Holly
by Blair Bancroft
Published by Kone Enterprises
at Smashwords
Copyright 2014 by Grace Ann Kone
For other books by Blair Bancroft,
please see http://www.blairbancroft.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Chapter 1
Thornhill Manor - on the Thames, near Richmond
“No, no!” Cecilia cried. “That is not at all what we planned.”
“But, Cecilia, my dear,” Lady Juliana Rivenhall countered, “the country would be a terrible place for poor Holly. Villages can be so judgmental—”
“But no one would know. She’d just be a widow with a small child.”
Lady Rivenhall, headmistress of the Aphrodite Academy, and her two most successful graduates were gathered in the drawing room of the baroness’s private apartments. Arabella, Lady Ashford—known at the Academy as Belle—and her one-time roommate, Cecilia Lily, were seated on a blue and green silk brocade sofa. Lady Rivenhall sat facing them in a matching upholstered chair.
“Cecy,” Belle said, with only the slightest hint in her tone that she thought their argument had run on too long, “Holly would be alone, knowing no one, with a small child to care for, and no one to turn to if anything should go wrong.” A blush suddenly suffused her classically lovely face, framed in golden hair and marked by a pair of sky blue eyes. “Now that I am–ah–in the family way myself, I can easily picture how it would be for her. It won’t do, Cecy, truly it won’t.”
“Holly agrees with me,” Cecy insisted, her chin squaring into a stubborn line. “A quiet country cottage is exactly what she wants.”
“She is mistaken,” Juliana Rivenhall declared. “As are you. How fortunate Mr. Black discovered your plan before you whisked Holly away to some godforsaken spot to suffer through childbirth on her own. Heaven alone knows what might have happened.”
Cecy opened her mouth to protest, snapped it closed. In retrospect, she could see Lady R’s point. A cottage in some county far from London had seemed idyllic when she and Holly spoke of it, but even though the necklace she sold—and Nick had so quickly redeemed—brought in enough money to pay for a midwife as well a cottage, giving birth among none but strangers was a daunting thought. But if Holly bore her babe at Boone Farm and settled into a cottage in St. John’s Woods, or some other location which accepted courtesans and the inevitable results of their liaisons, Holly would never be able to escape the stigma of bearing a bastard. In the country she could start over, perhaps find a decent man who would offer marriage . . .
“If she stays in town,” Lady R declared, “she would have our support. None of us are in want of funds, and we could be certain that she and the babe are both safe and comfortable.”
“She would never be free!” Cecy cried. She turned an anguished face to her former mentor. “Please forgive me, but I want her far away from town. We are ever so grateful for all you have done for us—what you do for girls like us is a miracle—but it’s time Holly moved on, as Belle and I have moved on. I want to see her have a chance for a real home and family. And she can’t do that unless she leaves the city behind.”
Belle, frowning, jumped into the fray with an argument of her own. “Although I am happy to contribute, it is Mr. Everard who should pay. Just because he abandoned poor Holly does not mean he has no responsibility in this matter.”
Juliana huffed a snort of disgust. “I fear it is the way of the world, my dear. Some men support a whole brood of children with their mistresses—you have only to look at the royal princes for proof of that! And other so-called protectors fly away at the first sign of disturbance to their love nests.”
“Nick’ll be glad to have a word with him,” Cecy offered, a spark of malevolence glinting in her green eyes. “In fact, the very thought of it makes my day considerably brighter.”
Belle clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp, but Juliana made no effort to hide a chortle of satisfaction. “Oh yes, I should dearly love to see that. But do tell Mr. Black to leave the poor man in one piece. A dead man’s money is gone on the wind.”
Cecy shot a wounded look at the Baroness Rivenhall but did not protest. Just the sight of the notorious Nick Black should be enough to strike terror into the heart of the wealthy scion of one of England’s wealthiest banking families.
But Lady R’s quick mind, satisfied that the babe’s father was not going to escape without some sort of retribution, was already embracing a new topic. “Perhaps Holly should come here,” she mused.
“What!” her former pupils exclaimed in unison.
“And after the babe is born, I could arrange a marriage, just as I have for some of the other girls.”
“And the baby?” Cecy challenged.
“There are many who want a child. I should have no trouble—”
“I would have taken the babe myself,” Cecy interjected, her tone knife-edged, “if Holly had not already said no. Nick even agreed. In fact, he asked what trouble could a baby be compared to Fetch?”
“So we are at an impasse,” Juliana murmured, biting her lip in a rare display of emotion.
“I believe we are forgetting something,” Belle said. The other two women turned questioning faces in her direction. “Holly. It is Holly who must decide.”
Silence enveloped the sunny room as Cecy and Juliana mulled Belle’s statement and accepted, with reluctance, that she was right.
Boone Farm, north of London
A young woman, one of the farm’s many expectant mothers who shared the daily chores, paused in the open doorway to Holly Hammond’s bedchamber. Although Holly was eight months gone with child, she appeared neat as a pin as she looked up, her straight dark hair pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, her dark eyes solemn. “Holly,” the girl said, “there’s a visitor fer you. A real fancy lady, she is. Best leg it down as fast as you kin waddle. Though Mrs. Jamison says, ‘Mind the stairs.’”
A lady? Holly frowned. Cecy and Belle were such frequent visitors no one would describe them as “a real fancy lady.” So who . . .? Frowning, she put aside her mending, dragged herself to her feet, and descended the staircase, holding tightly to the rail. The lively creature inside her might have caused an extreme inconvenience to her usual confidant movements, but there was no way she was going to risk losing the poor little bastard. He—though why she was so certain it was a he, she couldn’t say—was here to stay, as much a part of her life as her arm or her leg. Or her heart. Poor wee mite. She’d find a way to make it up to him. She would go to the country, claim a husband she never had, and bring her babe up without the slightest hint of bastardy. No matter how lonely a life it might be. It was a sacrifice she must make, punishment for running away from home. For being dazzled by dreams of the wonders to be found in the great city of London. She had whored, and now she must pay for it.
Holly reached the entry hall at last and turned toward the parlor. Oh! Her visitor’s striking face, framed in bronze hair and punctuated by a pair of striking amber eyes, was perfectly offset by a walki
ng dress of sea green silk, tailored to perfection. Lady Juliana Rivenhall. Lady R. Or the Dragon Lady, as they sometimes called her.
“Holly, my dear.” Juliana Rivenhall rose to her feet, holding out both hands. With a sob catching in her throat, Holly rushed forward to seize her hands, the handhold quickly turning into a hug as tears flowed down both sets of cheeks.
When both women had wiped their eyes and were seated on the parlor’s well-worn furniture, Juliana took a deep breath and said, “Holly, you know I consider all my girls family and wish only the best for you. But . . .” She paused, studying the carpet for a moment as if it held the answer to the question that eluded them all. “I cannot believe that raising a child alone in a village full of strangers is the right thing to do. Far better you should come to me. You know I have always promised shelter to any of my girls who needed it.”
Holly swallowed the sharp laugh that bubbled in her throat. Raise her babe—her boy babe—at the Aphrodite Academy? Grateful as she was for the offer, she couldn’t quite believe her ears. But this was the woman who had forced her to speak the king’s English, made certain she could converse in French as well. The woman who had overseen her study of history, literature, art, and politics, vastly improved her taste in clothes, and opened a window on nearly every sexual proclivity man had yet invented.
And successfully launched her into the glittering world of high-priced courtesans. Only to be tripped up by her own carelessness, her tendency to rush heedlessly ahead, disregarding well-meant advice. So now, here she was at Boone Farm with her belly sticking out a mile and nothing to fall back on but the good manners she had learned from the woman standing before her.
“My lady,” Holly said in her most neutral tone, “just what did you have in mind?” In all her days at the Academy she had never seen the dynamic Lady R disconcerted, but for a moment the Baroness Rivenhall seemed unable to reply. As happened all too often, Holly’s sharp tongue was faster than her brain. Or her good intentions. “My lady, surely even a strange village would be less isolated than Thornhill Manor.”
Lady R visibly winced, Holly’s meaning all too clear. Men—except for the male models used in the Academy’s graphic demonstrations—were not allowed to set foot inside the grounds of the Thames-front mansion. And the residents seldom ventured out—not until they were ready to be put on display as the Aphrodite Academy’s latest additions to the world of highly polished, exorbitantly expensive courtesans.
“That is not . . .” Juliana tried again. “I have no intention of asking you to return to that life, Holly. After you are recovered from your confinement, I can arrange a marriage for you, if that is your wish.”
There was something not being said here. Holly’s frown turned to a scowl. “And the babe?”
Lady R actually squirmed—Holly could scarcely believe her eyes. But the baroness firmed her lips, raised her head high, and said, “Geoffrey and I never had a child, I don’t know why, but I would dearly love to adopt your babe, Holly, raise her as my own.”
“Even if it’s a boy?” The question exploded out of nowhere, even as Holly struggled with the shock of Lady R’s offer.
Juliana smiled. “Yes, even then, for we must all learn to adapt to new situations. The child would have everything, Holly, never forget that,” she added on a gush of words. “I am one of the wealthiest women in all of Britain. Geoffrey had no heirs, the title is in abeyance. I am sole possessor of every bit of property, every business, and every penny of the money he had in the funds. And I promise you, my man of business guards it all like an ogre guards his chest of gold. Your child would be wealthy beyond belief.”
No-o-o. Stunned, Holly fought the chaos Lady R’s offer stirred up. The babe was hers. With every squirm and kick, he reminded her of that. But to deny him such a future . . . “Forgive me,” she murmured at last, “but this is such a shock, a sharp bend in a road I thought so clearly mapped out. May I have some time to think about it?”
“Of course, my dear. No, no, don’t get up.” Juliana stood, bent down to give Holly a hug. “Take your time. I realize this is a difficult decision.”
For a long time after Lady Rivenhall left, Holly sat, unmoving, as a whole new world opened before her. A world that was somehow even more frightening than the thought of raising a child alone among strangers.
Princes Street, London
Nick Black leaned back in the leather-upholstered chair behind his desk in the house on Princes Street and gazed at the fine furnishings, the Adams fireplace, the towering shelves filled with books, the light shining through the windows, gleaming off the decanters of brandy, burgundy, and port set on a round table in the corner. On the turn of a card, the former mudlark, gang leader, and man of menace had made it to Mayfair. But, truth was, he’d been working his way into more legitimate businesses for several years before he took on a pack of nobs for neighbors.
And now, the final touch. He whose name struck fear into hearts from Limehouse to Kensington was getting married. Gawd, it didn’t seem possible! If Fetch didn’t stop ragging him about it . . .
“Beg pardon, Mr. Black.” Thaddeus Pike, Nick’s very proper, though exceptionally tolerant, butler stood in the doorway. “Captain Kincade is here.”
Nick straightened his back, a spark igniting in his shrewd gray eyes, as his butler stepped aside, and a tall man of military bearing strode into the room. He wore no uniform, however, merely the town togs expected of a gentleman of the ever-burgeoning middle class. Dark blue frock coat, a modest vest of a lighter shade, white shirt, simple cravat, eggshell pantaloons tucked into tall shining boots. Clearly nothing but the best for Royce Kincade when summoned by his employer. He was a handsome man, if one cared for chiseled features, marked by the far-seeing eyes of a sea captain. Celtic blue eyes, with a glint of red in his brown hair confirmed Kincade’s northern ancestry. Not an easy man to manipulate, Nick thought, but when had his life ever been easy?
After a handshake and the customary exchange of greetings, Nick waved the captain into the chair set in front of his desk. Silently, their eyes met and held. Two strong men wondering about the outcome of this meeting. Nick leaned back in his chair and said, “You’ve worked how long for me, Captain?”
“Five years, sir. Two as mate on the Mary Grace, three as captain on the Venturer.”
“And if I asked you what your ultimate goal is—your dream of the future—what would you say?”
The captain’s lips thinned, a slight frown furrowing his brow. “You really want an answer to that?”
“I do.”
“Then begging your pardon, Mr. Black, and no offense intended, I’d like a ship of my own.”
“A-ah.” Nick’s lips curled in a faint smile of satisfaction. “Now what would you say if I told you that could be arranged?”
Chapter 2
Boone Farm
“Holly, Holly, another visitor fer you.”
Holly’s jabbed her finger with the needle. No! Lady R couldn’t be back so soon. She wasn’t ready. Her heart and her common sense had been at war ever since the Dragon Lady’s last visit. She’d even lost her appetite, and that couldn’t be good for the babe. The babe that was hers, and hers alone. The babe who could live in wealth and comfort for all his life and the lives of generations to come. How could she deny him that opportunity?
Yet how could she give him up?
“It’s not the lady wot come before,” today’s messenger offered. “She says she’s your mum.”
Her mum. Holly stared. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her mother in . . . what? At least four years. “Send her up,” she murmured through lips stiff with shock.
Flora Ragsdale, whose strong-minded determination to rule the roost had contributed to her daughter’s departure for London, paused in the doorway. Her lips thinned into a straight line at the sight of Holly’s protruding belly, before she suddenly dashed across the room and enfolded her in a firm embrace. “Oh, my poor dear,” she cried, “that all your fine dreams have
come to this.”
With every footstep on the stairs, Holly had vowed to be brave, but now . . . She burst into tears, soaking her apron and the shoulder of her mother’s traveling cloak as well. Some time later, when the flood had been reduced to an occasional sniff, Flora said, “You must come home, child. Come back to those who love you.”
“When I wrote to you, I never meant—”
“Of course you did, or you’d not have said a word.”
Holly rubbed away a final tear and said more strongly, “No, truly, mother, I never thought to go home. I would not be a burden to you.”
“And life in Kent is not to your taste,” her mother returned with no little disgust.
“It’s not that,” Holly protested. “I just can’t go back to where everyone knows me . . . where they’ll all see . . .” Her voice trailed away as more tears threatened.
Flora heaved a sigh. “Well now, that’s a problem, it truly is.”
“It’s all right, I promise you. I have friends here, good friends. I’ll be well taken care of.”
“And you’ve learned to talk a treat, you have. There’s something I never expected.” Flora suddenly scowled. “But what of the dastard what done this? Where’s he when you need him?”
Holly drew a deep breath, reaching for strength that seemed just out of reach. With each day the babe grew stronger, she felt herself fading away, as if her existence no longer mattered as anything more than a vessel to hold the child before spilling it out into a hostile world. “He’s gone, mother. A frail shadow of a man who disappeared into the night. And good riddance is all I can say.”
Slowly, Flora Ragsdale shook her head. “Then you’ll have the babe here, in this place?” Her lips curled in disdain as she glanced around.
Holly Page 1