A Rogue's Courtship
3 Book Box Set
Madeline St. James
© Copyright 2018 by Madeline St.James - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
The Lord’s Elopement
Fated by the Marquess
The Commander’s Affair
About the Author
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The Lord’s Elopement
Chapter 1
“You can’t make me marry that man!” Lady Catherine Haddington cried. “You just can’t! He’s so…so old!”
“Catherine Haddington, you will marry the Baron Arthur Desmond of Clearwater Manor and I’ll not hear another word about it! It’s because of your wild ways that you’ve been disgraced! Honestly, child. The way you’ve carried on over the last two years, I should have sent you straight to the nunnery. Have you any idea what the ton has been saying about you?”
“I don’t care, Father!”
“Aye, and there lies the problem, Lady Haddington,” Lord Chancellor Henry Haddington said. His tone was drenched with such disgust that Catherine flinched as if he’d struck her. She was certainly free spirited, but the only thing that was disgusting was the way the ton’s elitists gossiped about anyone whom they deemed socially unacceptable. Lady Catherine was not above reproach, and she knew that. But the way they talked about her, she might as well have gone and laid down in a house of ill-repute.
“Father, please. I’ve not done anything other than lightly mock the ridiculous rigidity of their manners. We both know of my free spirit and liberal tongue.”
“Yes, and look where it has gotten you. I blame your mother for that,” scoffed Lord Chancellor Haddington. Catherine’s mood lightened slightly, figuring that she was finally getting through to him now. Thoughts of her late mother always seemed to be on his mind lately; not that she could blame him. She missed Mother terribly.
Catherine smoothed the silk of her cream dress, which was adorned with blue flowers. She saw Lady Sophia of Bradford, formerly the Lady Sophia Balfour, wearing a similar dress and she knew she had to have one. Pale dresses with blue flowers were in fashion now. It made her miss Lady Sophia. Catherine knew she had been cruel in her pursuit of the Viscount of Bradford before Sophia married him. She regretted her actions, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being forgotten. And it was certain that no one would forget her after the way she acted at that masquerade ball. The problem was, Lady Sophia was no longer returning her letters. She waited a couple of weeks before she tried to smooth things over with Lady Sophia, knowing she had been hurt and angry. But she couldn’t hold a grudge this long, could she?
“Father, I’m sorry, I…”
“Enough, Lady Catherine!” her father cut her off. “I’ll not hear any more of your excuses. Have you not considered the position I am in? I am a Lord Chancellor of Parliament! I can’t have your soiled reputation ruin my good standing within our fine government. What would his Majesty say if he hears of your impudence?” Catherine looked into the thunderous face of her father and realized, for the first time, she might really have pushed him too far. She expected him to be angered by the increased gossip, but she had never seen him look so disgusted with her.
“Father…”
Lord Haddington waved his hand dismissively at her. “No more. I do not wish to speak to you further tonight. We will discuss tomorrow over breakfast making your acquaintance with the Baron.”
“But-“
“You are dismissed!”
Catherine bit her lip, wondering if it would serve her to continue arguing any further. She decided not, especially as he returned his attention to the stack of papers on his desk. Catherine knew that when the Lord Chancellor brought work home, there was no point in disturbing him further. What she didn’t know, however, was who had betrayed her reputation to her own father. She had not actually done anything of ill-repute. She certainly illustrated some questionable behavior, but to take a stance so severe as to marry her off at the earliest convenience? Surely the gossip mongers of the ton made worse her transgressions by their wagging tongues. She hated the lot of them, and Lady Catherine didn’t hate many things. Contrary to popular belief over her supposed outlandish behavior, she had a passion for life that far exceeded the confining expectations of high society. Where the ton found such fervor to be unforgiveable and unladylike, it was her source of inspiration to get through the many long hours spent with dull individuals whom had nothing more to discuss than the Season’s latest gossip. Didn’t they know there was a whole world outside of London’s o’er cramped and suffocating streets?
Lady Catherine trudged up the stairs to her apartments. She wouldn’t win any arguments with the Lord Chancellor while he was championing the people behind his mahogany desk, whiling away the hours with his parchment, quill, and ink. If e’er there was a time she needed him to be her champion, as a father who cared for his daughter, it was now. But the Lord Chancellor had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work when her mother passed away. He forgot that he had the responsibility of a scared, sad, and lonely little girl under his roof. Lady Catherine had made peace with her loss by befriending her imagination. She considered all of the places she wanted to see, and pondered all of the people to meet in the world. Quickly, the narrow-minded views of the social circles she was expected to associate with tried to stamp out any preconceived notions of adventure and grandeur in this lifetime.
Catherine walked down a long hallway, which was void of any portraits or reminders of her mother. Lord Chancellor had taken them all down, even the family paintings with the three of them posed together. Lady Catherine had to wonder why he hated her mother so. Catherine herself had gone through a spell of being angry with Mother for getting sick, but she forgave her. It wasn’t as if her mother could help it. But she at least kept a small likeness of the late Lady Haddington, which she had nicked from the Lord Chancellor’s office. As she entered her green and gold bedchamber, Catherine headed straight to her wardrobe. Her father disapproved of her decor, saying the colors were not befitting a lady, but Lady Catherine had soon discovered that she could appeal to the generosity of his purse in order for him to get her to leave him be. Apparently, appealing to his better nature wasn’t in her best interest. That was where he drew a line in their relationship. If she had asked him for anything else, a new dress, horse, carriage, she was sure she could get it from him. But second thoughts about her betrothal to an old decrepit was too much to ask!
Lady Catherine began pacing her room, feeling the walls press in on her. She went to the door and rang the bell. Within a moment, the maid Sarah was there.
“Loosen my stays, I can’t breathe,” Catherine announced. Sarah didn’t say a word, but Catherine turned her back and she felt her fingers tugging at the many straps and ties. In a few moments, she felt the many layers loosen around her body. It should have provided relief, but it did not.
“M’lady, you look a fright. Shall I fetch-“
&nb
sp; “No,” asserted Catherine. “Please don’t, Sarah. I’ve no wish to talk to anyone at present. Thank you for your assistance.” Sarah immediately went to the door and shut it quietly behind her; Catherine let the dress fall to the floor. What did she care if the expensive silk was crushed under foot? Her father treated her like scrap material. She was being tossed on the wind like a tattered ribbon, only to be snatched up by the vilest, cruelest man that came her way. Besides, why did a man like the Baron Desmond of Clearwater Manor need a wife at such an advanced age, anyway?
Catherine let herself fall to the bed in naught but her chemise. She stared up at the underside of the green canopy and closed her eyes, playing her favorite game called ‘anywhere but here’. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself deep in the forests of where she was free to roam as a child during summer holiday. She pretended to be astride her steed, Roman, hunting. She knew, of course, that she would never be permitted to chase down a fox with a pack of hounds running rampant ahead of her. It was all very unladylike, after all. But in her dream, she felt liberated. There was not a single person who could tell her what to do by citing the rules of social etiquette. Lady Catherine laughed, momentarily disconnected from the reality of her situation. She was free, untethered from a man thrice her age who she was meant to marry.
Lady Catherine woke with a start. At some point, Sarah came in the room to draw the curtains around Catherine’s bed to afford her privacy. She sat up, looking at the gloomy room through the small opening. A candle burned soft and slow on her writing desk. She rose and walked over to it, picking up the silver handled holder that held the taper. She held it up to her face so that she might regard her likeness in the mirror upon the wall. In truth, Catherine barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, and her cheeks looked gaunt with anxiety. Anger stirred in Catherine’s heart. How dare her father push her off as someone else’s problem? What did he care if she went to the Baron Desmond of Clearwater Manor and wasted away in some manor house, producing heirs for a man who did not respect her body, save for the convenience it was for him? Or worse, what if the only reason the Baron wished to marry was for companionship, and he would waste her youth and vitality? What purpose would her life serve then?
Catherine bit her lip. If there was anything she was proud of, it was her independence. She learned how to take care of herself at a very young age. Why should now be any different? She began to form a plan, half out of madness over the way her father treated her, and the other half born of excitement for adventure. She couldn’t sleep any longer, so she took to pulling her dressing gown over her shoulders and sneaking to the library by candlelight. She sat in a large, comfortable settee and poured over books into the wee hours of the morning. Just before the crack of dawn, Catherine rose from her spot, placing her mother’s beloved books back on the shelf where the dust had settled around them. No one had been in this room of the house in many years except her. Father had locked the room up when Mother died, and no one was permitted to enter. Catherine was clever, though. She fashioned herself a key from wax and the whale bone stitched into some of her corsets. She was frequently required to make new keys when the wax eventually crumbled away. She also ensured the drippings of wax were wiped away from the door so Lord Chancellor didn’t suspect anything. She got quite good at covering her tracks over the years.
Catherine snuck back to her bedroom and tucked a book from the library behind the lip of her writing desk where Sarah wouldn’t discover it if she came in to tidy up. Mother enjoyed fanciful tales of fiction and adventure, and Catherine found that she enjoyed those the most as well. But Father grunted that there was no need for such nonsense when Mother died. He said that fiction filled her head with drivel, and Catherine desperately missed the days when Mother was alive, and she held sway over the Lord Chancellor’s mind. He hadn’t thought stories were nonsense then, but grand escapes for the family when they would sit in the library together and read on Sunday afternoons. Catherine didn’t have anyone to read with anymore, so she developed fanciful ideas all her own.
She decided, if she hadn’t needed a man to care for her since Mother died, why did she need a man now? She roamed the house and the streets of London when she could avoid an escort. She went to the window she had grown accustomed to climbing out of as a child after one dreary winter day when she looked across the way to the park and saw the boys playing in the snow. She had climbed out time and time again to join them until her father caught her. But so many years later, she was smarter now. She wouldn’t get caught executing her plan.
As she stared through the fat flakes of snow drifting past her window, she wondered what happened to the boy she befriended all those years ago. He was kind to her, and let her join the outdoor fun. The other boys had scorned her and laughed at her, but she and Thomas, built sculptures in the snow together. They talked of escaping the restrictions of London’s socialites, and Catherine assumed her Thomas must have escaped them, whether by chance or fate, because one winter he did not return to the park. She waited for him patiently, looking for his cap with the red ties knitted to it. After awhile, she had gathered the courage to go and ask the other boys where he was. But as she was climbing out the window, her father caught her and informed Catherine that he was hiring someone to accompany her and be her guardian. He said that she was too old not to have an escort. That afternoon was the catalyst to the frosty and barely tolerable relationship that festered betwixt them. Since that time, she had gone through various escorts and men whom the Lord Chancellor found worthy of accompanying her. She was currently between chaperones, because she made their lives impossibly difficult. But she felt no qualms or shame about that. She enjoyed her freedom.
Lady Catherine knew that patience was the only way her plan would succeed. She rang for Sarah, who helped her dress, and she played her part going down to breakfast. The fact that she had not slept well the night before lent credence to her peaked appearance at breakfast. Then, when she fainted dead away at Lord Chancellor’s announcement that they would be spending the Easter holiday visiting Clearwater Manor to meet the Baron Desmond, Catherine was able to act her part and be carried to her room where she wasn’t to be disturbed for the day. She was inconsolable, ill, and had even been able to feign a touch of the Ague, looking so pale and gaunt. The Lord Chancellor called for the doctor, who told her a few days rest in bed would serve her. The doctor advised that the only contact she was to have was with Sarah, who would bring her a few meals a day if Catherine felt like eating. After a couple of hours of fussing and ordering Sarah away for the day so she might sleep, Lady Catherine threw the covers back and padded across her room, listening at the door. No one was on the other side, so she drew her curtains on her bed and dressed herself. She tucked a wig that had been fashioned from horse hair for masquerade balls and the like. Wigs were extended to women’s fashion and were often dyed pastel colors. Today, Catherine chose a wig whose color was close to her own, and artfully arranged it under the covers, so it appeared as if she were sleeping.
Once Lady Catherine finished setting up the wig and the bedding, she dressed warmly, donning a cloak and boots. She tiptoed to her window and pushed it open. The Lord Chancellor had it nailed shut, but she long ago pried the nails out with scissors. He never came in her room anymore because the formality of their relationship dictated that he call her to his study when he wished to speak with her, leaving it to Sarah and her chaperones to monitor her comings and goings.
Lady Catherine carefully hoisted herself out and grasped the branches of the tree next to her window. Spots along the branches were slick with ice. She slipped a few times, but caught herself and continued to slide as gracefully down the tree as she could. When she reached the bottom and landed with a soft thud, she quickly swept away the evidence of her footprints and hurried around the corner out of sight of the town house. She grinned wickedly at her good fortune. She was free, at least for a time, and she had every intention of figuring out
how to retain that freedom permanently. She decided that, when she made her escape during the Easter holidays, it would be for good.
Chapter 2
Lady Catherine strolled the streets of London with purpose. She wrapped her bland, brown cloak tighter around her body and drew the hood up so she wouldn’t be recognized. She was turned away by all of the shops where she stopped to warm up in and inquire about employment signs in the window. She was too high born to work in the shoemaker's shop, the apothecary, the bakery, and the seamstress.
“Ma’am, yer too uppity aren’t ye? I cannae ha’e a lady such as yerself workin’ in me shop! What would the townies say?” barked the old lady working in the bakery. Lady Catherine knew that she needed to secure work for herself and save enough pound so she might make her escape before the Easter holiday. She could not quite understand the old woman, but she knew that the bakery would not be her path to freedom. And so it went for the day. The townspeople were too skeptical of a highborn woman such as herself trying to find work.
Lady Catherine could almost understand their skepticism, but it didn’t make trudging through the slush and the muck all afternoon any easier. She was not aware of what neighborhood she was in until she rounded a corner and a man was leaning towards the building, with his hand cupped around his trousers. The snow yellowed on the ground below him, and Lady Catherine wrinkled her nose and backed quickly away. How vile! She was about to turn around and run when she bumped into someone solid behind her.
“Lost, m’lady?” The man’s teeth were rotted from his mouth, and his whole body wafted in a cloud of stench. Lady Catherine gagged and shook her head as her eyes watered. “Come on now, what’s a pretty one like you doing in the White Chapel?” He took a step towards her, and the man defiling the building tucked himself away and began walking towards them, laughing.
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