My Lady Coward: An Episodic Regency Romance

by Grant, Jaimey

  The Complete

  My Lady Coward

  An Episodic

  Regency Romance

  by

  Jaimey Grant

  My Lady Coward

  An Episodic Regency Romance

  by Jaimey Grant

  ©2011, 2012 Laura J Miller

  Heartless excerpt ©2008, 2012 Laura J Miller

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Cover design by Laura J Miller

  www.anauthorsart.com

  Published by TreasureLine Publishing

  www.treasurelinepublishing.com

  First published online 2011-2012 in serial form.

  The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

  Kindle Edition License Statement

  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 reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  A Note From the Author

  My Lady Coward started out as a single short story for a Clever Fiction prompt. I never intended to continue the story but readers demanded to know more of Lady Maria. Over the following year, that first short tale grew into ten installments, reaching a total word count of over 14,000.

  This complete edition features the original short stories, exactly as they are posted online. It was compiled for those who desire the convenience of having all the installments in one place and for those who want the convenience of having it on their e-reading devices.

  Thank you, dear readers, for your support. Please enjoy this compilation of Lady Maria's adventures.

  Disclaimer

  Though I often refer to Maria as Lady Maria, this is historically inaccurate. As the wife of a duke, she would be Lady [title] rather than Lady [first name]. However, her husband's title is never mentioned, thus I took the liberty of referring to her as Lady Maria upon occasion.

  Dedication

  For all the readers who took a moment to express how much they enjoyed this story.

  Part 1

  In which we

  meet Maria…

  He'd had a mistress for years. She'd known it all along. Heart aching, she'd comforted herself with the thought that it was nothing more than a physical relationship, something he did to save face before his Society friends.

  He'd lost so much respect when he'd married her. She was nothing more than the daughter of a Cit, a despised class of people who earned their money from trade rather than inheriting it as any decent sort would.

  Lady Maria sighed and sipped her tea. Was marriage to a duke worth the heartache, the loss? With her marriage vows came the acquisition of a title and position in Society. Security. With her marriage vows came the loss of her friends, her family, and everything familiar and comfortable. Love.

  Another sigh escaped, one deep enough and long enough to attract the attention of her guests. The ladies only visited to stare at the interloper, the middle class upstart who dared marry a duke, depriving the better bred young debutantes of the prize.

  Maria smiled, forced a few polite words from between stiff lips and told herself that she didn't care how much Lady Amelia Cartwright commiserated with her over her husband's behavior.

  “One cannot expect the gentlemen to remain faithful,” Lady Amelia repeated, as if once wasn't enough. “Only women—ahem—ladies are capable of faithfulness.”

  Bereft of speech at the unsubtle dig, anger shot through Maria. All humans were capable of faithfulness, regardless of rank or gender. The upper class's inability to understand such logic was baffling. Believing Maria to be as unfaithful as her husband just because her father was a man unafraid to work for his wealth was not only cruel, but asinine.

  Maria composed herself, determined to keep the anger, and yes, hurt, from her voice. “I would not know, my lady, as my breeding has taught me never to meddle in the private affairs of others.” She stood as the ladies, every last one of them bearing some title or other, bridled at her insult. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must dress for my gathering this evening.” She nodded to her husband's butler. “Jasper, please show these—ahem—ladies out.”

  As she swept from the room, her shoulders straight and elegantly coiffed blond head held high, her fingers clenched her green muslin skirts. She could hear the muffled anger of the ladies leaving, the emotionless tones of Jasper as he ushered them out, and then the blessed silence of a house free of spite. Yet another sigh escaped, a sound Maria had never been in the habit of making before. Her shoulders slumped, just a touch, as she traversed the corridor and entered her chamber.

  Would her husband return for the dinner party she'd planned for that night? Of course. Despite his faults, her faults, and the faults in their marriage, they were married, and a brave face must be shown to critical Society. After all, having a mistress was one thing, completely ignoring one's wife in favor of the mistress was quite another.

  But then, when one's wife was the daughter of a Cit, one could be forgiven for almost anything. He'd already shown a partiality for his mistress, neglecting Maria in favor of that lady—a widow who actually enjoyed the respect of the ton—and no one seemed bothered by his actions. Only Maria, the wronged wife who knew better than to expect fidelity from her husband. Yet, he would attend a dinner party in his own home. He had to.

  All day she'd thought about him but now was the time to dress for her guests. Her French maid bustled forward to help her out of her afternoon gown and into her dinner gown. It was the perfect gown for the evening: gauzy sapphire silk trimmed in cream Brussels lace, the sleeves and high-waisted bodice picked out in perfectly matched seed pearls, and the hem just high enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of a well-turned ankle. Was Maria trying to seduce her husband of only two weeks? Of course.

  She loved him.

  She refused to sigh again although the urge to do so was great. Her love for a man so far above her in station was pointless. Society marriages were business arrangements. Marriage to a Cit was more of a business arrangement than most. Love didn't enter into it, thus the habit of turning a blind eye to the unfaithfulness of one's spouse.

  And despite Lady Amelia's assurances, it was well-known that Society matrons often strayed as well. As soon as their duty was fulfilled—the required heir and a spare—they were free to seek their own pleasures outside the marriage bed, but only with the utmost discretion.

  Heat crawled over Maria's face. Having only been married for a short time meant her duty was not even close to being fulfilled. As the possessor of an old title, a prominent title, the duke was honor bound to produce an heir. Since children often didn't survive past infancy, it made sense to produce a spare as well. Maria should have enjoyed her husband's undivided attention until at least the time she could tell him she was increasing.

  “That will be all, Colette,” she said as she stood, not bothering to look at her servant. “Please inform me immediately the moment his grace returns.”

  “I am here now.”

  Maria spun towards the door, one hand flying t
o her breast. Richard stood just inside her chamber, leaning negligently against the doorpost. He was handsome as always, his curling brown hair falling over one eye, as was its habit. Despite his unsmiling countenance, the hint of a dimple was visible in one cheek, giving him a look of perpetual amusement.

  He'd slipped in so quietly, she'd failed to hear the door open. He was already in evening clothes; clearly he'd returned some time ago.

  “My lord! I did not expect you so soon.”

  Colette bobbed a curtsy to her master and fled, closing the door silently behind her.

  Alone with her husband, a rare occurrence for Lady Maria, she didn't know what to say. His expression told her nothing of his mood but the welcoming smile she longed for was nowhere in evidence. She searched for any glimmer of tenderness, any slight indication that his feelings for her were something more than monetary.

  How she wished to throw her arms around him, let him know how happy she was to see him! How she longed to tell him she wanted to be the only woman in his life, the only woman he held in his arms, kissed, made love to!

  But she was a lady, if not by birth then by training. She could not act in such a manner, no more than she could tell him she loved him more than she'd ever loved anything in her life. It wasn't ladylike; it simply wasn't done.

  And so she said nothing, except, “Shall we await our guests in the drawing room?”

  Part 2

  In which Maria

  demands her marital rights....

  Lady Maria waited in her bed, clothed in a diaphanous nightdress. A single candle, burning on the nightstand, kept the room from complete darkness.

  It was the fourteenth consecutive night she'd waited thus, a book in hand so as to appear nonchalant, less like a young wife awaiting her husband's presence in her bed.

  Would this be the night? She'd listened to rumor after rumor concerning her husband and where he preferred to spend his nights. She'd accepted it as life in high Society, the life of a real lady.

  They'd consummated their marriage, of course. Her face warmed at the memory, a tiny smile touching her lips. Even now, weeks later, Maria could still feel Richard's caress, feel his fingers grazing her skin, his lips brushing her lips, her neck, her shoulder, her...

  Maria sucked in a trembling breath. The intimacies they'd shared meant everything to her. For him...what did she know of men and their feelings? Certainly, he'd felt something more than duty? Duty didn't demand the tenderness he'd shown her, the whispered words of reassurance, the easing of her nervous fears. And duty certainly didn't demand his continued presence in her bed, holding her in the aftermath of their passion, sleeping in each other's arms.

  The following morning, she'd awakened alone. As her maid went about her duties, pouring warm water and laying out drying cloths for Maria's morning ablutions, Maria had stretched, surreptitiously grazing her hand over the opposite side of the bed. The lingering warmth there indicated Richard's recent departure.

  This was a circumstance Maria's mother had not mentioned. In fact, she'd told her daughter the opposite, assuring her the loss of her virginity would be unpleasant but quick and her husband wouldn't linger in her bed once the deed was done. And after she conceived, he would cease to plague her altogether.

  It seemed he'd already decided to no longer plague her, she sighed. Only her faith in love, in her love for him, could account for her continued belief that Richard would return to her, would eventually choose her over his mistress.

  A tiny, cynical voice in her head mentioned the far more likely reason he'd return: He'd yet to beget an heir.

  It was true. That was the reason he'd seek her out. At least, for the foreseeable future.

  In the utter silence of the moment, footsteps sounded without. Maria froze, hardly daring to breathe, praying her husband would remember his duty, choose her and ignore his mistress. He'd returned home nearly every night since they married, changed from his evening dress and left again. Maria could only assume his destination to be the small house in Kensington, the pretty little domicile one helpful lady had pointed out to Maria with a whispered, “Lady Hensley spends most of her time there with—oh! Forgive me.”

  The footsteps paused outside her door. A smile tugged at Maria's lips as the latch moved; a smile that swiftly disappeared a moment later. The footsteps moved on, stopped at the next chamber down the corridor. A different door opened and closed, Richard's door.

  Had he paused outside her door by mistake, confused and thinking it was his own chamber? Surely a man couldn't make such an error in his own London residence? Even a drunken man could not make such a mistake.

  Was it possible that he'd assumed she would not welcome his attentions? It was true she had not encouraged him, but a lady would never indicate her willingness to engage in intimacies. To do so would brand her little better than a strumpet.

  Maria carefully placed her book on the nightstand, leaning close to snuff the candle. She settled into her bed, thick blond curls falling over both shoulders. Her mind would not settle, however, truly perplexed by Richard's behavior.

  Why had he already tired of her? His need for an heir hadn't changed. She knew the ducal estates were entailed on the male heir and, at the moment, a male heir didn't exist. If Richard died without issue, the title and property would revert to the crown. Honor demanded he sire a legitimate heir.

  The darkness enveloped her. She tried to close her eyes, prayed for the sleep that would allow her a few hours of peaceful oblivion. Her mind refused to cooperate, instead conjuring images of her, bold as you please, marching into Richard's chamber to demand her marital rights.

  Her eyes shot wide, fingers clenching in the counterpane. Dare she attempt it? Her eyes slid towards the connecting door, the only physical hindrance separating her from her husband. It was nothing more than a dim shape in the faint glow of the coals from the hearth.

  What she contemplated doing was base, unladylike, possibly immoral and went against everything she was taught. How could she even consider it?

  Almost without thought, Maria slid from the high bed, shivering as her bare feet touched the floor. She approached the door that stood between her and Richard and raised her hand. One small tap, that's all it would take, a small tap and a hurried explanation, a whispered plea for his attention.

  His love.

  Maria's fist opened, her palm flat against the smooth wood door. Her head came to rest beside her hand. A single tear escaped her tightly closed eyes.

  What was she thinking? How could she proposition her husband, beg for his favors like a strumpet? He would have even more reason to revile her then.

  Shame crawled through her. How very lowering to realize such a thing about oneself! The daughter of a man in trade, married to a duke in need of money, in love with said duke, and begging for scraps of his attention. Her actions screamed of her common blood.

  She was common.

  Desolate, Maria sucked in a breath, preparatory to pushing away from the door. Before she could move, the door opened, swinging into her husband's chamber. Maria lost her balance and tumbled headlong.

  Right into Richard's arms.

  Part 3

  In which Richard

  bestows gifts upon Maria...

  They were married in October. No Society marriage ever took place in October. The weather had already turned cold, a harbinger of the no doubt difficult winter to come. Was it an omen, a sign of ill luck?

  Shaking her head, Maria turned away from the window through which she'd been blindly staring, watching the servants load boxes and traveling cases into the carriage waiting out front. The soft rustling of her skirts made a strange counterpoint to the occasional crackle from the fire, a necessary luxury on such a chilly morning.

  It was silly to believe in such superstitious nonsense. Her marriage was not doomed due to an October wedding or an early chill in the air. No, her marriage suffered the insurmountable odds of unequal birth.

  And now her husband had busin
ess in the country. His valet was busy packing his master's personal effects for an extended stay. Maria could hear the bustle of activity, the occasional muffled word as Richard directed his servant for this or that item that he couldn't leave behind.

  Richard chose to leave his bride of three weeks alone in London, away from him but still in the middle of all the gossip and spite Society deemed necessary to make her feel like the outsider she assuredly was. How she longed to go with him! But he didn't offer and she daren't ask. She could think of few things more humiliating than his inevitable rejection.

  His departure was set for that very morning, just as soon as the carriage was readied. While he traveled to the ducal estates, indeed by the time he arrived, Maria would be readying herself for the evening's entertainment.

  Lady Felicia Hensley's ball.

  Part of Maria wondered at her sanity in proposing to attend a ball at the home of her husband's mistress. What lady would do such a thing? Would a lady do such a thing?

  In this, Maria was afraid her true breeding was showing itself. If her being born something other than a lady gave her the courage to face one of her fears, so be it. If having a father in trade prevented the ladylike reaction in her current situation, so be it. No lady would acknowledge her husband's inamorata.

  Maria's fingernails cut into her palms. She'd failed to notice her hands clenching. The existence of Lady Hensley agitated her far more than it ought. After all, according to Society, when one has his name, nothing else matters.

  But for Maria, nothing mattered except Richard's heart. Did he love Lady Hensley?

  A knock sounded on the connecting door. The sounds of activity in her husband's chamber had ceased. This led her to believe it was Richard on the other side, begging entrance. Good servants never knocked and none of the resident family dared show her any acceptance lest they lose their places in the ton. So of course, it had to be Richard.