The Bargain

by Vanessa Riley

  Contents

  The Bargain

  Coming to London has Given Precious Jewell a Taste of Freedom...

  Illustrations

  Dedication

  Books by Vanessa Riley

  Cast of Primary Characters

  Prologue: London, February 4, 1816

  Chapter One: London, February 4, 1819

  Chapter Two: Danger in The Streets

  Chapter Three: A Painful Peace

  Chapter Four: A Bargain

  Extras

  Episode II of The Bargain

  Episode IV of The Bargain

  Author's Note

  Glossary

  Sneak Peak: Unmasked Heart

  Excerpt: Unmasked Heart

  Join My Newsletter

  THE BARGAIN

  A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode I

  Vanessa Riley

  Dear Beautiful Reader,

  The Bargain is a serialized story or soap opera told in episodes. Each episode averages from three to eight chapters, about 15,000 to 30,000 words. Each episode resolves one issue. Emotional cliffhangers may be offered, but the plot, the action of the episode, will be complete in resolving the main issue.

  My promise to you is that the action will be compelling, and I will tell you in the forward the length of the episode. This episode, Episode I, is four chapters long, 15,000 words. Enjoy these Regency Tales set in South Africa.

  Vanessa Riley

  Coming to London has given Precious Jewell a taste of freedom, and she will do anything, bear anything, to keep it. Defying her master is at the top of her mind, and she won’t let his unnerving charm sway her. Yet, will her restored courage lead her to forsake a debt owed to the grave and a child who is as dear to her as her own flesh?

  Gareth Conroy, the third Baron Welling, can neither abandon his upcoming duty to lead the fledgling colony of Port Elizabeth, South Africa nor find the strength to be a good father to his heir. Every look at the boy reminds him of the loss of his wife. Guilt over her death plagues his sleep, particularly when he returns to London. Perhaps the spirit and fine eyes of her lady’s maid, Precious Jewell, might offer the beleaguered baron a new reason to dream.

  The Bargain is the first Port Elizabeth Regency Tale.

  Illustrations

  A portion of the Portrait of Catherine Worlée, Princesse de Talleyrand-Périgord (1762-1834) inspired the portrait of Eliza Marsdale set on the cover. The work of art, Portrait of Catherine Worlée, is in the public domain and can be found at Wikicommons.

  The cover is an inspired work of Sanura Jayashan commissioned for this book.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my copy editor supreme, my mother, Louise, my loving hubby, Frank, and my daughter, Ellen. Their patience and support have meant the world to me.

  I also dedicate this labor of love to critique partners extraordinaire: June, Mildred, Lori, Connie, Gail.

  I give special thanks to Piper, the lady who held my hand and led me to discover Precious Jewell’s fire.

  Love to my mentor, Laurie Alice, for answering all my endless questions.

  And I am grateful for my team of encouragers: Sandra, Michela, Kim, and Rhonda.

  Books by Vanessa Riley

  Madeline's Protector

  Swept Away, A Regency Fairy Tale

  The Bargain, A Port Elizabeth Tale, Episode I-IV

  Unmasked Heart, A Regency Challenge of the Soul Series

  Sign up at VanessaRiley.com for contests, early releases, and more.

  Copyright © 2015 Vanessa Riley

  Published by BM Books

  A Division of Gallium Books

  Suite 236B, Atlanta, GA 30308

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9907437-3-6

  Cast of Primary Characters

  Baron Welling (the second Lord Welling): the late uncle of Gareth Conroy.

  Precious Jewell: a slave brought from South Carolina in 1821 as the personal maid of the late Eliza Marsdale Conroy.

  Eliza Marsdale of Charleston, South Carolina, married Gareth Conroy. The marriage was arranged by the (2nd) Baron Welling and Eliza’s father, a wealthy cotton plantation owner.

  Gareth Conroy: the third Baron Welling, succeeded to the title upon the death of his uncle. He has been commissioned to lead the colony of Port Elizabeth, South Africa.

  Jonas Conroy: the son born to Eliza Marsdale. She died shortly after childbirth.

  Mr. Palmers: the butler for Gareth Conroy. He runs the staff at Firelynn Hall.

  Old Jack: a groom employed by a neighbor to Firelynn.

  Prologue: London, February 4, 1816

  Her mistress’s groans pierced the air, breaking Precious Jewell’s heart again. The birth had gone all wrong. Eliza wasn't going to make it.

  Precious coddled the newborn in her arms, smoothing linen about his tiny body. He looked mighty content for all the ruckus his early comin' caused.

  Lowering her gaze to the sweat-dampened bedsheets, the spatters of crimson swaddling the blanket by Eliza’s stomach, only questions remained. Why Eliza? Why now?

  The doctor shifted from his post at the door. “There’s nothing more to be done."

  His starched tie fell asunder. He looked very different from the know-it-all who’d arrived hours earlier. If the man had only listened and taken the babe sooner, Eliza wouldn't be so weak now.

  "I'll get the vicar.” The cowardly man left the bedchamber.

  The butler stalked away from the bed, and passed Precious as if she weren't there. He rounded to the window. Palmers’s old stone face looked broken. “How will we tell His Lordship?”

  Useless menfolk; thinkin' of other men, not Eliza.

  They should be encouraging her mistress, not counting the seconds for the reaper to appear. “She ain't gone yet. Maybe you should send prayers to that Sunday God of yours.”

  Palmers returned to the canopied bed. “Watch your tongue, Jewell. There’s no need for your opinions.”

  “Stop, you two.” The weak cry slipped from Eliza. “Let my final moments be of peace.”

  Tears pressed on Precious's eyes. Oh, how flushed her poor friend looked. “Let me give you something to drink, Miss Eliza. You might get strength from water. Don't you want some…?”

  Eliza’s head slowly shook. Her pinkie shifted and waggled. It was her way when she wanted to appear demure, but still show disapproval. “Not now. Something more important.”

  Precious moved to the head of the massive bed frame. “Open your eyes, and see your son. You gotta fight for him. Your husband needs you, too.”

  The lady’s pinkie started to shiver like it would fall off. “He's made his choices.” The kitten-like voice bore a sharpness, a biting pain. “Let him burn for going off to his uncle. Tell him that.”

  Palmers spun and clutched his dark mantle. “He’s to be the baron tonight. He had to be at his uncle's last breath. Duty claimed him, mum. You will be the next Lady Welling.”

  At this, Eliza’s eyes opened. Red-rimmed pupils flashed before settling on her son. “For a few minutes, I have a title. Write my father of it. He's paid for it."

  "Hush now, Miss Eliza. You should save your strength. In a few days, we'll be getting you styled for another cluster of parties. You'll be the new Lady Wellin' Welling."

  Gasping, as if her lungs leaked, Eliza closed her eyes. "What’s that worth? No more promises on things… can't touch.” She clenched her teeth together as her body vibrated, her fingers latching on to the mound of bedclothes.

  Precious turned. The babe
shouldn't witness his mother’s passing.

  “It's fine, friend." Eliza's voice became softer. "Let me see him one more time.”

  Wiping a tear on her emerald sleeve, Precious rotated the babe to a secure position within the crook of her arm, and slipped back to the mattress. "He’s beautiful. Your son’s beautiful."

  Eliza's hand moved as if to touch the boy, but then dropped to the bed. “Promise me, Precious. Love him for me. You must do this.”

  “I’ll do what I can for him. Now, hush with this fever talk.”

  “I free you, Precious. Let everyone know that I freed you. And you will mother this child for me.”

  Was this one of Eliza’s jokes? She needed to be careful. That Sunday God might be watching. “Do you want to try to hold him? Maybe the warmth of his little body would keep warmth in yours--”

  “I’m serious. You’re free if you will love my son.”

  The solemn vicar and the doctor stepped into the room. The clergyman started reading from his Bible.

  Eliza screamed, then took a breath. "Precious Jewel is a free woman. No more my slave. She will care for my son, Jonas."

  Palmers stepped backward and moved to the window. “His father should name him and, as his heir to the barony, perhaps he should be Gareth, the lord’s namesake.

  “It shall be Jonas.” With a shaking limb, Eliza lifted a weak hand and brushed the foolscap on the baby’s crown. “Promise me. I’ve done some bad things. Giving you freedom is a good thing. Promise, P.”

  Even as Precious nodded, Eliza’s hand fell with a slap onto the bedsheets.

  Her eyes closed, never again to see the morning.

  The baby squirmed, then started to cry.

  Tears leaked from Precious’s eyes, too, for Eliza would never hear Precious yell, "Yes!"

  Chapter One: London, February 4, 1819

  Lightening crashed about the great windows of Firelynn Hall, but that didn't frighten Precious Jewell none. No, it was the tinkling of broken glass coming from downstairs that set the hair on the back of her neck in a tizzy.

  She stilled her vibrating fingers against the stark white apron of her dark-emerald maidin’ outfit. The feel of the cloth, so starched and formal, so different from the plain hand-me-downs she'd gotten in Charleston filled her middle with something, not quite pride, not joy either. Something. Reckon three years in London offered better treatment.

  Angered mumbles floated up to the echoing hall, sending more trembles to her spine. The master fumed again, but time was running out. She couldn’t put off her request any more. A drunken set down or slap couldn’t be any worse than what she’d suffered. That was England’s benefit. She hadn't been lashed for slapping a fresh footman or coal boy.

  Yet.

  Pushing herself forward, Precious forced her feet to work and crept until she made it to the edge of the stairs. Her body froze, with toes dangling over the thick tread. She had every right to approach the master like the other servants.

  Nodding like a twit, she tried to hold that sentiment in her tummy, clenching it tight within her middle, but the grand mirror exposed a small brown face with quivering lips. Lyin’ to yourself in your head was as bad as lyin’ out loud.

  And she weren’t …wasn’t a servant, not without papers.

  Thunder moaned and set the house to shaking. A wail sounded, shattering the little bit of courage she possessed. Little Jonas must be taken with fright. He must need her.

  Her slippers turned a little too easy and Precious pattered back to the nursery. It was better to see about the baby than tend to herself. Well, that weren’t a lie. It just felt heavy like one. Excuses had a way of piling up on your back until you fell over. Right now, Precious would tumble with the slightest wind.

  She pushed open the wide paneled door. Sure enough, Jonas stood in the middle of his bed covers. He cried, but this time the noise was muted. She’d heard him cry for hours like a banshee, but he must know his Pa was in a bad way. She came closer, her voice set to a whisper. “Jonas, darlin’, brave boy. You must settle.”

  The whites of the two-year-old’s eyes loomed large. Tears puddled, too, but the little man didn’t let them go. He must know silence was better.

  Heart aching, she picked him up from his crib. “Birthday boy, all will be well.”

  Thunder groaned, and light blazed through the thick glass panes. For a moment she fingered her apron to see if the Lord above had smote her for fibbing. Surely, a good God knew you couldn’t tell a babe the truth, that his father was demented with grief. “Jonas, sweetheart, go back to sleep; shut those blue eyes. You have your pappy’s crystal blues, but all of Eliza’s blonde locks. And she’s looking upon you smiling and singing. But she sure would get me for letting you fidget.”

  When his mouth puckered, letting out a low spittin’ sob, Precious held him closer. Having him shouting would add more upset to the household. No, this little angel needed to be spared his father’s wrath. Lord knows, Jonas hadn’t seen enough of his pa, and viewing the man drunk or yelling wouldn’t be good.

  The cherub in her arms snuggled against the pleats of the low neckline, exposing her blouse. Paper or no papers, this time of caring for Jonas would end. Soon a proper governess for the boy would be sought, someone who could teach him all the ways of the English. Someone not a slave.

  Precious jumped as Jonas touched her neck. He’d reached and gripped one of her fat braids slipping from her mobcap. The blackness looked like rope against his rosy palm. “Momma, make better.”

  Her pulse slowed as she sucked in a deeper breath. "I'm not your momma, Jonas. Call me Mammie Precious. Maybe your Pa will get you a new one someday."

  An ache rippled inside. No one could ever replace Eliza, and definitely not these hoity-toity English misses. Precious had seen them, spying on the master, bribing a footman for his whereabouts when Eliza was barely cold in the ground.

  The child yawned and burrowed into the crook of her arm. He wasn't paying her no mind. But, it wasn't best to pretend she'd get to be in his life once his pappy left for South Africa. Mr. Palmer would see to that. She shook her head, trying to rid it of a hundred horrible thoughts of her dealin's with the prideful butler and focused on the boy. "Your mother, Elisa Marsdale, was the kindest of souls, so good –"

  Slam.

  Crash.

  The noise was very loud. Even Jonas's sleepy eyes popped open again.

  Somehow she eased him back into the crib and tucked the blanket about him tight, all whilst her hands shook. "Now back to sleep, you. No more fussing. If your pa sends me away, know I love you."

  The lad nodded and, before his blue eyes could draw her back, Precious hastened to the door. Lifting her moss-colored skirts, she scampered down the treads, heading for the master's study.

  Mr. Palmer came out of the room. His stern face looked sad, with a deep frown planted between old saggy jowls. As if he had just noticed her, he leveled his shoulders and snapped to attention. "What are you doing up, Jewell? Is the child well?"

  "Yes, sir, but I must speak with Mr. Wellin'."

  He looked past her, as was his custom when dealing with servants he felt beneath him. "It's Lord Welling. You've been here almost four years, and you still get it wrong. What will you be teaching his heir?"

  She scrunched up her apron to give her fingers something to do other than fumble. "You won't have that problem for much longer. I'm sure you'll find someone approp… perfect upon the lord's leaving next week. In fact, I'll bring it to Lord Well-ing’s notice now."

  As she stepped forward, Palmers blocked her path. "No. His lordship is in no mood to be disturbed. Return to your room. That's an order. You know what that is?"

  She knew what orders were. They were ingrained in her brain, and the consequences of disobedience had cut scars upon her back. Precious nodded and forced her body to turn. Gall wet her tongue. So close, too close to be chased away by a hoity-toity butler.

  Palmers plodded past her and headed to the west wing. As she
made it to the stairs leading to the basement, she watched his stiff form covered in the black livery uniform disappear into the dark passage.

  Twisting stairs leading to her small chamber below sat in front of her. Forty-five steps and she'd be inside her closet-sized quarters, one shared with a scullery maid. In Charleston, the slave quarters were big but shared by four or five. Maybe the small cellar room was what the lowest of servants of the house could have. Once the master left, how much longer would Mr. Palmers let her stay in it? He didn’t think she deserved anything but a hay bale, to be stabled like an animal.

  If he tossed her out, would she become a Blackamoor at a brothel or worse, sold again and returned to South Carolina or Jamaica? Her fingers latched onto the waxed rail for strength. The smooth wood felt good beneath her thumb, cooling the fever of thoughts running rampant.

  A memory of Eliza pushing her, encouraging her to slide down the big one at her pa's manor in Charleston, fluttered in her mind's eye. Precious had held her breath, put her bottom on the banister and slipped the length of it. For a few seconds, it felt like flying. It was reckless and heady and would've earned Precious such a beating if Mr. Marsdale had caught her, but sailing free was worth it. Wasn't freedom worth every risk?

  Thunder erupted, and the storm pelted the roof in a steady punching manner. Her breath came in spurts as she remembered a backhand to the jaw, the stings of a whip, all endured protecting herself. The freedom to refuse sweaty advances was worth the beating, so complete freedom had to be, too.