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

by Deborah Wilson

  “How?” her father asked. “How did you…?”

  Ebba moved to the edge of her seat. “Papa, I’ve never wanted anything more than this. You know that. Neither a husband nor children would satisfy me.”

  Her mother gasped again, but this time for a new reason. Ebba’s words were all but blasphemous to her mother, yet she’d said them before.

  “I adore you both,” Ebba said. “I see the love between you. That is how I feel when I am on stage. I know you don’t understand it, but it’s true. Marriage is not for me. It has never been for me.”

  Her father stood and began to pace. “Ebba, you can’t be Lady Macbeth.”

  Thankfully, she was seated when he spoke. Otherwise, she’d have fainted. Her lips trembled. “Papa, please.”

  “Alex,” her mother chided.

  He turned to his wife swiftly and then returned to her side as though led by an invisible leash.

  Yes, their love was exactly how she felt about the theatre. She loved the silence before the auditorium filled. She liked the way it brought people together. She loved the way scenes moved people, pulling emotions from the depths of souls, causing weeping and anguish or happiness and laughter.

  Ebba looked at her parents and found them watching her silently.

  Her father narrowed his eyes but then smiled softly. “I believe I had that far-off look in my eyes when I first saw you.” He was speaking to wife.

  “You did.” Lady Emma sighed and took her husband’s hand. “We’ve been very blessed.”

  Very blessed indeed. Thirty years. Seven children, a war, and not one of them was dead. Ebba’s second brother, Noah, had fought against Napoleon and had returned a hero.

  For the most part, all of their children were successful in their own ways. Ebba’s elder sisters had married very well and were happy with their matches, as were all her brothers except Noah.

  Only Ebba and Noah had yet to wed.

  “You’ve had over a dozen suitors,” her father said. “You didn’t wish to marry any of them?” Lord Paxen would never force his children to marry someone they didn’t choose on their own. Every child who’d wed had married for love.

  “No,” Ebba said. “I don’t wish to marry.”

  “Perhaps, you’ve yet to find the one,” her mother said. “The one who will sweep you off your feet.” She threw her hands in the air as though she were being swept away onto a ballroom floor.

  Her father turned and looked ready to take advantage of his wife’s open arms— ever the rake where his Lady Paxen was concerned— but a glance in Ebba’s direction reminded her that she’d interrupted whatever they’d been up to.

  “Perhaps, you’re right,” her father said, speaking to his wife once again. “Perhaps, Ebba has yet to meet the right man.” He took her hand once more. “Were it not for cousin Buford, we’d have never met.”

  Sadness crept into her mother’s eyes. “Buford. Yes.”

  Lord Buford Amdon, the former Viscount of Coalwater, was gone, had been for many years, but whenever his name was mentioned in their home, it was always done with reverence.

  Ebba remembered her cousin but didn’t like to think about him, because thoughts of Buford always led to—

  “Garrick,” her mother whispered with anguish. “Poor boy.”

  Garrick Amdon was Buford’s son and the current Viscount of Coalwater.

  He was also far from a boy, though her mother often referred to him as one.

  If the rumors were correct, Garrick had turned a brothel in Covent Garden into his personal harem.

  Garrick was, in fact, twenty-four, but eight years ago, something terrible had happened to him. He’d been kidnapped at sixteen and held captive for four years. Since Coalwater had always had trouble speaking, Ebba wasn’t sure anyone knew the full story of his experience.

  He’d been a broken man upon his return. Ebba’s father had stepped in and tried to be the father Garrick had lost, but Garrick had preferred the company of lightskirts and so Lord Paxen had left him to his own devices, claiming that one day Garrick would meet the woman who would understand him and love him.

  Love was Lord Paxen’s answer to everything.

  Yet four years later, not much had changed. All the men responsible for her cousin’s capture had been locked away, but Coalwater only emerged from the brothel when his friends, the other men who’d been kidnapped, beckoned him to join them for some special occasion.

  Ebba knew them all. The Duke of Astlen, the Marquess of Fawley, the Marquess of Denhallow, and the Earl of Ganden. Ebba also knew their wives. Only Coalwater and Fawley had yet to attach themselves to anyone.

  “No one deserves love more than Garrick,” Lord Paxen said.

  “Then how about we trade,” Ebba mocked. “He can marry, and I can take his freedom to do as I please.”

  She hadn’t meant the words. Such things were not possible. One couldn’t trade lives with another. A woman could never have what a man could simply if he went after it.

  Yet… Ebba noticed her father was looking at her differently and then, slowly, a rakish smile bloomed upon his face.

  “All right, Ebba.” Her father turned to her, still holding his wife’s hand. “A trade then. You find Garrick a wife, someone who loves him, and I’ll let you be Lady Macbeth.”

  Her mother did what she always did. Gasp. She was easily surprised.

  But Ebba was amazed. “You want me to find Garrick a wife?”

  Her father nodded. “You accomplish that, and I’ll let you perform at the theatre for this one part. Of course, one of your sisters will have to act as your chaperone, maybe Noah as well. We can take measures to ensure your reputation if need be.”

  Ebba smiled. She knew hordes of ladies, many who would love to marry her cousin, a viscount, a wealthy gentleman who was very handsome. It wouldn’t even bother them too greatly that he chose not to speak. The ladies in her circle, except for a limited few, always did whatever she told them to do.

  Her father, clearly knowing where Ebba’s thoughts were going, pointed a finger at her. “It has to be love, Ebba.” Not only was his voice hard, but there was a threat in his eyes. “They must marry for love and no other reason. Then, and only then, will I allow you to play Lady Macbeth.”

  Love?

  How was she to manipulate a lady into falling for a man who couldn’t speak? Her father might as well have said she couldn’t play Lady Macbeth, because, in the end, that would be the result.

  “What if she really likes him?” Ebba asked.

  Her father shook his head and stood. “Love, my dear. There’s no replacing it.”

  Ebba sighed and stood. She had absolutely no faith that she could accomplish this task. She wasn’t even sure if Coalwater wished to wed.

  “So, do we have a deal?’ Lord Paxen asked, anxiously. There was hope in his eyes. Did he really think Ebba could accomplish what he’d failed to do over and over again for the last four years?

  He stood, took her chin his hand, and asked, “Was my daughter offered the part of Lady Macbeth by her talents and her own tenacity or not?”

  Ebba smiled. Even if she never played the part, it was an accomplishment to have won the part. “Yes, I was.”

  “Then, I believe you capable of doing anything.” He kissed her hair and then turned her around. “Now, out. Leave your mother and me alone.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Ebba smiled as she left the room and closed the door behind her. She didn’t even bother to look back. The giggling started before the door clicked.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  CHAPTER 01

  Lady Honora Baxter tried to keep as close as possible to the lights the Covent Garden plaza offered, yet far enough to not draw attention. Nora had dressed in her mourning garment. It was the only costume she had that was sure to help her blend into the night. Taking back streets, she rushed through the pungent alleyways.

  The cold could only mute the stench so far. She buried her nose in her cloak and pressed on.

&nbs
p; She kept her head and her skirts up and tried to ignore the scurrying noises of small feet scraping against brick.

  This was not her first journey out into London far past the hour of midnight, but it was the first time she’d gone here. She listened to the laughter and the shouts to a passing hackney. The clips of horse hooves assured her that if trouble found her on her path, enough trouble to force her to scream, she could easily be rescued.

  But she prayed her journey would be completed without fuss. She needed to be home before anyone knew she’d left. She was glad her daughter no longer needed her at night. Miriam, who was ten, now slept in her own room in Lord and Lady Ganden’s home. Nora had been working for the earl and countess for almost two years. She was their nephew George’s governess. George was a beautiful boy with a wonderful spirit, but at eleven, he’d already decided it was time for him to be like other boys his age and go off to school.

  When talk had begun about George attending Eton, Nora had feared she’d be dismissed, but then Lady Ganden, who she’d been invited to call by her given name Lucy, had asked Nora to remain as her companion.

  The woman was a true blessing. The countess would never understand the heart of Nora’s happiness. Lucy thought Nora needed money, which was not the case at all. In fact, Nora’s husband had left her a wealthy woman. What Nora needed from Lord and Lady Ganden was something different.

  Something more valuable than money.

  Protection.

  She’d had their protection—unbeknownst to them— for the last two years, but in two days, the couple would be leaving her behind to see George off to school. Therefore, Nora would need a different kind of protection.

  When the tone and twang of voices changed, Nora knew she was drawing closer to the part of Covent Garden that would ruin her reputation and risk her employment if anyone were to find her here. The laughter was different. The music as well. She heard whispers and a few moans in deeper alleyways.

  She’d come to the center gambling and brothel district of London, a place she’d never been in her life. She had come because she had no other choice.

  When she arrived at her destination, which was nothing more than a crossroads, she pulled out her pocket watch and held it up toward a lamp that burned outside a nearby tavern.

  “You risk losing your treasure and your life to a cutthroat holding it up and showing it off that way.”

  She gasped at the voice that seemed to come from the shadows. Then a man stepped out. He was about her height, and he sized her up cautiously.

  Nora quickly placed the watch back in her pocket and pulled her hood farther upon her head.

  “You’re the lady, aren’t you? The one in need of a gun.”

  Nora shivered when a breeze played around her ankles. “How did you know it was me?”

  He gave a haughty grunt. He was thin. Nora likely weighed more than him, but he if attacked her, she was certain he’d win. “The price on the pistol just went up.”

  She gasped. “Why?”

  He nodded toward her pocket. “The watch. I want that as well as the agreed upon price.”

  Nora frowned. She knew it unwise to argue with a man she didn’t know in the dark nefarious corners of London, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You do realize that I could have simply walked into any shop and purchased a gun, don’t you?” There were no laws that would stop her. If she could afford it, she could have it. That was the only law England had where guns were concerned. The prices usually kept the lower class from obtaining them, which was all Parliament seemed to care for.

  “Yes, you could have gone to any ironworker,” the stranger, who’d yet to introduce, himself said. His words and manner lacked the articulation of West London. “But you came to me and you came to me for a reason. Be glad I don’t make your name and the reason why you need the gun the price of business.”

  Nora stilled. He couldn’t have threatened her better. She could never tell him her name. She’d gone to great lengths to hide this transaction for a reason. She swallowed and took a pull of the cold air. “Do you have the one I asked for?”

  He turned and cleared his throat. “I do.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a double-barrel flintlock pistol. She reached for it, but he held it away.

  She didn’t bother to ask why. She knew. He wanted his money. “Where did you get it?”

  “I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.”

  She said nothing else as she handed over her purse and her watch— glad it had no true value to her— and took the gun. He also handed her ammunition.

  She pocketed the bullets and then focused on the weapon. It was heavy.

  “That isn’t a lady’s pistol,” her purveyor said. “You sure you know what you’re doing with it?”

  She did. “This gun is more accurate.”

  “If you can manage to aim it steady enough.” He flashed his teeth in the dark as he stared at the watch. Then he looked up. “We’re done here. Good night, my lady, and a safe journey home.” Then he turned and disappeared from the light.

  Nora quickly hid the gun in her skirts. She didn’t even know if it would work. Perhaps she’d never have to use it. Perhaps just the sight of it would scare him away. She turned and started back the way she’d come. She moved through the alley quickly now. She was ready to get home. She worried about Miriam even though she knew she had no reason to. Miriam was safe so long as she was in Lord Ganden’s residence.

  In her haste, she wasn’t paying attention to the ground and tripped over something large. Her hands and knees hit the ground hard. Pain shot through her, and she grunted. The cold of the brick was beginning to slip through her gloves, so she made a move to rise.

  It was only when a hand landed on her back that she realized what she’d tripped on had not been the discards of a passerby. It was not trash that made her fall but a person.

  “The best gifts are the ones that fall into your lap, are they not?” The man gave a hard laugh as his hands traveled up and then back down her back, gripping her sides.

  Nora scrambled away, getting her dress dirty in the process.

  The man, who was using the wall to keep his upper body erect, didn’t bother coming after her. He simply laughed again. “Where you going? Come sit with ol’ Saint Luke. That’s a fine cloak you have. Is it yours? You seem off in a rush. Where are you going? Mind if I come?” He chuckled at his own joke.

  Nora’s heart raced as she stared at the man. She wanted to rise but wasn’t sure how he’d react. Would he come for her then? Did she have enough time to pull out her gun? It wasn’t loaded and would take precious minutes she didn’t have to actually have it ready to fire, but again, she wondered if simply showing off the weapon would make this man leave her alone.

  But he didn’t move. He simply kept grinning at her. His head leaned to the side, but she didn’t think he’d done it on purpose. He was likely drunk, unable to hold up his own head for long.

  He didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but given their location, she knew it best to move slowly.

  In a painfully slow move, she lifted her hands off the ground, grabbed her skirts, and then righted one leg after the other. She could not hold back the groan of pain in her knees. She was also certain that her palms were bruised.

  “I suppose you’re leaving me then, dear?” the man asked quietly, a touch of true loneliness in his voice.

  He wasn’t going to come after her.

  Nora suddenly felt pity for him. He hadn’t hurt her necessarily, but that didn’t mean she planned to stay around any longer.

  With a sigh, she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a few coins.

  The man watched her movement.

  She held the coin in her hands and said, “Swear you won’t spend this in a tavern when I’m gone.”

  He placed his hand on his heart. “If I do, it will be on a bowl of Miss Esther's stew. She makes the best in all of London. In fact…” He turned and grinned.

  It was the
n that Nora saw movement from another alley. The newcomer was large, and Nora realized just how foolish she’d been to stay around as long as she had. She should have left the moment she was standing again.

  The larger man bent down toward ol’ Saint Luke and gave him something. A bowl.

  “Eat,” the newest stranger said, demanded actually.

  Luke chuckled. “As his lordship commands.” He lifted the spoon he’d been given with the bowl and began to eat. Then he moaned and turned to Nora. “The best stew. You visit Miss Esther and find out for yourself.”

  The man who’d been called nothing more than ‘his lordship’ turned to her then and straightened.

  He was well dressed, she realized. His suit could not have been stolen, as it fit his sinewy physique to perfection. His jacket cupped his shoulders and clung to his middle while his buckskins emphasized his slim waist and toned thighs. His boots reflected what little light fell into the alley. His hat covered his crown and hid his eyes from the light.

  Luke pointed his spoon at her. “She’s a lady, Rick. A real lady. Either that or an upstairs servant. She talks like one of them. She could be a lady’s maid.”

  Nora swallowed. A silly sense of betrayal stuck her chest. How dare Luke point her out? There had been a chance that the man would have left her alone if he hadn’t.

  The stranger turned to Luke and in the light, Nora saw his profile. The definition of his nose and mouth gave her the strange sense of familiarity.

  Then the man, Rick, turned back to her.

  Luke spoke again. “She doesn’t belong here, Rick. You got to get her home. Be the good gentleman that you are and see the lady on her way.”

  “No!” Nora took a step back. “I… I mean, that isn’t necessary. I got here on my own. I can get home. Thank you, but I best be on my way.”

  She held out her fisted coin.

  Luke dropped his spoon in its bowl and held up his hands.

  Nora tossed the money and heard it land in his hands.

  “Good toss, my lady,” Luke praised. “Good aim, indeed.”

  Nora smiled. George had given her plenty of opportunities to practice her throw. “Good night.” She turned to leave.