An Unbending Lady for the Desperate Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  “It has to,” she said simply. “I will ensure I play the part with the utmost conviction, down to those horrible silk gloves that I cannot abide. But you must play your part for it to work.”

  “I do have a cousin who is presently on the continent.” Christian nodded to himself. “Lady Laura Kildare. She is of Irish peerage, though has no accent that I can recall, and has been in France and Spain for much of her life. Yes… I do believe no one would doubt you were her.”

  “Ah, you high-society folks and your endless array of cousins.” She grinned, disarming Christian for the thousandth time in a matter of days. “Then, I shall be Lady Laura. And you shall be my charming cousin, desperate to bring a smile back to my face.”

  “Shall I provide you with some funds, so you may acquire a gown?” Christian still doubted whether Victoria could look as though she belonged in high society.

  Victoria flicked her wrist in dismissal. “I already have one. This is not my first ball, Lord Galbury, though it may surprise you to hear that.” Her eyes took on a sadder glint. “When my father still lived, he solved the case of a missing diamond for some Duke or other. They were so grateful that they invited him to a ball, and permitted me to join him, purchasing several expensive gowns for my delectation. Naturally, I despised all of them, but I deigned to wear one for the sake of maintaining good relations. It still fits, as do the other two. I shall select one and expect to be collected by carriage on Friday evening.”

  Christian smiled. “From where, exactly?”

  “Ah…” she hesitated, showing a brief mirage of concern that he had never seen on her face before. “Number 21, Lamplighter’s Row, Southwark.”

  “Southwark?” His jaw dropped. “Will that not cause something of a stir?”

  “Collect me in a hackney carriage and tell your own driver to wait somewhere less conspicuous with your carriage. We shall change there and go to this ball together in your accustomed style,” she replied, her expression still filled with consternation. “Yes, that will suffice.”

  Christian nodded. “Very well.”

  “Perhaps it may prove an education for you, to see how the other side lives.” The concerned furrow disappeared, leaving the somewhat mischievous, perpetually driven individual he had come to admire.

  And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder what had caused that expression in the first place. Could it be that, despite all of her chiding to the contrary, she was embarrassed to show him where she hailed from? He couldn’t decide for sure. Perhaps it was something else, pertaining to the case. However, for his own part, he felt curious to discover more of the world that had made Miss Victoria McCarthy.

  “I look forward to my education, then,” he said.

  She smiled strangely, half-sad, half-pleased. “Do not be late. I cannot abide lateness.”

  “I will not, Victoria.” The name grew easier to say with every usage.

  “Just think, Lord Galbury—come Friday evening, we may capture the devils who have done this, and rescue Miss Longacre from a terrible fate,” she paused, “but that will only be the beginning of our trials, if we are successful.”

  Christian frowned. “How so?”

  “If they have these ladies imprisoned somewhere, then we will have only a short time in which to gain their location from the two men who have done this,” she explained, fully engrossed in her thoughts. “And if only one of these men is present at the ball, we may have to bide our time to avoid any warning being sent to his accomplice. Yes, we may have to…” she trailed off.

  “May have to what?” Christian prompted, his stomach churning.

  Victoria leveled her gaze at him. “Use Miss Longacre as bait.”

  Chapter 9

  Victoria stared at herself in the looking glass of her sometime bedchamber at her mother’s residence in Southwark. She didn’t know why she hadn’t suggested that Lord Galbury collect her from her own residence at the London Docks, above Benedict’s office. A momentary embarrassment at the thought of such a grand gentleman having to visit that grim area of London, she supposed.

  It is not like me to feel embarrassment. Why, I hardly know the meaning of the word. She couldn’t fathom it in the slightest, but when Lord Galbury looked upon her, she found that she wished to be viewed by him in the best possible light. Another entirely new sensation to her, for she ordinarily could not give a fig what anyone thought, least of all a gentleman.

  And now I am trussed up like a gaudy peacock. I may as well nip at my cheeks like one of those fancy ladies and complete this absurdity! The woman staring back at her through the mirror was one she hardly recognized as herself.

  Her unruly raven hair had been tamed into submission by her mother’s skilled hands, and curled into a rather elegant style, with an emerald-green ribbon to hold it in place. Her lips held a flush of color, dabbed there at her mother’s insistence. Victoria thought she looked wholly ridiculous—a clown in a fine dress.

  “Oh… my sweet girl!” her mother, Elizabeth McCarthy, who went by Betty to all who knew her, crowed from the doorway.

  “I know, I look a fright.” Victoria observed the flowing gown that adorned her slender frame. It was not her natural figure, but her employment often meant she forwent meals for the sake of a case and being so active all the time had made her lithe and wiry where she ought to have been plump and fuller-figured, like her dear mother.

  “On the contrary!” Betty chirped. “You look… why, you look like a true lady. If I were to see you in the street, I would think you highborn.”

  Victoria pulled a sour face. “Now, I despise this frock all the more.”

  “Nonsense. You look divine, my darling.” Betty came to stand beside her daughter and rested her hands on Victoria’s somewhat hunched shoulders. Gently, Betty pulled them backward, to give her daughter a more regal posture.

  They will be hunched again before the night is out, Mother, no matter what you may try to do. Victoria preferred comfort over what was thought ‘beautiful’ or ‘elegant’ on a woman.

  “I suppose it is fortunate that you would be fooled by my appearance.” Victoria relented slightly. “For if you are fooled, then perhaps I will pull the wool over the eyes of all those in attendance this evening.”

  She observed her reflection again. Out of the three gowns that had hung dormant in her mother’s armoire, as a bygone remnant of that ball she had attended with her father, Victoria had selected this one: a sweeping gown of emerald satin, trimmed at the capped sleeves and rounded neckline with black lace. A black ribbon had been tied beneath her bust, to accentuate her shape. Another insistence of her mother’s, which she had deigned to go along with. After all, her mother knew how to be a woman more than she ever would.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Betty said softly. “It has been much too long since you came to the house. I’ve missed you.”

  Victoria met her mother’s gaze in the mirror. “I’ve been busy.”

  “You always say that.” Betty sighed, lowering her gaze. “You work too hard, Victoria. I would say it’s not right for a woman to work as you do, but I know it would fall on deaf ears. And I have seen the good you do in this city. I only wish you would come home more often, so I could be certain that you’re safe. Every evening, I wonder where you are, and if I might have to endure Benedict coming to my door, to tell me that some tragedy has befallen you.”

  “It would be more likely that I would be coming to the door, telling you of some tragedy that had befallen Benedict.” Victoria’s attempt at a jest fell flat.

  “It worries me, Victoria. I understand why you’re compelled to this calling, which I will blame your father for every day, until the day I die, but why must you live elsewhere? You have grown so thin, sweetheart. At least here, I could make sure you eat and get your rest.”

  Victoria felt a grip of guilt in her chest. She had endured this conversation with her mother more times than she could count, and it never got any easier. In truth, she kept away from the house because
she feared that, one day, her work might follow her home and put her mother in danger. But she couldn’t tell her mother that. It would only have worried her more.

  “It’s easier to be near the office,” Victoria replied, with the same line she always used. “I work such strange hours that I would only disrupt you, or make you fret even more. You know this, Mama.”

  Betty’s eyes widened. “I can’t remember the last time you called me that.”

  “I… have forgotten how to be soft, I suppose.” Victoria swallowed the lump in her throat. See, there was another reason she didn’t stay in this house very often. It reminded her of the child she had been, before she became entangled in the real world of crime and brutality, with her days filled with murder and assault and tragedy. As a result, she no longer felt like the woman she had become belonged in such a place of innocence.

  “Another thing I blame your father for.” Betty tucked the perpetually unruly curl at the front of Victoria’s face behind her ear, though Victoria knew it would not stay there—any more than Victoria would stay in this house for longer than required. For her mother’s sake, more than her own. Victoria cared about few things in her life, but her mother topped the list of priorities every single time. There was nothing Victoria would not have done to keep her mother safe, even if it meant keeping her distance.

  “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Victoria quipped.

  A hint of a smile graced Betty’s still-beautiful face. “Hmm… on occasion, there can be exceptions.”

  Victoria fidgeted, as a thought popped into her mind. “Can I ask you something, Mama?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you love Father?” It had been on Victoria’s mind ever since Lord Galbury had asked her of the relationship between her parents. She could only reply with what she had witnessed, but she had realized that she did not know the full extent of the affection between her mother and father.

  Betty glanced at her in surprise. “What has brought this on, all of a sudden?”

  Victoria shrugged. “Call it professional curiosity.”

  “I… well… yes, there was a time when I loved him very much. When we first met, I thought the world began and ended with him.” Betty’s tone turned sad. “He was sweeter back then. The world hadn’t yet pecked away at him. He would bring me wildflowers, purely for the sake of it, and would always surprise me with excursions to Brighton or a walk in Hyde Park.”

  “I don’t remember any of that,” Victoria said, bemused.

  “No… I don’t suppose you would. That was before you were born, though it continued, to a lesser extent, until you were a few years old.” She brushed away tears that welled. “Then he started on his investigative business with Benedict, and everything changed. He changed. And all that love… well, that changed too.”

  Victoria’s heart ached for her mother. “You didn’t love him at all, after that?”

  “Oh, I still loved him ferociously. It was he who ceased to love me, I think. I can’t recall when it happened, but he simply… stopped being my husband, and turned into a lodger who just happened to share the same bed as me.” She shook her head effusively. “But he loved you. And that mattered more to me than being loved by him.”

  All this time, Victoria had presumed that neither of her parents had felt much for one another, being in a marriage of convenience instead of adoration. She realized she had never bothered to ask for the truth, not until Lord Galbury had coerced that idea into her mind. Now, she wasn’t sure that she had wanted to know the truth, for it pained her deeply to think how her mother must have suffered. Ambivalence had to be worse than hatred, especially if Betty had still loved Solomon.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Victoria whispered.

  “There is naught to be sorry for, my dear girl. I learned to live within those new circumstances, and I poured my entire heart into you, instead. That has been worth everything. That was his gift to me,” she paused. “I am only bitter that he dragged you into that world with him. Although, I would be more bitter if I had not seen the relief you bring to people. Even when you can’t bring them good news, your very presence helps them.”

  Victoria toyed with the sleeve of her gown. “When this case is finished, I will endeavor to see you more. I promise.”

  “Now, we mustn’t make promises we can’t keep, Victoria.” Betty gave her a knowing smile. “But I would take once a fortnight, if you are willing?”

  “Once a fortnight it is, Mama.” Victoria turned and clasped her mother’s hands tightly. “I mean it. I will be here for you more.”

  “Very well, then.” Betty once again tucked that unruly strand behind Victoria’s ear. “Now, shall I fix us a tipple of brandy before this gentleman arrives for you? I know you will never admit to it, but you must be nervous about this evening.”

  Victoria chuckled. “A tipple of brandy would do very nicely.”

  Together, they headed downstairs to the parlor, though Victoria had to cling to the banister to prevent herself from toppling over. Her shoes kept catching in the hem of her overly long gown, for she had no concept of how to move in such a garment. Indeed, it proved quite the relief when she finally sat down, and no longer had to worry about all that material getting tangled about her legs.

  A woman ought to be permitted to wear trousers! I have said it once, and I shall say it again—skirts lack practicality!

  “Here.” Betty passed her a small snifter of brandy and took the seat opposite, the two women settling into the comforting quiet of familiarity.

  In the silence, peppered only by the occasional crack of sparking wood from the fire in the grate, Victoria’s mind turned to the evening ahead. She had yet to see this list that Lord Galbury had promised to conjure up, regarding whom the thin fellow might be, and it agitated her that she lacked her customary preparation. As for the gentleman wearing the ring with the blue gemstone—she prayed she was right regarding the arrogance she suspected that man to possess.

  If he wears it, and he is present at the evening’s ball, then we will be on the path to successfully capturing this devil and his associate… Her heart raced with anxious anticipation, as though she were about to step onto the stage for a long-awaited performance. Another mode of employment that is frowned upon by the upper echelons, she thought drily.

  However, she found herself with another cause for anxiety. Here she sat, feeling an utter fraud in her fancy gown, with her lips artificially reddened. Why had she allowed her mother to apply the homemade tint, forged by Betty’s own hands from blackberries she had collected? Lord Galbury would no doubt be amused at the sight of her, no matter how many adornments she wore, or what she placed upon her lips.

  Why should I care what that uppity fellow thinks? She frowned into the fire, confused by the direction of her mind. It had been happening more and more often, after her initial meeting with Lord Galbury. Even during their discussion with Miss Jennings, she had caught herself staring at Lord Galbury in a most un-Victoria-like manner. When he smiled, it made her want to smile. When he chuckled, it made her want to chuckle.

  Ugh… I am becoming one of those fawning saps, who can scent wealth at forty paces. Determined not to allow her mind to become any more befuddled, she sank back in the armchair and downed what remained of her brandy. It warmed her belly and burned the back of her throat, but she didn’t mind the latter, for she knew the liquid would bring her courage in the trials to come.

  Her head whipped around at the sound of cartwheels approaching the terraced house where her mother lived. Out the parlor window, the shadow of a hackney carriage appeared. Her heart leapt into her throat, quite against her will.

  Would you behave! she scolded herself, feeling even more foolish for having such an instantaneous reaction to the mere sound of Lord Galbury’s arrival. Yes, he may have been the most handsome gentleman she had ever beheld, and, yes, he may have been nothing but kind and generous toward her, despite her own rudeness toward him, but she would not become infatuate
d. Even if he had proven himself to be her intellectual equal, which she found more appealing than anything his fine features could offer.

  A knock came at the front door, echoing through the house. Victoria sat frozen in her chair, unable to move.

  Betty eyed her curiously. “Are you not going to answer the door, Victoria?”

  “Of course,” Victoria replied, a jot too fast. “I had… uh… merely tangled my legs in my skirts.”

  “Hmm. Is that right?” Betty laughed softly, evidently understanding that there was more to Victoria’s hesitation.

  With her cheeks burning, Victoria got up awkwardly and went to the door, opening it with a wrench so violent it almost twisted her arm out of joint. A gasp escaped her lips as she beheld Lord Galbury, standing on the street, dressed so elegantly that he might have walked out of the pages of one of those novels that Victoria assumed silly ladies liked to read. Not her, of course, who stuck to science and history tomes that came with their own blanket of dust and prompted sneezing fits whenever she turned a leaf.