Alison's Scandalous Affair (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 1)

by Julianna Hughes

  Alison’s Scandalous Affair

  The Fallen Angel Series

  Julianna Hughes

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Other Books by Julianna Hughes

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Julia Christine Oliver w/a Julianna Hughes

  Copy editing by Sue Brown-Moore & Laura Helseth of Team Storysmith

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design & Interior Formatting by

  The Killion Group, Inc.

  Dedicated to a second chance at love.

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to the Houston Bay Area, Chapter 30, of the Romance Writers of America. And my thanks to RWA National and their yearly conference. Through this organization I have learned how to take my dreams and turn them into books I can share with the world.

  Chapter 1

  The Prussian Black Forest cuckoo clock Mrs. Alison Sheiling's late husband had loved so much ticked out the agonizing minutes that remained of her at-home visitations. The last of her afternoon visitors were droning on and on about the grand ball they had attended the night before at the Duke of Wellington's mansion. Alison had of course received an invitation, but she rarely attended ton events anymore, not if she could avoid them. They quite simply reminded her too much of her late husband.

  Lady Caroline and Lady Bethany, more distant acquaintances than friends—very distant when she could avoid them—were not really interested in telling her about the ball. They were trying to uncover any information they could on the scandalous attack on the Duke and Duchess of Belfort. An attack that had killed several of the duke’s employees and had happened shortly after they had left the ball.

  Most of polite society knew that she and the new Duchess of Belfort were friends. Real friends, not like the two busybodies and everyone else who had "just dropped by" for tea today.

  "Like I told you earlier, Lady Bethany, I do not know any more about the attack than you or the rest of London. I have not seen nor spoken to her Grace, or her husband, for some time now."

  Which was partly true. Alison hadn't spoken to Katie, the new duchess, since the young woman had come to her for help more than a fortnight ago. At the time, Katie had been searching for the Duke of Belfort's temporary lodgings, which fortunately Alison had been able to provide.

  It was the same night that Katie and the duke had fled London for a hasty marriage. One that prevented Katie’s marriage to a man Katie hated and was being forced to marry. Alison strongly suspected that the attack had something to do with the thwarted marriage, but she wasn't about to share that information with these two biddies, nor with anyone else. It was her friend's secret to tell.

  So instead, she repeated the current rumor making the rounds. "All I can go on is what was reported in the papers. Sir Walter Fletcher was with them at the time and was badly injured during the attack. He is a prominent member of the War Department. And from what I have read, some of the attackers were heard to be speaking French. The speculation is that he was the intended target, and not the duke and duchess."

  "But surely, Mrs. Sheiling, you've heard something more. Everyone has heard how you and her Grace are such great friends. The two of you worked together during the war, taking care of our gallant soldiers that fell during battle," Lady Bethany whined, her voice grating on Alison's nerves.

  Alison barely hid her scoff at the ridiculous idea that she and Katie McNair had "worked together" as nurses during the war. She was sure her friend would have made a wonderful nurse, but at the time Katie had been but four and ten.

  "Be that as it may," Alison said, not even trying to correct the misconception, "I have not heard from her Grace. However, when I do I will be sure to pass along your concerns for her and his Grace."

  "Ah-hum," Mrs. Karen Richardson, Alison’s housekeeper, cleared her throat loudly from the open doorway. "Madam, you asked me to remind you of your one o'clock appointment."

  God bless Karen. The woman was a godsend in so many ways. Several inches taller than Alison's five feet two, Mrs. Richardson was not only her housekeeper but also her cook and, when the need arose, an imposing butler. With her fluffy white hair that was forever escaping any attempt at restraint, she looked like your favorite grandmother or great aunt. But the woman's steel-blue eyes could quell any rebellion with just one look, including the two busybodies pestering her now.

  "Oh, oh, it is getting r-rather late," Lady Caroline stuttered. The shorter, more rotund of her two visitors struggled to her feet while valiantly trying to avoid the piercing stare of Alison's housekeeper.

  "Yes, it is," Lady Bethany said, coming gracefully to her feet. Taller than Lady Caroline, and the daughter of a duke, she was not as intimidated by Mrs. Richardson's obvious rebuke for their social faux pas, but nor was she willing to challenge the woman.

  "We will call again next week," Lady Bethany said. "But in the meantime, if you hear anything," her eyes flickered to the housekeeper and then back, "on you-know-who, please feel free to send a note around. We are ever so worried about our dear friend, as I am sure you are."

  Friend? Alison doubted Katie even knew who these two gossips were. Biting her lip, she smiled and nodded her head. No need delaying their departure with any unnecessary comments.

  "I'll see you out," Mrs. Richardson said, as the two women approached her.

  Alison saw Lady Caroline hesitate and then scurry through the door with a haughty look plastered on her face. Once they were gone, Alison settled back onto her chair and finished off the tepid tea in her cup. She abhorred lukewarm tea and grimaced as she contemplated whether or not to ask for a fresh pot. Moments later, she heard the door close firmly and then the sure-footed steps of her housekeeper as she returned.

  "Would you care for some more tea, ma'am?"

  Alison eyed the tray in front of her and heaved a sigh. She hadn't been able to really enjoy a single cup over the last couple of hours. There had been an inordinate number of visitors today, and every one of them with the same questions.

  "Yes, please," Alison answered. And then added, "Those should be the last of our visitors for the day. Rebecca and I can take care of getting dinner on the table. Phyllis has been pestering me for another cooking lesson. Would you mind terribly?"

  "No ma'am. Not at all," the housekeeper said. She adored both of the girls and loved having them around. "I'll let Mrs. Baker know."

  Alison thought about her two daughters up in the nursery. They loved the woman who was both their governess and their nursemaid, but they often complained about being "trapped" in the nursery all day. At sixteen, Rebecca was old enough to sit with her during visitations. But Alison hadn't wanted to subject her daughter to all the uncomfortable speculations she had known she would have to field during the day. Five-year-old Phyllis would have done better than her sensitive older sister. In fact, the precocious child would have more than likely distracted the busybodies and sav
ed Alison most of the annoyances she’d had to endure.

  Her anxiety for her daughters somewhat quieted, she turned back to her concerns for her friend. She too was very worried about Katie and her new husband, but unlike most of polite society, she knew a number of military and government officials. And consequently, she knew the truth behind the attack on her friend. She also knew that both the duke and her friend were now quite safe and recovering from the attack.

  The harrowing events also brought back long forgotten memories for Alison. Katie's new husband was the Duke of Belfort. His sister, Lady Imogene Stoughton, had been Alison's best friend in school, and they had been presented to the king and queen together the year they came out.

  She had even been with Alison when she had first met her husband. As she recalled, Imogene had fallen in love with a tall lanky boy who was going to be a lawyer. Alison couldn't remember his name but recalled he had been very tall and distinguished looking. Not as good looking as her cavalry officer, but easy on the eyes nonetheless, and he had shared Imogene's love of music.

  She didn't know what had happened to the man after her friend had been killed by highwaymen. Over time, the pain of losing her friend had faded. She had of course thought about her occasionally, but not as often as she used to. Not until Imogene’s brother had reappeared in society. Resurrected actually, as most people had believed he had drowned in a storm shortly after Imogene’s murder. But as his body had never been found, he had become “the missing duke” for nearly twenty years.

  "Mummy!" Her five-year-old's shriek filled the air, along with the patter of little feet in the hall.

  "Don't run," Rebeca admonished in her quieter voice.

  Glancing up, she saw her youngest daughter burst through the open door with a huge smile on her face. The spitting image of her father with his white-blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes, Phyllis was all elbows and knees and endless amounts of energy.

  Close on Phyllis’s heels, but at a more dignified pace, was her older sister Rebecca. They were precious gifts, two of the few things her late husband had given Alison that she loved with all her heart. Rebecca was Alison's mirror image, honey-blonde hair and lighter sky-blue eyes. She also shared her father's extraordinary height. At five feet nine inches, Becky, as she preferred to be called, was taller than most of the women they knew and virtually towered over her mother.

  "Come sit with me," Alison called out. "Mrs. Richardson is bringing some more tea and pastries."

  "And lemonade?" Phyllis asked.

  A lightness she had not felt all day filled Alison and brightened her mood. How she missed being with her daughters. If the weather held, hopefully they could all go for a walk in the park.

  "And lemonade," Alison said. "And when you get through with your lessons for the day, we'll go to Hyde Park and you can feed the ducks. How would you like that sweetheart?"

  "Oh yes, mummy. I would ever so love to go for a walk. Do you think Davy will be there?"

  Davy was a mallard her daughter had adopted as her own. Alison had even caught the little girl trying to persuade the duck to follow them home on more than one occasion. "I'm sure Mr. Davy will be there, sweetheart. But you mustn't try to get him to come home with us again. He would miss his family and be very sad if he was to leave them behind."

  "You mean like you and Becky when Daddy left us behind?"

  Alison felt her heart freeze up. Her youngest had never met her father. He had died weeks after she had been born, without even once coming to check on his wife and his newborn baby. But she had heard her mother and Rebecca talking about the man enough to know that his abandonment had left a lasting effect. It had also taught Alison and Rebecca to watch what they said around the little magpie, because she remembered and repeated everything she heard.

  But there was no sense in denying it now. "Yes, darling. Just like Mummy and Becky when your father left us."

  Mrs. Richardson arrived with the refreshments, and they sat and talked about what the girls had been learning during the morning. They also talked about what they would be making later that evening for dinner. And somehow Alison managed to not cry or allow her daughters to see the pain she was feeling.

  But once they returned to the schoolroom and Mrs. Richardson had gone off to run her errands for the day, Alison was left with only herself and her memories of her friend.

  Thinking about Imogene had brought back other memories as well. Ones she had long since buried. Memories of falling in love and of being in love. Memories of feeling cherished and desired. Phillip Sheiling hadn't been a bad husband or a terrible man. In fact, he had been the most amicable person she had ever met. Which, over the years, had turned out to be his greatest flaw.

  The first two years of her marriage had been the happiest of her life. They were constantly on the go, from one great party to the next. Even while on campaign, there seemed to be no end to the fun and laughter they had shared. And then she had gotten pregnant with Rebecca, and it had all changed. Not overnight. Not even noticeably at first. At least not for Alison. She had been too ecstatic about being pregnant with their first child, and then with Rebecca's birth, to see the subtle changes taking place in her marriage. But over time she began to feel them.

  Phillip hadn't left them, not physically. But in many subtle ways he had abandoned his fledgling family. Oh, he had come home when he wasn’t playing soldier, but he had withdrawn emotionally.

  He was also still the life of the party to everyone around them. But Alison had responsibilities and couldn't go gadding around with him and his friends. So he had simply found others to party with. People who weren't "held back" by the responsibility of raising a daughter.

  When she had gotten pregnant with their second child, she had hoped it would change him for the better, but that too had been a futile prayer. By the time she had begun to show with Phyllis, her husband had all but physically abandoned them. He had used the war as an excuse for his absence, but Alison heard from friends and others that he was still partying and having a "jolly good time" whenever he could. Just not with her or his children.

  Shaking off the old hurts, she thought back to the happier times in her marriage. She recalled the whirlwind courtship they had, and she remembered how she had felt being with the man she loved. Phillip had been a wonderful lover. Even as he had started to pull away from her, he still came home occasionally at night and made love to her. In those fewer and fewer precious shared moments, he would make her feel like she was his whole world.

  That too had changed toward the end. But she still remembered how it had felt to be in the arms of a man. To be made love to. How it felt to have a man set her body on fire. To have her body worshipped until she exploded in a burst of wonderment.

  Desire. She remembered it well. Despite not thinking about it in more years than she cared to count, it was still there. And with it came the hints from some of her friends that she should find a lover.

  Well, actually most of her friends had suggested she find a new husband, something she had no intention of doing. Especially after the way her husband had ignored their eldest daughter most of her life, which had made Rebecca cynical about relationships. And doubtful of the sincerity of most men. Alison would never subject her children to that kind of pain again.

  But a couple of her closest friends, those who knew her better, and knew her history, had told her to find a lover. In the past that had been unthinkable, but it was now an idea worth considering.

  "So how does one go about finding a lo..." she whispered out loud, then cut herself off. Jerking around, she looked to see if her daughters or servants were near. She still had responsibilities and a reputation to worry about. But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to do both. But how?

  The question plagued her all afternoon and through dinner. Thankfully, she had been able to put it aside during the evening. Becky played her favorite Mozart and Beethoven songs on the pianoforte for them, while Alison had played Le Jeu des Graĉes with Phyllis—a game s
he had taught Becky when they lived in France and now played with Phyllis, which in England was called The Game of Graces.

  But once the girls had gone off to bed, with the quiet of the night settling in around her, the question intruded on her thoughts once again. Restless and tired of thinking about finding a lover, she had just decided to go to bed for the night when someone began pounding on her front door.

  "Great, just what I needed tonight," she muttered.

  She knew she was being melodramatic. It wasn't that unusual to have night-time callers. As one of the volunteer nurses at the soldier's hospital, Alison was often rousted from her bed in the middle of the night to see to one of the soldiers who had returned from the war badly wounded. And not just those experiencing a physical emergency, but also those having an emotional one. In fact, those were the ones the hospital staff usually gave her, as Alison had gained a reputation for being able to quiet anxious patients.

  During the war, she had never minded the interruptions or lost sleep, as it had given her a purpose in life. It had also kept her mind off her husband's abandonment. Tonight, it would help alleviate her restlessness, at least for a short time.

  "Coming," she called out, as she hurried through the dimly lit hallway. Pulling the door open, she was surprised to find the woman that had occupied much of her thoughts that day.

  "Katie, what in the world are you doing here? And in the middle of the night once again?" Alison asked, and then recalled her friend's recent marriage. "I mean, your Grace."

  Katie looked frazzled and out of breath, as if she had run all the way from Mayfair to Alison’s townhome in Governor Square. Glancing past her friend, she saw a huge black coach in the street with the door still open. There were also a half-dozen or more soldiers on horseback surrounding the coach. A rather scary looking man, one that looked more like a pirate than a coachman, sat on the box of the coach. Another ominous looking man stood by the coach’s door, his hand hovering near a pistol in his belt.