Dedication
For Sarah MacLean, for always making everything better.
Epigraph
Are you sure/
That we are awake?
It seems to me/
That yet we sleep, we dream.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
William Shakespeare
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Announcement
About the Author
By Sophie Jordan
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
The heavy chimes of the clock resounded on the air, lifting up through the bowels of the house like deep tolls of forewarning. Each strike reverberated deep inside Charlotte like something physical. A tangible beat . . . a tolling clang that coincided with the low pulsing discomfort in her belly—the telltale signal that her menses were coming.
Oh, blast.
If she was given to heavier expletives, this would be the time for it. Once a month would be the time for it.
Now would be the time for it.
Always, it came. Like clockwork, Charlotte endured terrible cramps three to five days before her menses began. The misery. The suffering. The crawl-in-her-bed agony was as reliable as the tides.
It didn’t matter when or where. It certainly didn’t wait for convenience. The cramping afflicted her whenever it so chose, and unfortunately that was almost never late in the evening when she could lock herself up in her chamber and relegate herself to the comfort of her bed with a hot-water bottle. No, it always seemed to occur at the most importune times.
Such as now.
Charlotte counted the heavy chimes under her breath until they reached seven. It was time. The supper hour. Time to join everyone downstairs. She released a shuddery breath and flattened her hand against her unsteady stomach.
She could do this.
Her betrothed and his family waited below stairs. Her family waited, too. Well, except for Nora, who stared at her expectantly, one hand propped on her hip, the other hand extending a small cup to her.
“Are you certain this is not something else and not your usual monthly discomfort?” Nora asked with arched eyebrow. “Not some other thing bothering you?”
Charlotte did not like the question one little bit. She knew what thing her sister referred to and she did not care for the implication. Her sister thought her stomach was unsettled at the prospect of dinner with her betrothed and his family.
“It’s not because of that,” she snapped. Indeed, it was not because of them. The suggestion was as insulting as it was absurd.
Charlotte snatched the cup from her sister’s hand, telling herself the cordial would help. Her discomfort was only mild this time. She would get through the evening. She could do this. Tomorrow she could lounge about, shrouded in cozy blankets, sipping tea with hot-water bottles on her belly to help ease the ache.
Now was not the time to let any discomfort get the best of her.
Nora made a face, apparently determined to make her point and not leave it at mere implications. “Are you certain you’re not simply dreading this dinner and looking for a reason to beg off?”
“Of course not.” Indignation flared in Charlotte’s chest. “Why should I dread dinner with Billy and his family? We’ve taken dinner with them many times.”
“Exactly.” Nora rolled her eyes. “You know what lies ahead.”
“Be kind, Nora,” she admonished.
“William is unobjectionable, I suppose. Decent enough. A bit of a dull bird, but . . .” She shrugged as her voice faded away. She looked Charlotte up and down and her thoughts were perfectly transparent.
Nora thought Charlotte was dull, too.
It was a fair assessment. Charlotte didn’t begrudge her for it. She knew she was the uninteresting Langley sister. The boring one.
The mouse.
She lacked the fortitude and grace of her eldest sister, Marian, and all the boldness and wit of Nora. She was unexciting—just like Billy. It was that simple.
They were two dull birds, which made them a good and comfortable match. Nora knew it. Charlotte knew it. Everyone who knew them knew it.
Charlotte had known Billy since they were children. She, like everyone else in Brambledon, had always assumed they would wed.
Nora continued, “But his parents are perfectly wretched, Char. How can you abide them?”
“I’m not marrying his parents,” she countered evenly.
Nora snorted. “Aren’t you?”
Charlotte ignored her and rotated the cup in her hand, looking down at the murky contents. Flecks of herbs spotted the inside walls of the cup, resembling bits of dirt.
She wished her younger sister could be a little more supportive and a little less outspoken. A little more like Marian, who supported Charlotte’s decision to marry Billy. “They’re good people, Nora, and highly respected in the community.”
“Very well. If you insist on doing this, heed my words. I’ll miss you dearly, but move away once you’ve wed—and not around the bloody corner from the Pembrokes—”
“Nora, language, please!”
“Move far from Brambledon,” she continued. “You’ll not want the Pembrokes constantly interfering in your life.”
Charlotte didn’t bother to debate the matter of where she would reside once she and Billy were married. It was already decided. They would remain in Brambledon. Naturally. It was the only home they knew. The only place they wanted to be—the only place Charlotte wanted to be. Diving into the unknown was an intimidating prospect. One Charlotte had never wished for herself. Not when home was such a pleasant and comfortable place.
No, they would not leave. There was no need.
They were born in Brambledon. They grew up here. Of course they would stay here as a married couple.
She would remain where all was familiar, where everything was secure and within her experience. No surprises. Nothing out of the ordinary. No risks. A tidy and contented life. She’d leave the world outside Brambledon for the adventurers.
Shaking her head, she lifted the cup to her lips.
If she wanted to stave off her pains and get through this evening, she needed whatever help she could get. She needed to be in top form for an evening with her future in-laws.
She grimaced as the foul cordial went down her throat in a sluggish slide. She resisted the urge to gag and choked it down. She’d never tasted anything like it before, and she was no stranger to sampling her sister’s many concoctions.
“Blech. Nora.” She licked her lips and worked her mouth, hoping to rid herself of the bitter taste. It did little good. The stuff was awful.
Never had she doubted her sister’s competence as an herbalist. Nora had worked side by side with their physician father for years before he expired over two years ago. Twenty-nine months to be precise, not that Charlotte had been keeping track.
It was only that Charl
otte was well aware of the day her father had died. She’d been beside him, holding his hand as the light left his eyes. A person did not forget something like that . . . watching a loved one die. When the light had gone from his eyes, some of the light had gone from her world, too.
Papa had placed a great deal of trust in Nora. Several people in the community of Brambledon still did, coming to Nora for draughts and poultices to ease their aches and ailments. Papa had believed in her. Charlotte had no reason not to trust her remedies.
Except the unfamiliar taste of the cordial combined with the curious way Nora studied her sent the tiny hairs on the back of her neck into prickling alert.
Nora nodded in satisfaction as she took the empty cup from Charlotte. “There now. You’ll feel better in no time.”
Charlotte narrowed her gaze on Nora, wondering if her tone wasn’t just a fraction forced. As though her sister was attempting to persuade herself of that fact, and not just Charlotte.
Nora moved away, her skirts swishing as she set the cup down on one of her worktables. Nora had arranged several tables about the space, all littered with vials and weights and instruments. Herbs were scattered through the room in pots and hanging from twine. One would not even know it to be a bedchamber if not for the bed and large wardrobe on the other side of the room. Other girls her age were interested in routs and their marriage prospects. Not Nora, however.
They’d been here a little over a year now, and Nora had made herself at home at Haverston Hall and put her mark on the elegant room. Well, not that elegant described it anymore, as it had all the appearance of a scientist’s laboratory now.
Charlotte was quite the opposite. She still felt like a visitor at Haverston Hall even all this time later.
When Marian had asked Charlotte and Nora to move in with her, it had seemed like the thing to do. When Papa died, Marian had given up everything and returned home to care for them. No easy task as they were destitute and every creditor in Brambledon was hounding them. It had all seemed rather hopeless for their family before Marian married the Duke of Warrington.
Charlotte had assumed she would enjoy living in the duke’s fine manor house with its multitude of servants and rooms a person could get lost in for days. Who wouldn’t enjoy that? It was the stuff of fantasy.
She had been wrong, though. Unfortunately, she didn’t enjoy it.
Charlotte still felt like a guest in Warrington’s house. Yes, it was her sister’s house now, too. Marian had certainly put her stamp all over the place, bringing in furniture and papering the walls of several rooms.
Charlotte often found herself taking strolls and walking past the modest home she had grown up in, staring at the now-vacant cottage and marveling that she no longer lived beneath that familiar gabled roof with its scalloped trim.
She lived somewhere else now. In an enormous house with too many rooms to count and servants that far outnumbered the people occupying those rooms. It was absurd.
She felt like an imposter.
She told herself things would feel more natural once she was married to Billy. She would again live in a comfortable house. Nothing like the ducal splendor here at Haverston Hall.
She would return to a modest existence. A quiet life. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
Charlotte waved toward the cup. “That tasted vile.” She worked her tongue in her mouth, still trying to be rid of the foul taste. “It isn’t like the stuff you usually give me.”
Nora always gave her a cordial to help ease her stomach. It only took the edge off. Unfortunately nothing ever entirely saved her from her woman’s pains, but she appreciated whatever her sister could do. One day of the month she kept to her bed until they passed. She curled herself into a tight ball and attempted to sleep through the worst of it. She’d accepted this as her lot in life, but Nora, ever the born healer, had not given up. She was always searching for a way to mitigate Charlotte’s pain.
Nora waved a hand airily. “Oh, it was the usual ingredients.”
Charlotte gave a dogged shake of her head. “It was different.”
Nora shrugged. “Well. I might have altered the measurements a fraction to better improve its effects.” She picked up her quill and scratched some notes down in her ledger.
Charlotte nodded. “Well, I suppose that accounts for it then. It was more vile than usual.”
“What’s vile?” Marian asked as she breezed into the room looking resplendent in a gown of deep emerald green, her hair piled atop her head in soft golden waves.
Marriage suited her eldest sister. Or perhaps it was being daft in love with her husband that suited Marian. She had been married a little over a year now, and the shine had not worn off. Marian glowed with happiness.
“’Tis nothing. Merely Charlotte’s monthly cordial,” Nora quickly responded as she tidied up her table.
“Oh, dear.” Marian looked at her in concern, tsking in sympathy. “Are you unwell, Charlotte? What poor timing.”
“Nothing too severe,” Charlotte assured her. “I am quite well enough to go down to dinner.” At least so far. The twinges in her stomach had only just begun. She’d make it through dinner.
Marian exhaled deeply, and Charlotte understood the origin of that sigh. Marian had no desire to be stuck entertaining the Pembrokes without her.
Marian looked at their youngest sister. “Are you ready, Nora?”
Nora removed her dirty pinafore, revealing her gown beneath. “I suppose. If I must. At least it shall be a grand supper. Cook always outdoes himself when we have guests. I’m certain the fine meal will more than make up for the company.” She sent Charlotte what could only be considered a pitying glance.
Nora didn’t need to explain the meaning behind the look. Charlotte was well aware that her future in-laws were tedious people. Marian was polite enough not to say so outright, but Nora never minced words. She’d let Charlotte know on several occasions that Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke were reason enough not to marry Billy.
Charlotte didn’t disagree with her assessment of Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke. She did not especially enjoy the pompous blowhards, and she knew the only reason they now approved of her marrying their son was because Marian had married the Duke of Warrington. It was that family connection alone that made her worthy in their eyes. They cared nothing at all for her on a personal level.
Billy was reason enough to endure them.
She’d grown up with the lad. He was kind and gentle and nothing like his parents. He didn’t care for position or where he fell in the order of Society. Billy had wanted to marry her even before her sister had married Warrington. He simply couldn’t go against his parents. Not unless he wished to be renounced by his family, and who would want such a terrible fate? She would not have expected him to make such a sacrifice for her.
But now the Pembrokes approved of the match.
She and Billy would build a life together. Certainly she’d have to suffer her in-laws now and then, but not every day. Charlotte was a patient person. If she had to sup with them once or twice a week, it was a small sacrifice in order to be married to a good man and living in a home of her own.
“Shall we go down to supper?” Marian turned and led them from the room.
“It smells heavenly,” Nora exclaimed as they wound their way down the stairs. “Not even the prospect of listening to Mrs. Pembroke pander to Nathaniel can sour my excitement.”
“Nora, do try to put on a good face and do not act like you’re there merely for the food,” Marian advised.
Charlotte trailed after her sisters, pressing a hand to her stomach and taking a slow and steady breath.
It would only be a few hours, and she wouldn’t have to talk very much. She never did when she was with the Pembrokes. Her future in-laws did most of the talking. Little was required of her. Often, she felt they did not see her at all when she was sitting in their midst.
For once, this would serve as a comfort. She could sit in silence as they dined, battling her discomfort, and
they would think nothing of it.
True, lately this was a point of consternation. She was becoming a member of Billy’s family. Shouldn’t she have a voice? Shouldn’t they care about her thoughts? Shouldn’t they care to know her?
As her wedding date neared, she had begun to consider this more. She had begun to consider it might be nice to have a rapport with Billy’s parents. That or Nora and her ongoing commentary on the disagreeable nature of the Pembrokes was beginning to take root.
She shook off her internal monologue. It was self-indulgent. Her in-laws were fine people. They approved of the marriage. They accepted her. It was enough.
She tensed as a twinge passed through her stomach.
Tonight, at least, their disinterest in her would be most convenient.
Chapter 2
Kingston was not himself.
The signs were all there. Glaring and indisputable. Unwanted. He didn’t wish to be this way, and yet . . . he simply was.
He avoided all his usual haunts. His clubs. Tattersalls. The theater. His favorite bawdy houses. The gaming hells. The parties and routs in Town that lasted until dawn. The dissolute country parties that occupied his winters. The endless stream of women.
He eschewed it all.
Not only did he ignore his friends, he ignored his family, too. Well, the meager few in his life he could call family. It was a loose application. He did not have a family in the traditional sense.
Yes, he had a father. One who enjoyed having him around for some extraordinary reason. He knew it was irregular. Most noblemen did not want their bastards hovering about, but his father had never sired a legitimate child, so his favor was perhaps not startling.
Not that his father was the manner of man to care much what Society thought of him. The Earl of Norfolk was no gentle retiring middle-aged aristocrat. He still played as hard as he had when he was a young man fathering bastards about the countryside. Kingston should know. He was one such bastard, after all.
His stepmother was no demure lady either. She enjoyed all the same pursuits as his father. That was why they were so well-suited. Their parties were some of the most dissolute in the kingdom. His father and stepmother called their gatherings salons, but in truth they were little more than orgies.
The Virgin and the Rogue Page 1