet, despite the reflection staring back at her from the looking glass, Julianna knew that she was utterly terrified.

  Terrified that society was about to turn their backs on her as one, that she would be given the cut direct by so many others in the ton that she would have no other option but to return to the house in disgrace.

  “You look quite perfect, miss.”

  Julianna managed a tight smile, looking at her lady’s maid. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “You’ve done very well.” Removing the bonnet, she handed it back to the maid. “I will require my bonnet later this afternoon, although not at this present moment.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and asked if there was anything else she needed. Since there was nothing for Julianna to do—other than wait for her mysterious visitor to arrive—Julianna dismissed her.

  Her stomach knotted despite her calm outward appearance. It had been a little over a year since her elder brother Francis had apparently killed himself in court after being convicted of murder, theft, and a whole host of smaller offenses. It had come as a terrible shock to the whole family, and her eldest brother, the newly titled Baron Hollard, had immediately removed both herself and her only other brother, Henry Newton, back to the family estate for their year of mourning.

  It had been a truly terrible year. It had been difficult enough to accept that Francis had been found guilty of such crimes, but quite another thing to accept that he had taken his own life rather than face the shame of what he had done. It had not made any sense to her, for the judgement had been that he should be incarcerated instead of facing the gallows, but instead Francis had chosen to end his life in some sort of protest against the supposed injustices he felt had been placed upon him.

  What sort of guilty man would do such a thing?

  After she had commenced her mourning, her elder brother had instructed her that she would be returning to London the following summer for the Season, expecting her somehow to find herself a suitable husband—even with the disgrace that was still lying heavily upon them all. Her brother, Henry, had remained mostly silent during their mourning year but had scoffed loudly at the idea that any of them would be able to find a marriage partner now.

  Jonathan, as the eldest brother and the one carrying the family title, had simply ignored Henry and had informed Julianna that she had a sponsor.

  This had come as something of a surprise, for Julianna could not imagine who it was that had chosen to sponsor her in such a way, especially when she was bound to be looked upon with disgrace. And yet, much to her surprise, she had found herself meeting with the Marchioness of Thurston, who had called upon her the very first day she had arrived in London.

  That had been the most extraordinary meeting. The marchioness was considerably older than Julianna had expected but seemed to exude a youthful vitality that had brought a little relief to Julianna’s soul. Lady Thurston had not explained in particular detail why she wished to sponsor Julianna, but had said that it had been her husband, the Marquess of Thurston’s idea and she had been more than glad to go along with it. In addition, the marchioness had explained that she had already discovered that there was a particular gentleman who wished to speak to her about a certain matter, although that would not be possible until after Julianna had been presented.

  It had been something of a whirlwind since then. In this last week, she had been sent for various fittings, been gifted a few new beautiful dresses – which the Marchioness of Thurston had pressed upon her without question – and then been introduced at court with the Marchioness of Thurston as her sponsor. Now her Season in London could begin.

  Unfortunately for Julianna, she was rather afraid that any gentleman she met would simply turn their back on her, once they realized who she was. It was rather unfair, she considered, rising to her feet and making her way towards the door. To have her brother behave so terribly was one thing, but to have his actions blacken her own character was quite another. She had never stolen a single thing, nor lied for her own gain. In fact, she had done everything she could to be as respectable and as honorable as she could, just as she was expected to. For how else was she to find herself a husband?

  “Not that there is much chance of such a thing occurring now,” she murmured sadly to herself, as she made her way through the small, quiet townhouse occupied only by herself and her elder brother Henry Newton. Her eldest brother, the Baron of Hollard, had chosen to remain at home on his estate, given his duties and responsibilities, but had assured her that she was to be very well looked after by both Henry and her then-unknown sponsor.

  Today was to be her first meeting with the gentleman Lady Thurston had mentioned. Although, again, nothing had been said as to why he wished to see her nor what the matter was on which he wanted to speak. Apparently, all would become clear. She was just to expect him on Wednesday afternoon at four o’clock sharp.

  The clock chimed, and Julianna held her breath.

  “Miss Newton?”

  The door opened to reveal the butler, bowing gracefully as he held a silver tray in his hand.

  “You have a visitor,” he said, handing her the tray. “Lord Sharpe, I believe.”

  “Lord Sharpe?”

  Julianna frowned, not recognizing the name as she lifted the card from the tray.

  “I do believe so, Miss Newton,” the butler said, with his usual infinite patience. “Shall I show him in?”

  Julianna glanced over her shoulder to ensure that there was a maid seated in the corner. “Is my brother not at home?” she asked, twisting her fingers nervously. After all, she had spoken to Henry about this particular visit and had asked him to be present for propriety’s sake, but it appeared that he had either forgotten or simply did not care.

  “I cannot say, miss,” the butler replied hesitantly. “I fear he may still be abed.”

  She closed her eyes tightly, a little embarrassed. “I see.” She could not turn away her visitor now, not when the arrangement had already been made. “Then yes, please do show him in. And once you have done so, will you have the maid bring a tea tray?”

  A flicker of sympathy was in the butler’s eyes as he nodded. “But of course.”

  “I thank you.”

  Turning this way and that as she walked in front of the fireplace awaiting her visitor’s entrance, Julianna tried not to give in to her frustrations over her brother’s absence. She was nervous enough without Henry behaving in his usual selfish, thoughtless manner, but then again, she ought to have expected such a thing. After all, her brother was not inclined towards anyone but himself.

  Straightening her shoulders, Julianna forced herself to stop walking and turned to face the door in preparation. She was not quite sure what she expected, for it was rather awkward to greet a stranger when they had never been introduced. How she wished her brother had been here instead of remaining abed!

  “Lord Sharpe, Miss Newton.”

  The butler gave a small bow and quit the room, although he made sure to leave the door ajar just as Julianna had instructed. Julianna managed a small smile, as she dropped into a curtsy, feeling her face flame with embarrassment.

  “I must apologize that my brother is not here to oversee our introductions, Lord Sharpe,” she said, as she raised her head. “He is…unwell.”

  Lord Sharpe was a tall, somewhat thin man with a dark brown hair that swept across his forehead. With his rectangular face, sturdy jaw, and proud nose, he looked every inch the gentleman—although Julianna was caught by the most interesting set of grey eyes she had ever seen. They were looking at he
r intently, swirling with an intensity that was somewhat unsettling. He was not smiling, but his lips were pulled taut, as though he was displeased with what he found. There were smudges beneath his eyes, betraying a lack of sleep, which was, much too often, due to society’s social occasions. Although, she could not tell by appearance alone whether he enjoyed such things. All in all, Julianna considered him quite severe.

  “Miss Newton.”

  She inclined her head, aware of the heat that infused her cheeks at his deep, graveled voice.

  “You were expecting me, I hope?”

  She felt the sting of his rebuke, even though he had not said a single word of reproach.

  “Yes, of course,” she said softly. “The Marchioness of Thurston informed me that I was to have a caller at this exact time, although I was not aware who it was to be calling.”

  Lord Sharpe blinked, looking somewhat confused. “You did not know that I was to call upon you?”

  “No,” she replied, hoping she had not insulted him in some way. “Lady Thurston has arranged all manner of things for me thus far and—”

  “She is your sponsor, I think.”

  Julianna bristled for a moment, a little annoyed at how he had interrupted her. “That is so,” she answered, in as even a voice as she could. “They are both very kind.”

  Lord Sharpe nodded slowly, his eyes roving around the room as though he expected to see her brother there. He appeared a little more relieved upon spotting the maid, and when she asked if he would sit, he did so without hesitation. Lord Sharpe seemed to perch on the edge of the chair instead of sitting with any sort of ease, making her feel both nervous and uncertain in equal measure.

  “You have not been informed as to my particular reason for calling upon you then?” Lord Sharpe said slowly, looking at her with those unusual eyes that had her so entranced despite her uncertainty. “It is to do with the Marquess of Thurston, of course, but also because of a promise I made.”