To Romance a Scoundrel

by Rosie Wynter

  It was not enough.

  With her coins gripped tightly in her hand, she walked to the door, praying that God would have mercy on her. Lavinia opened the door and then immediately stepped back, gasping.

  A man stood at the door. He was a tall man dressed in a black coat. She had never seen him before.

  “Good day, is this the residence of Miss Lavinia Dean?” he asked as he tipped his hat.

  Lavinia had never been called ‘Miss’ before and she had never had a man tip his hat to her. She did not know what to make of his strange behaviour. Peering past his hulking frame she saw a sight that was even more astonishing. A carriage was parked on the road, a few steps behind the man. The carriage was unlike any she had ever seen. It had a team of four milk-coloured horses and a gilt crest on the door. It looked like the type of carriage that belonged to lords and ladies, when they rode through town.

  Lavinia did not know what the carriage or this man was doing at her cottage, but she tried to remember her manners. “I am Lavinia. I do not have much to offer you, but a seat at my fire.”

  “That is very kind of you, young Miss. I am the coachman. My mistress wishes to see you.”

  To Lavinia’s astonishment, she watched transfixed as the coachman strode to the carriage. He opened the door and then stood straight and tall, as a woman emerged. Like Lavinia, she was short in stature and thin, but that was where the resemblance ended. The woman who stepped down from the carriage was richly attired in a fur-lined coat and a matching bonnet. She was an older woman, but she was handsome. She smiled at Lavinia.

  “Lavinia? Can it be?”

  Lavinia did not know this woman who reached out for her. With a curtsey, she answered, “Ma’am, won’t you come inside?”

  “Thank you, but I won’t be staying long… and neither will you,” the woman said as she bustled past Lavinia and headed inside to the fire.

  Against the backdrop of the plaster walls, the dirt floor, and the rough wooden furnishings, Lavinia’s guest, attired in her deep-blue coat and bonnet, looked as out of place inside the cottage as the carriage did parked outside of it. Lavinia was too surprised by this turn of events to know quite what to do. Who was this woman and why was she here?

  The woman stood by the fire, holding her gloved hands over the flames, as she rubbed them, “There is nothing like a good fire on a winter’s day, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can make you a cup of tea. I do not have much, but I do have some bread.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the woman said as she turned around to face Lavinia, “Come and sit down beside me – we have much to discuss.”

  “We do?” Lavinia asked as she sat on a low wooden stool, leaving the good chair for her guest.

  “We do, my girl. Let me have a look at you,” the older woman said as she leaned close to Lavinia. She touched Lavinia’s chin and gently turned her face one way and then the next, peering closely at her. Lavinia was not sure why she was being studied, but she almost expected the woman to ask her to open her mouth, so she could see her teeth, like a plough horse at the market.

  “You have my petite frame and my fine features. Those cheekbones you inherited from my son. Let me see... your hair is as dark as a raven and you have dark eyes – you must have got those from your mother… she was a beauty,” the woman said as she held one of Lavinia’s hands. “Your skin is fair. I see your mother did a good job of keeping you out of the sun – splendid.”

  Lavinia did not intend to be rude, but she was confused, “Ma’am, I do not mean to be impertinent, but I do not know whom I am addressing?”

  “My poor dear Lavinia, you do not know me? I am your grandmother. I am Mrs Henrietta Talridge, but you may call me whatever pleases you.”

  “Grandmother?” Lavinia mouthed the word, unable to speak for a moment. Swallowing, she found her voice again, “I haven’t a grandmother. I have no family.”

  “You do have family, my girl. You have me. Your father, God rest his soul, was my son, my only son. You are a Talridge, my dear.”

  “No, there must be some mistake – my name is Dean.”

  “Your mother’s name was Dean. If you like you may keep it, but to me, you shall be a Talridge. You are all I have left of my dear son; you and I are family.”

  Lavinia was overwhelmed by the news and she slowly stood up. She needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts and to make sense of these events. She walked away from the fireside and paced the floor in the confined space.

  She sighed. This is impossible.

  “Forgive my rudeness, but this cannot be true. My mother told me my father was dead and that I had no-one but her,” Lavinia replied, her voice cracking from the emotion she could barely conceal.

  “My dear, why should you believe me? Here I am a woman you do not know, who has burst in on you at this terrible time of grief. You’ve been through so much. Sit down, and I will tell you the truth.”

  Lavinia sat down on her wooden stool beside the fire. She did not know what the truth was, but if there was even the slightest possibility that she may not be alone in the world, she was willing to hear it.

  “How old are you?”

  “I am not yet fourteen.”

  “You are practically a woman… Has it really been so long ago? Let me see, where should I start? I know; I will begin with my son, your father. As I have said, he was my only child. He was a handsome man and he enjoyed a good book and hunting. Your mother was the daughter of a couple who tended the sheep and cattle on my estate. She was a beauty, but you know that, don’t you, my dear? My son fell in love with her, but they kept their love secret… I did not know about it. Yes, they kept their love hidden. I suppose he would have thought me too old-fashioned to accept a woman with no connections or family background as a wife, and I am ashamed to say he was right. I wanted my son to marry a woman who was accomplished in all things a lady ought to be. I wanted him to find a wife who could manage the household, entertain guests, and play music. I was blinded by my own ambitions for my son. I did not see… that he showed no interest in any of the eligible young women he met when we went to London for the season.”

  “You said my mother’s parents lived on your estate… are they still alive?” Lavinia wanted to know.

  Mrs Talridge shook her head slowly, “No my dear, they died a long time ago, I am sorry to say. They were a good sort of people, hardworking and useful. You would have been proud to know them. They raised your mother to be the same, to work hard for her living.”

  “And… If you do not mind me asking… was your son in love with my mother?”

  “Yes, my son, your father, was in love with your mother. When we returned from London, he made secret plans to marry her. They decided to be wed at the end of the summer, but he, bless his soul, was killed crossing a stream, before they could marry. He was riding his favourite steed, an enormous chestnut if I remember correctly. My poor son fell from the saddle and broke his neck. He died instantly,” the old woman said as she reached into the silken purse hanging from her wrist. Retrieving an embroidered handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes.

  “He did not suffer, did he?”

  “No, my dear, he did not. I was overcome with grief, however… my husband, your grandfather, had died the year before. When I lost my son, it was more than I could bear. I retreated into a world of grief and despair. I did not want to eat or to leave my room in the morning. For many months, I was inconsolable. It was not until my maid brought me the news that a baby had been born on the estate… a baby that was born out of wedlock, that I had the slightest interest in anything or anyone. At first, I was shocked by the scandal. Who would have been so blatant in their sin to have a baby without the benefit of marriage? I discovered that it was your mother who had given birth… I went to see her that day. It was then that I discovered that my son had been in love with her and that they were planning to be wed. When she told me the news, I did not believe it, but her parents were insistent. They had neve
r lied to me before, so I had no reason to doubt them. As I listened to their story, fantastic as it was, I recalled details about my son that suggested that they were telling the truth…,” she looked deep into Lavinia’s eyes. “When I held you in my arms, I knew that you were my granddaughter. I felt it in my heart.”

  “Why have I never met you?” Lavinia asked curiously.

  “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but that is the fault of your mother, as equally as it is my own. I wanted to have a hand in raising you. I couldn’t acknowledge you, of course. You were born out of wedlock… but I had plans for you. When you were of age, I was going to send you to school and give you an education, but your mother did not wish for me to interfere. You were her daughter and the only piece of my son that she had left. Oh, we fought about you bitterly! When she refused to accept my help, I threatened to take you away. Your mother left soon after that and I did not see her again for many months. By then, she had been living on her own and making her own way in the world. She agreed to take money for your clothes and food, to keep you safe and warm, but she would not take a penny more. I promised I would respect her wishes. I would let her raise you but that when you were older and could make your own choices I would send for you.”

  “I was born out of wedlock? My mother and father weren’t married? That’s not true, it cannot be. She told me she was married, and that my father died when I was a baby,” Lavinia gasped.

  “We won’t tell anyone… No-one needs to know. They were going to be married and they had made plans to be wed. He intended to marry her; it was his wish. I decided long ago that when you were older, I would acknowledge you, and I would call you my granddaughter. I should have done it already… but my pride, my terrible pride, stood in the way.”

  Lavinia reached for the poker and stirred the embers of the dying fire. This morning, she had known who she was. This morning, she was Lavinia Dean, the daughter of a widowed seamstress. Now, she was Lavinia Dean, the granddaughter of a wealthy woman, who was seated across from her at the fireside, and she had been born out of wedlock. The shame of her birth crashed down on her as terribly as the grief she had felt at her mother’s passing. She was nobody and she was a child of sin.

  “Let the fire die. We have a long journey to be home in time for dinner,” Mrs Talridge said as she stood up.

  “This is my home,” Lavinia answered.

  “Not anymore. You are my granddaughter and you’re coming with me.”

  “But… but… I do not want to leave Cotes Cross,” Lavinia said, in a panic.

  “You can return any time you like, my dear child. Come on, do not tarry. Gather your things,” her grandmother rushed.

  Lavinia understood that if she left, she would be leaving the only home, she had ever known. The last connection to her mother would be severed when she walked out the door. As badly as it pained her to leave the small cottage, she knew that she did not have a choice, so she slowly packed her clothes into a plain satchel. Before she said goodbye to the cottage, she also packed the wooden box from the mantle, a china case from her mother’s bedside table, and her sewing box.

  She was in agony as she closed the door for the last time. She did not want to forget her mother, nor the years they had spent in the little house. She vowed that she would never forget the happy memories of her mother singing to her as she sewed.

  With fear in her heart, Lavinia sang a verse of her mother’s favourite hymn, as she left the cottage forever.

  End of the Reading Sample.

  “A Bride for the Viscount’s Cold Son” is available on Amazon.

  The Authors

  Rosie Wynter & Audrey Ashwood

  Authors of Classical Historical Romance

  Rosie and Audrey hail from London, the city where they were born and raised. At a young age, Audrey began diving into the world of literature, a world full of fairy-tales and Prince Charmings. Rosie’s love for books began, too, at an early age – even though her grandma always told her she would never find a man like that.

  Rosie and Audrey like to make life difficult for their protagonists, so the happy ending is not only sweet, but also well-deserved. Love is always the most important thing in their books, even if it isn’t obvious at first glance. Through their novellas and novels, they strive to inspire readers across the globe and remind them of love’s innate ability to endure, no matter the time period.

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  Copyright © Rosie Wynter & Audrey Ashwood

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  The characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are completely fictitious and are in no way meant to represent real people or places. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  To Romance A Scoundrel;

  A Regency Romance Novel

  by Rosie Wynter, Audrey Ashwood;

  Published by:

  ARP 5519, 1732 1st Ave #25519 New York, NY 10128

  November 2019

  Contact: info@allromancepublishing.com

  1. Edition eBook (Version 1.0); November 11th, 2019

  © 2019

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