The Widow's Scandalous Affair

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘And I’m going to be marrying your brother in a month’s time.’ Joanna laughed merrily. ‘Goodness, who would have believed it? But—’ and her laughter turned to tenderness ‘—he’s a dear really. And I think I shall be very happy with him.’

  ‘Of course you will. I’m so glad for you both.’

  ‘Though he’s hardly a romantic, handsome rake like Raphael!’ Joanna pretended to sigh. ‘But no one deserves happiness more than you, Serena. Every happiness there is.’

  ‘I believe,’ said Serena just a little shakily, ‘that there’s even more happiness coming my way, Joanna.’

  Joanna’s face lit up. ‘No! You actually mean it? A baby? Oh, Serena, I am so truly delighted for you!’ She wagged a finger. ‘Now, this is really giving George and me something to live up to. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we both have broods of children? They’ll be cousins and they’ll run rings round us. Yours will be daring and mischievous like Raphael, while mine will be... Oh, Lord. Reliable and dutiful, like George.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘But I do think George and I will suit, Serena, I really do. I’ll be able to teach him to have more fun, won’t I?’

  Serena laughed. ‘You’ve already made vast improvements. He looks quite dashing in that new high-perch phaeton of his!’

  ‘Doesn’t he just? Also, my dear—’ Joanna’s eyes twinkled naughtily ‘—I’ve begun to make him more adventurous in other ways. I believe it won’t be long before I’m following you into producing an heir—’

  She broke off. ‘Oh, my goodness!’ She was rushing to peer out of the window. ‘There’s a carriage pulling up. It’s your Marquis, so I’d best be on my way.’ She reached for her hat. ‘So delighted for you, Serena. And I’m thrilled about being your matron of honour. I shall see you tomorrow, bright and early!’

  Joanna scurried off and a few minutes later Raphael entered. ‘I can hardly believe it,’ he said. ‘Do you know, Grinling was almost pleasant to me just then. I think that he’s resigned to my presence at last.’

  Serena’s heart had leaped when he entered the room. ‘So,’ she said, walking towards him, ‘am I.’

  He gathered her into his arms. ‘Which is what I would expect,’ he murmured, ‘when we are to be husband and wife tomorrow. Happy, my darling?’

  ‘So happy I could burst.’ She laid her cheek against his broad chest. ‘Because I love you, Raphael, so much. And I want the world to know it.’

  ‘They will,’ he assured her a trifle sardonically. ‘Well, all of London at any rate. Believe me, they’ve been talking of nothing but the two of us for the last few weeks. “The rakehell Marquis and Lady Serena!” they’re whispering. “Who would believe it?” They claim,’ he added helpfully, ‘that you’ve reformed my wicked ways.’

  She brushed aside a stray lock of hair from his forehead, revealing the faint scar that would always be a reminder of that frightening night-time attack. Then she smiled. ‘You won’t abandon quite all your wicked ways, I hope?’

  He shook his head and kissed her tenderly. ‘Never. I can never have enough of you, ma chère—you’ll have no peace, I promise you, once we’re married.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Her words were heartfelt. ‘So glad. Raphael, you said you were going to visit Dominic this morning. How is he? How is Madeleine?’

  He walked across to a sofa and gestured for her to sit beside him. ‘Indeed, I rode over to Kensington to make sure my groomsman knows all his duties for tomorrow. And he’s asked me if I’ll perform the same favour for him, in two months’ time.’

  Serena clapped her hands in delight. ‘So they’ve set the date for their wedding? Oh, Raphael, what celebrations we shall have! I’m so glad for them.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, but then a shadow crossed his features. ‘I think,’ he went on more quietly, ‘that people will be making the most of the next few months, because very soon I fear that England’s war with the French Republic will intensify. It’s going to affect us all, Serena. And now that Madeleine is safe, I feel I must turn my mind to the plight of my fellow countrymen.’

  Her heart plunged, but she tried to sound calm. ‘So are you thinking of joining the Royalist army?’ The thought of losing him again—of the long absences and the danger war would entail—was almost too much to bear, especially now. She felt her hand moving protectively downwards towards her womb.

  ‘I won’t be fighting,’ he said quickly. ‘Not in the foreseeable future. But I received a summons to the Home Office yesterday. They want me to help them in the war effort; you see, I can translate for them, I can share with them all my knowledge of France and its cities, maybe provide the names of people they can rely on in their plans for a possible invasion of France next year. But all this is highly secret, Serena. Dominic knows, of course, but no one else.’

  ‘An invasion,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Raphael, this is all too real, isn’t it? But I’m proud of you. So proud.’ She leaned against him and he put his arm around her. ‘And I hope,’ she went on, ‘to make you proud of me.’ She gazed up at him. ‘You realise we shall be leading a double life again? We shall be leaders of society without a doubt, hosting parties, being seen at all the grand events. While, in reality, you’ll be spending time closeted in government offices, engaged in making secret plans. Oh, Raphael, I hope that this war doesn’t last too long!’

  ‘I fear it might.’ His expression was grave. ‘But we have one another, Serena. We shall have our love for each other, always. And there’s something else I’ve been meaning to say to you. You were honest with me from the beginning—you told me you were unable to bear children. So I hope it won’t be too hard for you when maybe George and Joanna start a family, or Dominic and Madeleine—’ He broke off. ‘What? What is it?’

  She’d stopped him by putting a finger to his lips. ‘Raphael. Don’t say any more.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t even have mentioned it, should I?’

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t,’ she said with a mischievous smile, ‘because, you see, you’re quite wrong.’

  Raphael looked bewildered. ‘I don’t think I understand.’

  And so, utterly delighting in the moment, Serena told him. And her happiness—like that of her husband-to-be—was entirely complete.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, why not check out

  these other great reads by Lucy Ashford

  The Outrageous Belle Marchmain

  The Rake’s Bargain

  The Captain and His Innocent

  The Master of Calverley Hall

  Unbuttoning Miss Matilda

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Maiden and the Mercenary by Nicole Locke.

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  The Maiden and the Mercenary

  by Nicole Locke

  Chapter One

  France—1297

  Biedeluue wiped the back of her hand against her mouth and concentrated on the tower of goblets stacked on the well-worn table before her. The chanting crowd around her and her challenger jostled for a closer position and she shoved back.

  ‘These hips of mine aren’t moving for anyone!’ She brandished the goblet in her hand and they all stepped merrily aside.

  ‘I’ll move your hips!’

  Galen winked one eye, then the other much more slowly. Ah, not winking, but trying to focus through the haze of ale, like her.

  ‘Attempting to move my hips when drunken is how you first fell to misfortune, Galen.’ She pointed somewhere in the vicinity of his stack. ‘Now, let’s see how you apply yourself with smaller...goblets.’

  ‘As if he could be so fortunate!’ shouted Tess, from the baking ovens.

/>   Someone clapped and everyone from the wafer maker to the cup bearer howled. The kitchens were normally bustling, but now, even the doorways were crammed with field people. The kitchens were as large as kingdoms, but even so, she heard a crash to her right as the crowd moved and several heads whipped around to see the destruction.

  She didn’t, however—any quick movement was ill-advised. How many gulps of ale had she had? She’d stopped counting after twenty, trusting the betting crowd had their own vested interest to keep track of the game.

  It was up to her to stack the goblets for each gulp of ale. She narrowed her eyes at the wavering mound. Ten...twenty? Oh, maybe twenty-five gulps of ale.

  Which meant Galen, the challenger, had also had twenty-five... No, he’d just thrown back another and grabbed a goblet to stack on top of the tower he’d made.

  Damn him, his height and those arms that were twice as tall and...twice as many as he had before. Four arms? An unfair advantage to be sure!

  ‘No helping!’ she called out as Henry sneaked a supporting hand to Galen’s back when he staggered backwards.

  Henry lifted both his hands and she nodded her head at him in satisfaction. A mistake, which she fixed by widening her stance.

  If Galen fell, she won. If Galen toppled his goblets before her, she won. And if she won, she got... She got...

  She’d win! She liked that part the best. Right now she needed to win. It was important because she wasn’t winning at anything else and there was more at stake here.

  A roiling wave to her stomach as her thoughts darkened. She blinked hard, peering at the raucous crowd and the goblets she had stupidly assembled entirely too high. She needed to put another on the top.

  An easy task. All the tasks were easy. Stack the goblets, drink the drink and beat the brewer Galen, who reportedly hadn’t lost a game of drink since he was a babe.

  That was a bet she could win because she hadn’t lost a game of drink since she was a babe and she was older than Galen. In fact, she was older than most of the servants in the Warstone kitchens. The only ones older than her were the ones already with babies and who lived in the village outside the fortress.

  She was old enough for a husband and family of her own, too, but had been avoiding any such connections. Entirely because of the village men who’d enjoyed manipulating a girl whose father had abandoned her, her four siblings and their weakened mother.

  Though she couldn’t imagine a family of her own, the one she had she’d do anything for. By the time she could, Biedeluue, after hours in the fields, helped her mother cook, clean and cuddle away the pain of scrapes and bruises of her siblings. When that wasn’t enough, she had left to earn coin and only returned to give her mother and siblings what she could to ease her family’s struggles.

  All her siblings, save for one, were still in their village outside Lyon. And though she travelled to work, they still never left her in peace. They still needed her and she did what she could for them.

  So when she received that scrap of parchment from the youngest, Margery, the one not at home, that she was in danger and to send their brothers immediately, Biedeluue didn’t hesitate to rush to her aid, just as she’d always done before.

  Because out of all the hardships she’d had to endure to save her family...the fact she couldn’t save Margery from a worse fate pained her most of all. Margery, who always had to be protected because, when times became truly hard, the village men didn’t stop at just Biedeluue.

  What had happened to Margery now? That message. Hastily scrawled so that Biedeluue could barely read it. Not even signed, but she knew who’d written it because of one distinctive loop. Always the beautiful loops in the writing even if the message was terrifying.

  However, after asking for work and gaining the trust of the servants, she didn’t know how to aid her sister who was trapped here in this Warstone fortress. Bied had now been here for a fortnight and still hadn’t seen or spoken to her sister. Wasn’t even certain she was held captive because no matter whom she asked, no one knew a woman named Margery. No one...

  What if she wasn’t here? She must be. This was Ian of Warstone’s personal fortress. One Bied recognised from the overt wealth, intimidation and malice in every stone and floorboard. She’d never met that man whom her sister had been overjoyed to have captured the attention of, but everything Margery had told her in that letter gave her goose pimples and not the good kind.

  No, regrettably, her sister must be here. The chambermaid let slip that if the mistress kept weeping, no amount of cold water would ever get her swollen lavender eyes lovely again.

  Lavender eyes. Margery was the only one of her siblings to have eyes that colour. Her sister. Trapped and fearful. So close and... Mustn’t think dark thoughts. Mustn’t...

  Biedeluue swallowed hard, tasting the ale and her worry.

  ‘If you’re wanting to spew,’ Henry said, ‘there’s a goblet right in your hand.’

  ‘Or a...few...in front of you.’ Galen belched.

  She narrowed her eyes. Galen needed to fall and soon. Except... Swinging her attention back to the tower in front of her, she saw that the goblets hadn’t got smaller in her reverie. There was over a...a lot of them...and she still had one in her hand.

  Where had that come from?

  * * *

  ‘I have been sent on many missions before,’ Louve of Mei Solis said, ‘but this is by far the most foolish one yet.’

  ‘At least you said foolish and not dangerous,’ Balthus of Warstone said. ‘That lends hope.’

  Louve loosened his hands on the reins, but the horse beneath him pawed the earth. No doubt it felt the unease from him and his men. It was the wait weighing on them. It was the fact that by going forward, some would be killed.

  And this was one of the easier of days after hard travel gathering men and supplies, which took far longer than it should, so by the time they investigated the area they were plagued by rain and frost. Now they were supposed to penetrate an impenetrable fortress and either procure information which would end wars or capture the man who held such important secrets.

  Given the fortress and a certain man were surrounded by hundreds of well-trained warriors, the task was not a simple one.

  ‘When I said foolish, didn’t that imply the mission was dangerous?’ Louve said.

  Balthus shrugged. ‘How am I to interpret your vague and insouciant descriptions? We’ve known each other less than a month. Even that has been too much.’

  Louve ignored the insult. Balthus had made it obvious since the beginning of this journey from Troyes he didn’t want Louve’s company. In that, he was exactly like the rest of his family. ‘I learnt vague from your brother Reynold.’

  ‘Whom, in my entire life, I have spent less time with than you.’

  Louve could hear both the accusation and the curiosity in Balthus’s voice. Even if he had a lifetime, he couldn’t describe Reynold, one of the four brothers of the Warstone family, and the man who’d hired him as a mercenary. Over the years, Reynold had become a friend to Louve, though Reynold continued to deny it.

  The fact he could even call such a man friend was an irony, since Reynold of Warstone was an enemy of his only other friend, Nicholas of Mei Solis. Also, the Warstones were secretly undermining the King of England. An act Louve couldn’t fathom given he wasn’t from nobility or familiar with the intrigues of court.

  Intrigues which had led him here on the same mission that Reynold had borne his entire life. To stop the Warstone family from gaining the power they so hungrily garnered. Their wealth, their reach already could cripple monarchs, and still they weren’t satisfied. They were also...evil.

  Husband against wife. Brothers raised separately. The Warstones only combined against kingdoms. Then Reynold had broken ranks, turned on them all.

  Somehow Louve, of no noble blood, whose skills were more with ledgers t
han daggers, was in the middle of it all. For a man who dreamed of a little land of his own and a gentle wife who accepted him, how did he end up in these conspiracies? Because he wanted to earn enough coin so he could acquire the quiet life he yearned for.

  Where did that leave Balthus, brother of Reynold? Was he a friend? No, nor did Balthus desire to be. But the younger man was growing on him and that in itself was a worry.

  Because the man they were here to steal from, or torture for information, whichever became necessary first, was the last Warstone brother: Ian. Four brothers, one already dead. All raised to be enemies against each other. Reynold and Balthus finally combined against the last, but Ian was reported to be the most diabolical.

  As far as Louve was concerned, that could be applied to any one of them. In the time he’d spent with the two Warstones, he knew they had much commonality between them: greed, arrogance and an unnerving intelligence. Every bit of it Louve felt penetrating him as Balthus stood at his side.

  ‘Are you watching me?’ Louve said.

  ‘You went unnaturally quiet and stared unblinkingly at a barren tree,’ Balthus said. ‘You do this, and I worry for your reasoning. I worry for mine since I’m trusting you with my life.’

  He wondered if he was going mad as well and only more so lately as he debated his choices. First was leaving his home to become a mercenary for Reynold, the next was agreeing to go on a mission with a Warstone he didn’t know. Recognizing that he needed coin, and that becoming a mercenary was the more effective way to do it, did little to mitigate the aggravation of the situation.

  Mere months ago, Balthus, the youngest, approached Reynold for an alliance against Ian. Louve was there for it all, knew what was at stake and accepted the consequences of which he knew there would be many. Alliances between madmen wasn’t a secure beginning.

  Still, in the hopes for peace in his own life, Louve humoured the two brothers. Warstones. The name implied it all. ‘Your brother is too cunning to hire foolish men.’