Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  She knew where her time had gone. To her father. He’d been ill since before she could remember. She’d tried to hire nurses to see to his care, but none of them had actually cared. Therefore, if she’d wanted her father to live, she’d had to see to it herself.

  And he had lived. With Irene as his nurse, he’d lived far longer than the doctors had thought he would. The Duke of Van Dero should have died at sixty, but Irene had seen him through another decade.

  Then her brother Gregory had been murdered and their father had lost his will to live when he’d lost his heir. It hadn’t mattered what Irene did after that. He’d wasted away before her eyes. Two months and he’d been gone.

  The tragedy of her family’s demise had almost broken her. Cecilia had no clue how much helping Rachel and Winifred prepare for their Season had helped Irene cope with the deaths of her loved ones.

  But Cecilia was right about one thing. The girls wouldn’t need her anymore. They each had a chaperone and a mother who could easily introduce them into Society. It meant Irene needed something to do, something to occupy her mind before she went mad.

  She’d been thinking about it for weeks. She knew this day was coming.

  She also knew it made sense to marry. She was a spinster, but her father had died with more wealth than the Crown and no one but her and his heir to leave it to.

  He had left half of it to her, surprisingly.

  “I’ve thought to get involved in my father’s business dealings, aside from what the assailant offers.”

  “You already did,” Cecilia said. “This is getting dangerous.”

  “He doesn’t touch me anymore.”

  “Marry, Irene. Let a man help you with the assailant. I fear with every discovery, you are putting yourself in danger.”

  Though Irene hated when women thought a man the solution to a problem, she admitted that having one in her bed would give her the greatest amount of comfort.

  “Have that child you’ve always wanted,” Cecilia said.

  Irene had to fight to keep from touching her belly. It wasn’t too late. She could have a baby of her own. But she sighed. “I can’t marry. I won’t settle.” She’d just told the girls that very thing. How could she then go and settle for anything else than love? “If I did, it would have to be him.” The only man she’d ever loved.

  Cecilia leaned forward. “Irene, perhaps it’s best we look elsewhere. There are other men; men who would marry you the moment you dared to look their way.”

  “Men who are interested in my father’s money, I know.”

  “You can’t know that for certain.”

  Irene frowned. “None of them gave me more than a polite greeting until my brother died.”

  “But surely, you understand why I urge you to look elsewhere. It’s been six years, and he hasn’t asked for your hand.” They’d had this discussion before.

  “But in the past year, he’s approached me.” After the customary period for mourning, Irene had returned to Society and the Marquess of Fawley, Clive Dendrick, had been there to offer his condolences. He all but made it his mission to see how she was faring every chance he got.

  “All you and Lord Clive do is fight.”

  Irene smiled. They did bicker more than they exchanged pleasantries. “He sent me gifts. Many gifts.”

  “Out of guilt,” Cecilia said. “He stole your hairpin and to make amends, he sent you hairpins.”

  “But not the one he stole.” Irene’s lips curled up. “He kept my hairpin for himself.”

  Her friend opened her mouth, but Irene cut her off. “Also, he is unwed. Beautiful, wealthy, titled, and yet unwed. What do you think that says?” She answered her own question. “It means he pines for me. My father hated him. Everyone knew that. Clive almost ruined my reputation.”

  Cecilia straightened and released a breath. “At this point, if you truly believe the Marquess of Fawley is in love with you than I support your heart’s desire. Your father, God rest his soul, is gone. So, we must force the marquess to act on his feelings.”

  Irene thought about that. She’d thought about it plenty in the past. She’d even mentioned it to her father, but Lord Van Dero had not held Fawley in high esteem.

  And now her pater slept with his fathers. Irene had had years to prepare for her father’s death. When it came, there was little surprise.

  Was it wrong to go against her father’s wishes? The circumstances surrounding their discord seemed so small now. And for Irene, that had always been the case.

  Lord Fawley, or Clive, as Irene called him, had stolen Irene’s hairpin at a party and left her with a longing that never quite went away.

  Irene touched her stomach. She wanted a baby of her own. She wanted Clive Dendrick more.

  And she would not settle for less.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 2

  * * *

  “Do it again, Uncle Clive!” George shouted.

  “Yes, please, Uncle Clive.” Miriam always wanted everything George wanted.

  Lord Clive Dendrick positioned his hold on his dagger and then flung. It shot through the air and made an audible thud as he cut through the trees, right through the circle George had painted on the bark.

  Clive turned just as George approached. The thirteen-year-old came up to Clive’s chest. It surprised Clive every time he noticed it. Miriam was shorter but not by much. She’d turned eleven a few days ago. Between her four uncles and doting father, she’d received more gifts than she’d been able to fit into her room.

  Both the children were blond and blue-eyed, though with varying shades and intensities. Miriam’s hair was like wild sunlight. Her eyes shined like stars. George’s hair was cooler, as were his eyes.

  “Can you teach me how to do that?” George asked. His breath was a cloud in the cold air. Both the children were bundled up.

  “What do you need to know how to throw a dagger for?” Clive asked, even though Clive was certain he himself had learn around his age.

  “Why do you need to know it?” The Countess of Ganden, Lucy, came up to them and touched her nephew’s head. “No tossing daggers.”

  “But what if a bad man comes after Miriam?” the young boy asked.

  Miriam moved behind George as though there were an actual villain in the private garden. Had there truly been danger near, Clive was certain she’d still have chosen George as her protector of the three. There was little logic to the way the children loved one another. They weren’t related. They were but friends who’d found each other during the worst and best parts of their lives. Their bond was strong.

  Inappropriately so. There was little doubt in anyone’s mind they’d wed, but their parents had asked everyone to be quiet on the subject for now.

  “If a bad man comes after Miriam, her father will protect her,” Lucy said, cupping the boy’s cheek. She enjoyed staking her claim on her nephew with gentle easy touches. George allowed them but only because Lucy touched her husband the same way. Kent, the Earl of Ganden, was a beast of a man. The very fact that he breathed intimidated most of London. Therefore, George reasoned that if his Uncle Kent allowed touches that would make other men look weak, George was strong enough to accept them as well.

  “But what if Uncle Garrick is not here?” George asked her. “What if Miriam and I are alone?”

  Lucy tripped over her words. “You’ll never be alone. Never. I mean… it would be improper.”

  Clive chuckled and then touched George’s shoulder. ‘I’ll teach you to throw a dagger when you’re sixteen.”

  “Huzzah!” George turned to Miriam. “Let’s go look at Uncle Marley’s nutcrackers.”

  Miriam walked alongside him without any doubt as to it being her rightful place.

  Lucy made a nervous sound and licked her lips. “Sometimes, I wonder if I should separate them, have them spend less time together, and force George to spend time with other people.”

  Clive’s stomach fell at the thought. “Why? The boy goes to school. He meets o
thers. He prefers Miriam. He’s a smart boy to stake his claim on that one.”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s too soon.”

  “He wanted to go to Eton. You and Kent made the trip north and upon reaching your destination, he decided he could not be away from her. Soon or not, it’s done.” Clive couldn’t understand her worry. He’d have given anything for a love like that. He’d never seen anything more true or pure in his life. His friends had all wed. They’d found the one person in the world who could mend their souls.

  And now, even the children had paired off. Clive was the odd man out. “It’s innocent.”

  “For now,” Lucy agreed. “But shouldn’t they have a chance to meet other people?”

  Clive scoffed and went for his dagger. “When it’s right, it’s right. Don’t muddy the waters.”

  Lucy followed. “But how can you know if something is right until you know what is wrong?”

  Women and their complicated questions. “That makes no sense.” He pulled the dagger from the tree, sheathed and pocketed the blade. “You’re lucky they know the truth at such an early age. They’ll make less mistakes.” Unlike him. George and Miriam had found one another before life, the Ton, and pressures of Society itself could truly pollute the clarity of what made them most happy.

  He’d give anything to go back and undo the mistakes he’d made. “There will be less heartache and less headache for you.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. A blond curl whipped across her face, reminding him of fine lace. She was beautiful. Soft. Kind. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Clive nodded and crossed his arms. “Now, I’m sure you didn’t come out here for a lesson in dagger tossing or my opinion on child rearing.”

  “You’re not bad for either. Would you truly teach me how to toss a dagger if I asked?” Her eyes glittered with mischief. George’s eyes were quite similar, as was the rest of his coloring. One would never know that Lucy wasn’t his mother, but his aunt, raising the boy in her departed sister’s stead. “With all the trouble you men cause, it might be good for me to know a thing or two.”

  She wasn’t wrong. The men, the five Lost Lords, which included her husband, had caused quite a bit of trouble over the past few years. A few deaths as well, not that any of it was their fault. They were called the Lost Lords because they’d been taken against their will and hidden in a home run by a madman. Those who had arranged their kidnapping were dead, but that didn’t mean the storm was over. For now, all was calm, but Clive could feel something approaching.

  “Is Kent here?” Clive asked.

  Lucy sobered. “He’s here. He’s with the others. They’re waiting for you, waiting for your report.”

  Clive smiled. “Thank you for giving me a few more minutes to enjoy the day.” The air was cold, but the sun was out.

  She smiled, apologizing with her gaze. “I’m sorry, but you have no idea how stressed Kent is about this. I’ve told him that I don’t care, that he could tell Society before the gossip can get a hold of the story.”

  “But if there is a chance that no one need know the truth, we might fight for it,” Clive said. Though he was quite tired of it being his responsibility. He didn’t tell that to Lucy, of course, because though she’d told Kent not to worry about his big secret, she did. She worried about how it would affect her husband if it got out.

  He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  They parted inside. Lucy went to watch the children even though there were governesses for that. Clive went to Marley’s office.

  The Duke of Astlen’s home was the largest of the group, and its position in Regent Park afforded the men the privacy they needed. There were no other homes close enough for others to hear through the walls, allowing the men to plot and plan actions that the ton would frown upon.

  They were the Lost Lords in more than one way. Their very souls were in question.

  Marley Bing’s desk was covered with a paper from every publisher in London. It was a daily routine, to search the papers. “There’s nothing here.”

  Kent Harris, the Earl of Ganden, rested on the couch. His head was back. His eyes were closed. His and Lucy’s year-old-son Alvin rested on his chest. The boy was asleep and looked far less troubled than his father. “Almost a year and still nothing. Perhaps, there will never be anything.”

  They were hunting for a letter that had been written by Kent’s father, which detailed how Kent was not his true son but the child of his wife’s adulterous affair. She’d been pregnant when they’d wed.

  “It’s best we are prepared for anything and everything,” Marley said as he looked through the papers again. He was often like a dog with a bone. He never let anything go.

  James Hayden IV was by the window, but for once, he wasn’t looking out as though expecting some sort of attack. His face was lined with both worry and scars. Like every man in the room— except for Clive— his hair was dark, but there had never existed eyes blacker than his. Paired with the old scarring that would forever be imprinted on his skin, the Marquess of Denhallow could look quite menacing.

  Garrick, Clive’s best mate, stood by the fireplace. The Viscount of Coalwater was a silent man. A mute by most accounts, except around those he felt most comfortable. The men had learned to sign because of him. They now used the manual language as a tool to send messages through crowds with no one being aware of what they were saying.

  But for the last few months, all they spoke about was Kent’s big secret.

  Clive, like the others, had searched the papers as well. They did so every morning. They’d done it for almost a year. “Will we ever talk about anything else again?” he asked to announce his presence.

  “We can talk about your fiancée, Lady Irene.” Kent cracked a green eye open. He was teasing. All the men teased him about Irene, who was certainty not and would never be Clive’s fiancée.

  Irene was attracted to him. Never one to be bothered by what others thought of her, she did nothing to hide her senseless infatuation.

  But there was something else in Kent’s eyes as well. Something chilling. “Has she said anything, hinting at knowing the truth?” The letter the former Lord Ganden had written had been addressed to Lord Van Dero, Irene’s father.

  Clive had begun to spend more time with her, purposefully attending parties he knew she would attend just so he could question her about her father’s operation. The men had thought it best Clive handle her, since Irene was more inclined to tell him.

  “She had no idea that you are the love child of your mother and a footman,” Clive said.

  Kent grunted. “Love child. That woman knows nothing of love.”

  Clive wasn’t sure. The dowager Lady Ganden was cold now, but there might have been a time when she hadn’t been. Perhaps, she’d been happy once. Clive had been happy. He was happy now but far more cynical about his path to marriage.

  Undoubtedly, he’d wed and undoubtedly, it would be for convenience more than love. Clive leaned against a nearby wall. “As Garrick and I have stated before, Irene is nothing like her father or brother.”

  Ten years ago, Lord Van Dero and nine other men had devised a plan to kidnap a wealthy lord in order to use his bank account to fund a war. Their first victim had been Garrick. The Viscount of Coalwater’s money had seemed endless, yet the men quickly learned it wasn’t enough.

  So they stole another lord and then another, only taking those who had offended the ton in some way, men who wouldn’t be missed, men who the world would easily assume had run away because of their sodded reputation.

  The war was eventually successful. It made Lord Van Dero and his men extremely wealthy.

  Lord Gregory Hiller, Irene’s brother, had been one of those men involved. He and the others were dead. Some had been given a proper execution by the courts, the rest had been picked off by Garrick. Clive and the others had been present for Gregory’s death. He wasn’t sure if any of them felt any remorse for their part in the man’s death, but Clive only fe
lt it when he was around Irene.

  She was an innocent in more than a few ways.

  While Garrick had been hunting for those responsible for their kidnapping, he’d watched Irene and had come to the conclusion that Irene was unaware of her father’s involvement in their torture.

  Clive wondered how she’d respond if word got out. His relationship with the woman was hard to define. He didn’t like her. Not really, but he didn’t hate her either. To say he was indifferent would also be a lie. It was complicated. He didn’t want to see her hurt.

  “The watchmen we’ve hired to oversee her report the same,” James said. Not only were they watching Irene to get to the letter but to keep her safe. They’d heard murmurs from men who’d been threatened by Van Dero in the past. Some wished for revenge in the only way that was left, hurting the man’s daughter.

  Clive had encouraged every man to send a watchman by the house at night, being that they were more or less responsible for Irene’s vulnerability.

  “What about Lord Van Dero’s man of business?” Marley asked Garrick. “Do we still have eyes on him?”

  Garrick nodded. The men had hired a few spies. They not only watched the man himself but most of his servants. If Mr. Crow made any moves to expose Kent’s truth to the papers, the Lost Lords would know.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  * * *

  “We can go with my idea,” Kent said. His eyes were closed again. Dark circles rested under his eyes, but Clive doubted Alvin was the reason the earl wasn’t getting any sleep. “We can pull our watchmen back and allow one of those vengeful gentlemen to frighten Lady Irene just a tad.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Clive asked him.

  Kent went on, “It might prompt whoever has the damning letter to react. We may be able to find the letter once it’s out.”

  Clive stepped forward. “No. She is innocent. We are not people who attack innocence.”