The Promise

by May McGoldrick

  The Promise

  by

  May McGoldrick

  ISBN: 0451204492

  Copyright © 2010 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: May McGoldrick Books, PO Box 665, Watertown, CT 06795.

  First Published by NAL, an imprint of Dutton Signet,

  a division of Penguin Books, USA, Inc. September 2001

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  To our mothers

  CHAPTER 1

  London, England

  July 1760

  The nervous hand, fluttering across the worktable, knocked over the inkpot, spreading the liquid on the surface and staining the young woman’s skirt as she leaned quickly to right the well.

  “Have mercy, Lord.” Rebecca whispered under her breath as she quickly blotted the ink on the table with used scraps of paper. The sudden appearance of the serving girl at the door only added to her growing anguish. “Ah, Lizzy. You are...you are back.”

  “Sir Charles wants you now, miss...and he ain’t one for waiting.” The serving girl’s quick eyes surveyed the room, taking note of the damage. “You’d best be on your way before the master really gets angry, if you don’t mind me saying. You don’t want him coming after you himself. Here, let me see to this mess.”

  Rebecca found herself being pushed aside as Lizzy took charge of cleaning up the spilled ink. She stared for a moment at the rag the serving girl had stuffed into her hand.

  “Is...is Lady Hartington back?”

  A knowing smirk crept onto Lizzy’s young face as she scrubbed the surface of the table. “The mistress just left for the opera an hour ago. She won’t be back for hours, I shouldn’t think.”

  Rebecca was having no success at all wiping the stain off the palm of her hand. “I...I think...I should go and check on the children. I believe...little Sara wasn’t feeling very well during our reading lesson.”

  “Maggie’s in with them, miss. And that’s her job, anyways.” Lizzy straightened from wiping the table and met Rebecca’s gaze. “Look, there is no putting it off. You’d best go off and have done with it. He’ll have his way sooner or later.”

  Have done with it! She felt the words reverberate in her mind. Have done with it!

  But she had only been ordered to go down to Sir Charles in his library. Alone. While his wife was gone for the evening. While his children slept only a floor above in their bedrooms.

  The shiver that wracked Rebecca’s body was violent. She shoved her trembling hands into the folds of her skirt and started for the door.

  “I...I have to see to this dress first.”

  “He won’t care. He won’t give a damn what you’re wearing.” Lizzy’s words rang sharply with experience.

  With tears burning her eyes, Rebecca fled the room.

  But there was to be no escape as she came face to face with the butler in the corridor leading to the main portion of the house. Desperately, Rebecca tried to fight back her emotions as she stared at the buttons of the man’s dark waistcoat.

  “Sir Charles is waiting, miss.”

  She could not lift her gaze to meet the old man’s eyes. She knew what Lizzy had said was true. She had sensed it herself. For the fortnight since Sir Charles Hartington had come back from the continent, she’d felt his eyes upon her constantly. Several times he’d come to the room where she tutored his children, leaning over her, pressing against her. His attentions were unmistakable.

  What made her think they would stop?

  With the continual presence of his wife and the other servants in the house, though, Rebecca had fooled herself, hoping that she would be safe. Safe, at least, until her plea to Mrs. Stockdale was answered. In her letter she had begged her old schoolmistress to begin searching out a new position for her. But even with the new mail coach going directly to Oxford, Mrs. Stockdale may not have received the letter yet.

  “You should be going to him now.”

  The young woman willed herself to look up at the butler. “I cannot. I think...I will just remain in my room until Lady Hartington returns.”

  The man’s perpetual frown only deepened. “Sir Charles will not be pleased. He is master of this house. If you know what is best, you will do as he bids.”

  “I was engaged by Lady Hartington to tutor his children. The children are all abed--my work is finished for the day.”

  “If you do not go down to the library, Sir Charles will surely come up for you. He is not one to be disobeyed...and in the years I have served this family, I must tell you I have several times witnessed his temper...” He didn’t have to finish the words. The warning was clear.

  The taste of bile was burning in her throat. Rebecca placed a hand against the wall to steady herself. It took a moment for her to find her voice, and to gather her strength. When she spoke, her voice sounded far clearer, far more self-assured, than she’d expected. Far more than she felt.

  “I will not go down to him, Robert. I believe...I will go to my room and pack my things. I am leaving Sir Charles’s service tonight...now, in fact.”

  There was a momentary look of disbelief in the butler’s face. Then, for the briefest of instants, the old man’s eyes glinted with something akin to respect before he bowed and allowed her to pass. But the rewarding feeling she gained from Robert’s approval lasted only as long as her next thought.

  Leaving...tonight...but to where?

  Rebecca’s state of mind, as she hurried on, was in total chaos. Where was she to go? It would take her only a moment to pack. As a tutor she had little need for an extensive wardrobe, and she had brought very little from Oxford. But the uncertainty of where she was to go, in the middle of the night, with no carriage or company or any means of protection...the confusion was nearly paralyzing.

  But one thing was clear. Staying in this house even a moment longer than necessary was not a choice.

  For as long as Rebecca Neville could remember, she had lived at Mrs. Stockdale’s Academy for Girls, next to the vicarage of St. George’s in Oxford. Until a month ago, when she had left the school at the age of eighteen, she had never spent a night anywhere else. Until she had come to the London mansion of Sir Charles Hartington, she had never known any other home than the room she had occupied on the school’s second floor.

  As far as she knew, she had no family. Rebecca had only an anonymous benefactor about whom she knew nothing whatsoever. All Mrs. Stockdale would ever say—all she was allowed to say—was that funds for Rebecca’s education and upkeep came twice a year from a law firm in London. Growing up, she’d always envisioned London to be filled with kind and generous benefactors.

  Rebecca took her cloak off the peg on the wall. Despite the warmth of the summer night, she wrapped it tightly around her. Opening up her small purse, she quickly counted the money. Three pounds, five shillings, and some copper. Hardly a nest egg, Mrs. Stockdale had said when Rebecca left to take her new position. Nonetheless, her coach fare of four pounds and eight shillings to London had been paid by her employer, Lady Ha
rtington, and with a salary of ten pounds a year plus room and board, Rebecca had been sure she would need nothing more. What Mrs. Stockdale had failed to warn Rebecca about, though, was the danger presented by men like Sir Charles Hartington.

  The small window was open to the darkness outside. A breeze, still exceedingly warm, wafted through her chamber. She did not feel it, though. Rebecca was chilled, inside and out.

  Tucking her purse inside her traveling bag, she glanced at the small but tidy room that had offered so much hope, so much promise, not a month earlier.

  Most of the girls Rebecca’s age who had attended Mrs. Stockdale’s school in Oxford had returned to their well-to-do families some time during the summer of the past year. As she had watched their carriages roll away, she had been struck once again with the hard fact that she was the only student with no place to go. She had no future awaiting her beyond the front door of the academy. To Mrs. Stockdale’s credit, the old schoolmistress had never even hinted that she should seek a position, but the young woman had been coming to the realization for a long while that she must take her future in her own hands. She could not live forever on the generosity of her longtime benefactor.

  The sound of steps coming down the corridor launched Rebecca into action. She picked up her traveling bag without another moment’s delay and headed straight for the door. Outside, the corridor was empty except for two of the upstairs maidservants who stared at her with surprise as they rushed past. She could hear their whispering as they moved down the hall.

  Though her heart was racing, Rebecca’s feet were leaden as she descended the paneled staircase. A tavern on Butchers Row. A clothing shop on Monmouth Street. The household of Sir Roger de Coverley on St. James Square, where she’d heard they were forever in need of servants. All these possibilities of employment presented themselves at this moment of desperation, affirming her decision.

  She’d find a position. Perhaps not as a tutor, but as a servant. She’d do anything. All she had to do was to find a place for the night. In the morning she could seek employment in any of the places she’d remembered. There had to be so many more. She’d certainly be fine, if she could only last until morning.

  “I did not believe Robert when he told me of your insolent intentions.”

  She was only a few paces from the stairs leading to the ground floor. She could see the front door.

  “Stop where you are.”

  Her steps faltered at the command. Cold panic washed down her back as Sir Charles approached from behind. She gripped her bag tightly and tried to hide her terror as she half turned to him.

  “I meant no insolence, sir. I only informed him that I am leaving your house.”

  “With night already upon us? With gangs of young brigands roaming the streets? Why, you’d only find yourself rolled in a barrel down some hill. Or perhaps they’d do something far, far worse.” Rebecca repressed a shudder as he drew near, but his voice was low and his insinuation unmistakable. The smell of brandy and cigars hung in the air. “What kind of a gentleman do you take me for, Miss Neville? Do you think I could possibly allow such a delectable creature as yourself to leave here unprotected?”

  “I ask for no protection, sir.” She tried to step away, but the man’s sudden grip on her arm halted her escape. “Sir Charles, please let me go.”

  “Not before we get to the bottom of this precipitous decision of yours, Miss Neville.”

  She found herself being pulled toward the baronet’s library. With a cry, Rebecca planted her feet and jerked her arm free as she turned sharply to him. “No, sir! I want you to release me this instant.”

  The man’s pale blue eyes sharpened in an instant. Color edged into the angular planes of his face, betraying his rising temper. Rebecca took a step back and clutched her traveling bag tightly before her.

  “What do you have in that bag?”

  His question stunned her, and she looked down uncomprehendingly at the bag. “My...my belongings.”

  “Not very likely, I’d say.” He had Rebecca’s elbow in a death grip before she could utter a word and forcibly dragged her toward the study. A serving maid appeared down the long hallway, and he called out to her. “You! Get Robert and the others. I want this house searched for what’s missing. The silver and the plate. My wife’s jewels. Yes, be sure to check my wife’s jewels!”

  Rebecca found herself thrown roughly into Sir Charles’s library, and heard the door slam shut as she whirled around. They were both holding onto her bag, and she released it, backing away from him. With a look of a satisfaction, he turned the key in the lock. Rebecca backed away to the farthest wall until her shoulders were against the shelves of leather-bound books. She could see the look on his face, and it horrified her. Her eyes looked for some avenue of escape. There was none.

  “Sir Charles, there is nothing of yours or your wife’s in that bag.”

  “My dear Miss Neville. You are not only young and tender, but a dolt, as well.”

  “If you think so poorly of me, sir, then why not let me go.”

  He laughed as he tossed her traveling bag aside and shrugged out of his coat. “Letting you go, my dear, is not even a remote possibility. You see, young chits like you need to learn a lesson in life. You are just so very fortunate that I will be the one to educate you.”

  Nearly frozen with panic, she forced herself to move, edging behind the exquisite mahogany desk. Tears burned in her eyes as she saw him reach for the buttons of his waistcoat. “Why me? You...you can have anyone you want! You have a wife! Please, please...not me!”

  He flashed her a brilliant smile and crossed the room slowly, like a cat on the hunt. “You, my dear, are the one that I must have. You see, you come from...how shall I put it?...from a very fine line.”

  She pushed a chair in his path and backed away as he circled the desk. “You are mistaken! I am no one. Nothing special! Please, Sir Charles! There can be no satisfaction in ruining a nobody like me.”

  “A nobody?” he repeated, unfastening the buttons of his tight breeches. “A nobody you might be with regard to title and fortune, that is true. But as far as your lineage...” He shook is head. “Nay, my dear. You are far from a nobody.”

  Rebecca was shuddering violently as the front of his breeches fell open, exposing his aroused sex. His face was a mask as he continued toward her.

  “Do not proceed, Sir Charles. I beg you! You are mistaken about...about whomever it is you think I am.”

  He stood still for a moment, eyeing her across the desk.

  “Mistaken?” He shook his head. “Your secret is out, Miss Neville. But to tell the truth, I had no difficulty at all finding out who you really are. Imagine the daughter of the notorious actress Jenny Greene under my own roof! A fine mother she was, I’ll grant you, though, to shield her offspring from the effects of her reputation for so long. And so near to London, too.”

  Rebecca could hardly comprehend his words. Confusion had set her brain spinning, and she could only think of escape. She backed away from the desk a few steps until she found her back against the marble mantel of the fireplace.

  “But the first moment I laid eyes on you, I sensed it. The same stormy blue eyes. The same golden red hair...the color of sunset.” His eyes swept over her body. “I knew it.”

  Her hands searched the space behind her. He was so much bigger than she was. A great deal stronger. He was in the center of the room now. There was no escape.

  “As a lad I used to sit in the upper gallery at the theatre in Haymarket, lusting after your mother. I would watch the fops who paid an additional charge to visit the celebrated Jenny after the performances. I would pine for her, wishing it was I enjoying her charms.”

  He came closer, his protruding manhood belying the almost casual manner he now affected. She held her breath, looking to the side as he reached out and pulled the ribbon of her straw cap. Dropping it on the floor, he took a tendril of her hair beneath his fingers, rubbing it back and forth as she felt his eyes fix on
her face.

  “Full lips that cried out for me to kiss.” His gaze shifted downward, his voice a husky whisper. “Breasts made to be suckled by my mouth.”

  Rebecca cried out as his hands reached beneath her cloak, encircling her waist and pulling her roughly against his chest. She stared up at him. She could feel his manhood pressing insistently against her.

  “I finally enjoyed your mother, you know. I took her this past week after her play at the Covent Garden Theatre. A little gin and she was chattering like a magpie. Getting her to talk about you was easy. I had to have her...for old time’s sake. But also, so that I could compare the mother with the daughter.”

  She turned her face away as he tried to crush his mouth down on hers. She pushed roughly at his chest and tried to turn in his arms. He laughed.

  “She was willing. Easy. Hardly as exciting as you are now. Of course, she is not the woman she once was.” He was squeezing her breasts, hurting her, and all she could do was to restrain her sobs...and pray. “I knew you would be better. Much better.”

  She felt the tie of her cloak pull free from around her neck. She glanced wildly at him. He had the look of an animal on his face as he took hold of the modest neckline of her dress.

  “How much?” Her voice was barely a croak. She forced out the words. “You paid my mother. How much will you pay me?”

  His eyes sobered for an instant as they came up and met hers. His lips curled nastily. “A harlot...like the mother.”

  “How much?” she snapped with a firmness that was pure fraud. “I shall remain in your household. I shall keep my position, and...and you can use me as you wish.”

  His teeth flashed, but he released the neckline of her dress. “What’s your price?”

  She pushed back, taking a half step to the side. He let her, one hand still gripping her arm. “Your wife hired me for ten pounds a year. Make it twenty.”