Once a Scoundrel

by Anna Harrington

  Once a Scoundrel

  Anna Harrington

  Copyright

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Once a Scoundrel

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Harrington

  Ebook ISBN: 9781943772650

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  NYLA Publishing

  350 7th Avenue, Suite 2003, NY 10001, New York.

  http://www.nyliterary.com

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my sister Denise

  for playing our own cutthroat games when we were kids.

  (Miniature golf will never be the same again.)

  A very special thank you to

  Natanya Wheeler for helping with the publication of this novella,

  Sarah Younger for your patience with me,

  and the NYLA interns for your wonderful feedback.

  And to Allison Fetters,

  for being such a wonderful friend and copy editor.

  Chapter One

  Hartsfield Park, Kent

  September 1842

  “I heard he had an affair with Baroness Marston.”

  Faith Westover rolled her eyes. If she had to hear one more giggling comment from her friends about Stephen Crenshaw, Marquess of Dunwich, she was going to scream.

  As she did her best to ignore the group of silly things gathered near her and glanced around the crowded ballroom at the partygoers who had come to celebrate her father’s birthday, she supposed she couldn’t blame them. There was a decided lack of excitement at the party and a veritable dearth of interesting men, which she blamed entirely on her brother James for remaining at university. Which meant that none of his Cambridge friends were in attendance. Which meant that she and her friends had precious few eligible gentlemen to dance with.

  And that meant that her friends had little else to occupy their attentions except for Stephen Crenshaw.

  Yet her friends weren’t alone. The room buzzed with guarded whispers about the young marquess. Rumors had spread fast and thick all season about what Stephen had been up to since returning from India three months ago, but even though the partygoers were titillated by the thought of finally seeing for themselves the prodigal marquess, they knew not to openly disparage the man. Not at Hartsfield Park. Not when her father had been best friends with Stephen’s father and uncle since their army days. But rumors still spread in whispers behind flitting fans and over glasses of wine about Stephen. Apparently, that was perfectly fine.

  Although she was born into their midst, Faith feared she would never understand English society.

  “No, it was Viscountess Rathbourne,” another friend corrected amid a flitting of fans as all six girls leaned in to hear.

  “It was the dowager Baroness Marston—”

  “But isn’t the dowager dead?”

  “Yes,” Faith answered with a heavy sigh of exasperation. “And it wasn’t her daughter-in-law either, as the baron and baroness have been on the continent since April.”

  “So it was the viscountess!” Her friend’s eyes lit up. “What’s the truth, Faith? You know him.”

  Had her friends lost their minds? “I don’t know about a—” She lowered her voice and whispered behind her fan, “A man’s bed sport.”

  From the looks her friends gave her, none of them believed her. Instead, they all stared at her, waiting expectantly for her to declare the rumors true.

  “Viscountess Rathbourne already has a...friend, in that regard,” Faith confided. Oh, her mother would skin her alive if she heard her talking about her guests like this! But she was certain she wasn’t the only one gossiping about Lady Rathbourne tonight, who was in attendance only because her husband served on the same committees in parliament as Faith’s father. “And he isn’t Stephen Crenshaw.” Although the rascal would most likely be sorely put out that he wasn’t, given the viscountess’s famous beauty and infamous allure.

  Disappointment darkened their faces, and this time, they flitted their fans with consternation that the juiciest of the night’s gossip had been quashed so easily.

  “All I can say for certain is that he accepted Mama’s invitation to the house party.” Which had been the only society invitation he’d accepted since his return. Given that he’d shadowed the end of the season rather than engaged in it, Faith easily understood why so much gossip had arisen so quickly about him. All of it shocking. Truly, it was as if he’d returned to England and situated himself right back into the same flurry of rumors that had been swirling around him when he left.

  Now he was due to arrive at any hour. Should have been here already, in fact, with the other guests who’d arrived that afternoon. But leave it to Stephen to flaunt even the most basic rules of society.

  And truly, Faith didn’t care if the scoundrel never appeared. She’d be glad of it, in fact. Glad! Then she wouldn’t have to pretend as if they were still old friends, as if she were happy to see him again. As if a part of her didn’t still blame him for leaving.

  “Perhaps he decided to spend the sennight with his mistress.”

  Faith froze, her fan in mid-flit as an unexpected bolt of jealousy struck her. Her friend smiled, oblivious to the emotions roiling inside her and happy to broach the most scandalous of the rumors which had surrounded Stephen like a storm cloud since June. That he’d been keeping a mistress.

  “I don’t...I don’t...” Faith stammered, unable to form an answer while her friends continued to stare expectantly at her as if she were the Oracle of Delphi, able to solve the deepest mysteries of the age. Of which Stephen Crenshaw had apparently become one.

  Worse, she was unable to dissemble—all right, flat out lie—on his behalf because she’d not seen him since his return.

  “How can you stand it?” one of her friends demanded. “I’m practically beside myself to see the marquess! Aren’t you the least bit excited?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, Faith!” Her friends turned up their noses in disbelief that she wasn’t over the moon the way they all were at Stephen’s impending arrival.

  But that was because, unlike her friends, she knew him. And his recent behavior was simply Stephen behaving true to form by doing absolutely nothing to dissuade the busybodies and everything to make the rumors as scintillating as possible. He took a perverse pleasure in being the scapegrace the gossips proclaimed him to be.

  Oh, he’d always been one for trouble. Even as a boy he’d resisted the responsibility and sense of duty that had been thrust on him since the day he was born a marquess. He wasn’t spoiled the way so many young lords were—far from it. If anything, Stephen had been constantly reminded of how fortunate he was, expected to work twice as hard as his friends, and taught to behave like an adult from the time he was just a boy.

  Under that stress, could anyone blame him for rebelling? So he’d secretly joined the army when he no longer found escape in cards, drink, and whatever other mischief he could find—including bedding the bored wives of half the queen’s council, if rumors could be believed, and knowing what Stephen had been like during his university days, that rumor Faith was willing to accept at face value. In the ranks, he’d been just ano
ther captain, and he’d enjoyed his new-found anonymity, until his commanding officers discovered that he was the adopted son of General Nathaniel Grey, one of the most respected men in the War Office.

  “You and the marquess spent a great deal of time together, didn’t you?” another friend pressed. “Before he went off to India?”

  “I suppose so,” Faith dodged, turning her attention back to the crush around them before they could see any unbidden emotions for Stephen flitting on her face.

  Because they had spent time together. As much as allowed, that is, because she had been just nineteen and in her second season, and Stephen had already earned himself a notorious reputation. But her older twin sisters had been in their fourth—and what would prove to be their last—season as eligible ladies before they married, with her younger sister Margaret in her first. The twins had taken London by storm, much to their mother’s joy and their father’s chagrin, and Margaret had been all caught up in the excitement of her debut. With those three stealing attention everywhere they went and James finishing his last year at Eton, no one had paid Faith any mind...except for Stephen.

  He and Daniel Llewellyn, his best friend from university, had come to London that May when they were graduated. Even then, rumors about Stephen’s scandalous activities were swirling through Mayfair, and Daniel’s penchant for engaging in the same sort of behaviors, surely egged on by Stephen, hadn’t helped quell the gossip. He was a rogue, a friend...

  And then somehow, he became more.

  At first, she’d ignored his attentions. This was Stephen, after all. Someone she’d known all her life, a young man who oozed charm and flattery with every breath. Flirtation was his second nature.

  Then he’d kissed her.

  Oh, she was certain it had been a mistake. That Stephen Crenshaw would find her attractive...ridiculous! Then he’d done it again the next time they were alone, and again and again...Faith’s head had spun to know that he wanted to spend time with her, and her heart— Oh, that silly thing simply somersaulted! He made her feel special and beautiful, as if she were an alluring woman instead of just another eligible miss in pastel satins. As if she were the catch of the season instead of the young lady he’d previously spent his existence ignoring.

  Yet for all his kisses, he never asked Papa for permission to court her, and he never made her any promises of love. He also did nothing to curtail the rumors of scandalous trysts with society wives and widows.

  At the time, she’d been too enamored of him to doubt his motivations. Now, though, she knew he’d only enjoyed the convenience of her kisses and the flattery to his pride of having her starry-eyed attentions on him. Nothing more. He’d been his scoundrel self, while she’d been too inexperienced with men to understand that.

  Then in July, he and Daniel joined the army and left for India. Without warning or explanation to his family—without even a note to her. Whatever feelings she thought he had for her sailed away with him.

  She’d been devastated and cried inconsolably, and all of it had been made worse in that she couldn’t tell anyone. Not even her own sisters. They would have said it was her own fault for falling for a rake, and for that rake in particular.

  And truly, wasn’t it? She’d been a fool for ever dreaming of his love.

  “He was with Daniel Llewellyn when he was killed, wasn’t he?”

  Faith stiffened at the unexpected comment. “Yes,” she answered quietly.

  “India must have been ghastly for him!”

  She was certain it was. Especially since Stephen had given the order which led to Daniel’s death.

  Their regiment had been attacked, the order for a counterattack given...Daniel had been killed in the fray. There had been nothing Stephen could do to save him. Letters from Stephen had been few and far between before that; afterward, no more letters came at all.

  The next she’d heard of him, Stephen had returned to London three months ago as unexpectedly as when he’d left. Three months during which he hadn’t bothered to call on her while the rumors of his new rakish pursuits flourished. If she needed any more proof that she’d meant nothing to him, that was it.

  “He’ll need to find a wife soon,” another friend interjected. “After all, he needs an heir.”

  Faith rolled her eyes. Oh for heaven’s sake! Were her friends incapable of talking about anything except Stephen Crenshaw?

  A commotion went up from the front entrance, and Faith caught her breath.

  Speak of the devil...

  Stephen appeared in the wide doorway. He paused to sweep his gaze around the ballroom and to unwittingly give English society their first good look at him in four years. Every inch of his regal demeanor declared him the marquess he was born being, and the devil-may-care grin, which even now crooked up his lips in an audacious half-smile, acknowledged the rakehell he’d become. Tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, he commanded the room’s attention with his quiet presence. Even though he’d arrived unannounced, everyone knew who he was, and a new round of whispers went up.

  The Master of Ceremonies called out the next dance, and the orchestra struck up the first notes. But no one noticed. Their attentions were rapt on the marquess.

  “Lady Faith, our dance.”

  Except for one, apparently.

  She tore her gaze away from Stephen as Arthur Billingsby appeared at her side. Heavens, she’d completely forgotten that she’d agreed to dance with the man. He was a friend of her brother-in-law, which had made it impossible for her to turn him down.

  Although dancing was the last thing she wanted to do at that moment, she knew her place at tonight’s party and forced a smile. “Of course.”

  He placed her hand on his arm and led her onto the floor.The couples took their positions, then bowed and curtsied before launching into a series of turns and sashays.

  As she worked her way down the row toward the head of the line, not missing a step in her bobs and turns, Faith took surreptitious glances at Stephen. She watched from the corner of her eye as he crossed the room to greet her mother and father and then greeted his aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess of Chatham, before finally turning to his own parents. He shook the general’s hand and lowered his head to allow his mother to kiss his cheek. When Lady Emily fussed over the way his valet had knotted his snow-white cravat in the latest minimalist fashion, Faith fought back a smile at his expense. Mothers never changed, no matter how old or troublesome their sons.

  He’d certainly changed in appearance, though.

  Despite being dressed in the same black and white formal attire as every other man in the room, right down to the black tailcoat worn open to reveal the intricately embroidered silk waistcoat beneath, nothing about him was ordinary. As if to impress that point, he’d forgone proper shoes for a pair of well-worn boots. They were the only indication in his apparel that he’d spent the last four years on horseback in the army rather than haunting the clubs on St. James’s Street, yet no one could overlook the proud and straight-spined military bearing he wore like a uniform. A demeanor that distinguished him from every other young man in the room.

  His boyish features were gone, and in their place was solid man. Only those deep blue eyes, the curly black hair he still wore unfashionably long, and that charming half-grin that curled at his lips were the same.

  Oh, how she remembered that grin! Faith had always found Stephen dashing and his scandalous nature secretly thrilling, even when she’d been a girl in the schoolroom and he’d been at Harrow. All those years when she stared after him dreamily while he’d paid her as much mind as a chair, she’d hoped that someday he might notice her as something other than Strathmore’s daughter. That he might finally do more than make her stare after him longingly and sigh whenever he gave her the smallest compliment. That he might dare to kiss her in some dark garden the way he was rumored to do with other ladies...

  Then he did.

  And now her foolish heart regretted ever wanting t
hat.

  The dance ended. The ladies twirled back into their original positions as the last notes died away. Billingsby led her off the dance floor, taking the long way around the room to return her to her friends. And the way furthest from Stephen so she couldn’t get a better look at him, not even when she craned her neck. Not that she wanted to see him anyway. He meant absolutely nothing to her now, she told herself. And someday she hoped to believe that.

  “Dunwich’s arrival has created quite a stir,” Billingsby commented.

  “As always,” she muttered, the familiar anger at Stephen tightening her chest.

  When Billingsby glanced down at her, puzzled at her tone, she forced a smile. After all, he was a friend of the family, so she needed to be polite to him, and he was only here for the evening. Thank goodness. Because she didn’t like the way he kept staring at her. As if a giant stain covered her bodice.

  “Your family is close to his, I understand,” he added.

  “Very.” Although she wished with all her heart that they weren’t. Then she wouldn’t have to see Stephen again or speak to him...or pretend he hadn’t wounded her.

  “I’m certain you’ve heard the latest rumor, then.”

  Her smile faded. “You mean the untruth that he’s keeping a mistress?” Surely Billingsby realized what a boor he was to spread gossip about a family friend to her face.

  “Not just keeping her—”

  She sniffed haughtily. No, apparently the man had no sense of vulgarity.

  “—but her and her son, whom he refuses to acknowledge as his.”

  Her heart skipped. An illegitimate son? Impossible. Even from a scoundrel like Stephen. “You are mistaken, sir.”

  “Then so is half of London.” He seemed amused at her defense of the marquess—Lord knew Faith was puzzled over it herself—but he didn’t notice that she’d put as much room between them as possible in the crush while still holding onto his arm. By her fingertips. “You know as well as I how rumors start. There’s always a grain of truth at the heart of each.”