Satyr’s Son: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Family Saga Book 5)

by Brant, Lucinda

  Inside the consulting room a group of persons had assembled to hear what they knew to be good news. Still, regardless of the funding the dispensary was to receive from the Fournier Foundation, everyone was nervous, and none more so than the dear doctor, who paced back and forth with his hands behind his back. Three of the doctor’s assistants loitered in the corridor which connected the consulting room to the dispensary, hoping to catch a glimpse of the visitors, while in the room waiting to welcome them, along with Dr. Warner, were his two consultant physicians, the anatomy instructor, Mrs. Warner, and her sister Mrs. Cobban.

  Less than two months had gone by since the dispensary had been visited by the trustees of the Fournier Foundation. And upon that occasion Dr. Warner was warned not to expect any word on the progress of his application until late autumn at the earliest. Yet, here it was the first days of August, and a letter had arrived with news that his application had been successful. Not only that, but the foundation’s patrons, normally reticent to divulge their identities, were eager to visit his dispensary at their earliest convenience, due to their imminent departure abroad; the noble couple were setting off on their bridal trip.

  Dr. Warner, Minette Warner, her sister Henriette Cobban, the entire de Crespigny family, the dispensary workers, and its regular patients, all knew why Miss Lisa Crisp had not returned from attending her best friend’s wedding in the country. She had written to the good doctor and his wife, and also sent a letter to her Aunt de Crespigny, with the news that she and Lord Henri-Antoine Hesham had been married by special licence in the Roxton Family Chapel at Treat. It was the most astounding piece of gossip about the nobility any of them had heard since His Lordship’s widowed mother had up and married a man ten years her junior, and that was a decade ago. And now this! Who would have thought it possible. Certainly not the de Crespigny sisters. And while they had to grudgingly accept their cousin’s turn of fortune, they had done their best to ignore it as if it had not happened. But a visit from the noble couple they could not ignore, and Lord Henri-Antoine was determined that they would pay their respects to his wife.

  Michel Gallet returned to the carriage with the news everything was in readiness. And with the lads keeping the crowd back, Lord Henri-Antoine alighted from the carriage, diamond-headed walking stick in hand. He then turned and helped his wife to firm ground. But no sooner had he wrapped her arm around his to make the short walk to the consulting room, than the crowd surged forward to take a better look at the couple. They were particularly interested in the beautiful young lady in her redingote robe of gray, red, and yellow striped satin; a string of pearls about her white throat; and set at a rakish angle over her upswept curls, a black felt hat decorated with plumes and satin ribbons that matched her gown. More than a few could not believe their eyes, but it was true, and they recognized in this fashionable lady their amanuensis from her previous life. A cheer went up in greeting. And then another.

  The noble couple paused. Her Ladyship stayed her husband while she thanked the residents of Gerrard Street and the patients to Warner’s Dispensary for their good wishes. She smiled at the eager grubby faces of the wide-eyed children and the grinning adults, all happy to wish the couple many years of wedded bliss. A final cheer went up as Henri-Antoine and Lisa disappeared inside the building, the lads at their back staying vigil on the steps.

  Inside, Dr. Warner greeted his esteemed guests with a bow and smiles, genuinely happy for the couple but most particularly for Lisa, whom he bashfully complimented as quite the most lovely bride he had ever seen. His Lordship’s stare swept the room, and he noted with satisfaction the due acknowledgement of the de Crespigny sisters, Mrs. Warner and Mrs. Cobban, as they lowered themselves into an appropriate curtsy in recognition of their cousin’s elevated status as wife of the second son of a duke, and sister-in-law of the Duke of Roxton.

  Henri-Antoine smiled, unable to hide his pride, when he announced to one and all, “Allow me to introduce my wife, the Lady Henri-Antoine Hesham, patroness of the Fournier Foundation…”

  ~ THE END ~

  Continue reading to explore behind-the-scenes of Satyr’s Son or view the family tree.

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  BEHIND-THE-SCENES

  Go behind-the-scenes of Satyr’s Son—explore the places, objects, and history in the book on Pinterest

  BONUS EXCERPT

  Midnight Marriage

  A GEORGIAN HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  Roxton Famiy Saga—Book 1

  JUST TWELVE YEARS OLD, and drugged with laudanum to make her compliant, Deborah Cavendish is woken in the middle of the night and married off to a distraught boy not much older than herself. Years later, Deb stumbles across a wounded duelist in the forest, and it is love at first sight. Deb has no idea the wounded duelist is in truth her noble husband Julian Hesham, Marquess of Alston, returned to England after years in exile to claim his wife. Remaining incognito, Julian is determined Deb will fall in love with him, not his title, and sets out to woo her before she can be seduced by a persistent suitor with ulterior motives. Their marriage, and the future of the Roxton dukedom depend upon it.

  “ALLOW ME to introduce myself: Julian Hesham Esquire.” He glanced at the old man. “Miss Cavendish and I have been discussing our marriage—”

  Deb’s eyes immediately lifted from her coffee dish as a ready blush of embarrassment seized her throat and cheeks. It was one thing to jest of marriage with her in private conversation, quite another to continue the jest in front of her host. One swift glance in his direction told Deb the old man was in utter disbelief at his godson’s pronouncement.

  “You must stop this nonsense at once,” she demanded in a low voice, up on her feet.

  “—and how I put my foot down at inviting her brother Sir Gerald to stay overnight,” the Marquis finished off.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered to me one jot had you been an adventurer,” Deb continued, napkin cast aside. “But to tease a girl you have only met once and in-in trying circumstances, a girl you know not the first particular about and who knows nothing about you, with an offer of marriage, an obligation you have no intention of fulfilling, is beyond forgiveness.”

  Julian appealed to Martin Ellicott.

  “Tell her I am in earnest, mon parrain.”

  “I do not know what circles you mix in, Mr. Hesham—if that is in truth your name—but in the society to which I belong, your actions would not only be considered heartless but unconscionable! And—and those of a-a lunatic.”

  “Please, Miss Cavendish, if you would—”

  “Why do you smile? Do you think it amusing? Do you see me as an object of fun, sir? To a gentleman of your address, adventurer or no, I suppose a spinster nearing her twenty-first birthday must amuse someone used to the attentions of—oh! a dozen females at every ball and rout. Well, I assure you, yours is not the only marriage proposal I’ve ever received! In fact, the ones I have received were in earnest, not made as a cruel jest! Indeed I had one this morning. And from a gentleman who would never make me such an offer unless he truly meant it!”

  “I repeat: I am in earnest.”

  “To think I went to the trouble of bandaging you up!”

  “And a very good job of bandaging you did, too. May I know the fellow’s name who proposed to you?”

  “No. You may not!” she breathed indignantly, and then opened wide her brown eyes at his look of amusement. “Oh, I see. You don’t believe me, is that it?”

  “Of course I believe you, Miss Cavendish,” he assured her, following Deb to the low wall, a handkerchief at the ready. “It’s just that I wonder why you have not accepted one of these proposals before now…?”

  Deb rounded on him then and he found it hard to keep a straight face because she was scowling at him, and it brought back a flash of vivid memory, of a thin-shouldered b
arefoot girl in an over large nightgown. It amazed him to think he had not recalled her before now.

  “I will not take offense at that remark because you do not know my history,” she said in a low voice, the scowl deepening on spying the handkerchief in his hand. “If you must know, Black Cavendishs do not receive many marriage proposals. Certainly not from respectable gentlemen! I dare say you are not respectable or I wouldn’t have found you bleeding to death from a sword wound and you certainly would not have offered me marriage.”

  He quickly put away the handkerchief.

  “I assure you, it was not my object to offend you, Miss Cavendish. I am merely curious to know of any potential rivals for your hand.”

  “Is that so?” she said, tongue-in-cheek. “As my hand is not engaged there is little point in divulging the names of my suitors to you. Now you must excuse me, M’sieur,” she said politely, addressing the old man who stood woodenly by the table transfixed by the conversation between the couple, “I have packing to do. Thank you for the breakfast. I hope to see you in the Pump Room before I leave for Paris. Au revoir.”

  “Leaving for Paris soon, Miss Cavendish?” Julian persisted, following Deb down the terrace steps to the pebbled path that led to the stables.

  Deb stopped and turned on him, the scowl returning. “If you must know, I am taking my nephew to Paris within the next few days, where undoubtedly I will receive more marriage proposals from dashing adventurers. Good day, sir!”

  “Not if I can help it,” Julian muttered, returning to the terrace.

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  BONUS EXCERPT

  Salt Bride

  A GEORGIAN HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  Salt Hendon—Book 1

  WHEN THE EARL of Salt Hendon marries squire’s daughter Jane Despard, Society is aghast. But Jane and Salt share a secret past of heartache and mistrust. They are forced into a marriage neither wants; the Earl to honor a dying man’s wish, Jane to save her stepbrother from financial ruin. Beautiful inside and out, the patient and ever optimistic Jane believes love conquers all; the Earl will take some convincing. Enter Diana St. John, who has been living in a fool’s paradise believing she would be the next Countess of Salt Hendon. She will go to extreme lengths, even murder, to hold Salt’s attention. The newlyweds must overcome their past prejudices and sinister opposition to fall in love all over again.

  LONDON, ENGLAND, 1763

  “MISS DESPARD, it is customary to permit me to bow over your hand,” he drawled, with just that touch of insolence required to bring immediate obedience.

  But Jane was too much affected by his closeness and his earlier unfavorable appraisal to be bothered with the niceties of a formal introduction, and her hands remained firmly clasped in front of her. She told herself she was being obstinately bad-mannered, but, for the first time in years, she allowed emotion to rule her tongue and spoke her thoughts.

  “I am fully sensible to the honor you do me, my lord,” she answered in a clear voice, gaze riveted to the engraved silver buttons of his waistcoat. “But I am not ignorant of the fact it was forced upon you in a most ungentlemanly manner. It is a circumstance I bitterly regret and wish I could alter.”

  There was the smallest of pauses before Salt said in his insolent way, “You’ve had ample opportunity to release me from such a damnable circumstance. You merely had to refuse the honor. Still, there are some eighteen hours before the ceremony…”

  This blunt speech did tilt Jane’s chin to his face, blue eyes wide with astonishment. He was offering her the opportunity to give him an eleventh hour reprieve; indeed his very manner suggested he expected her to do so there and then. That she wanted to release him from his forced obligation with all her heart was momentarily forgotten with the wound to her feminine pride. That he did not even have the good manners to disguise his abhorrence for a match that was of her father’s making, not hers, angered her into giving an impudent reply.

  “You cannot imagine, my lord, that I leapt at your backhanded offer of marriage,” she stated with as much coldness in her voice as she could muster. “Doubtless there are dozens of females eager to take their place at your side as Countess of Salt Hendon. I wholeheartedly wish you’d offered for one of these ladies, for then this horrid situation would never have presented itself.”

  “I am not in the habit of making life-altering decisions merely to oblige others,” he replied coldly, gaze remaining fixed to the wet windowpane. “Yet… Knowing you for a fickle female with no heart and even less brain, who has the barefaced cheek to accept a backhanded offer of marriage, I should indeed have married the next fresh-faced virgin who presented herself for mounting.”

  Jane staggered back a pace, mind reeling and hand out to the heavy brocade curtains for support at such crude speech. “How… How dare you speak to me in such a repulsive manner!” she whispered indignantly, a fervent glance at her tea-drinking relatives at the far end of the room. “I am not one of your whores who you can—”

  This brought his hard gaze down to her beautiful face. “Come now, Miss Despard,” he said with bored indifference. “Your show of offended sensibilities insults my intelligence. It is a bit late in the day to exhibit virginal outrage.” He watched her throat constrict, and when she turned her fine nose to the window, giving him a view of her lovely profile, he smiled crookedly. How well she played the part of indignant female! As if she were the injured party. “By the way, I don’t waste conversation on whores.”

  “If you hope to unsettle me with your-your—by that, then you are vastly mistaken in my—in my—” She stopped herself and bit her full lower lip, for how could she say the word character when she had none?

  He seemed to read her mind, for he said so softly that she could only just hear him, “You were wise not to say it. You lost what little character you possessed when you thumbed your nose at constancy and decency to take up with a conscienceless old merchant. But as you are your father’s daughter, I am inclined to believe Sir Felix never taught you the meaning of such words. Thus I will own that the fault lies with me for being taken in by your beautiful face.”

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  Listen to this and other excerpts read by renowned voice talent Marian Hussey at Lucinda Brant’s audiobook webpage

  BONUS EXCERPT

  Deadly Engagement

  A GEORGIAN HISTORICAL MYSTERY

  Alec Halsey Mystery Series—Book 1

  CAREER DIPLOMAT Alec Halsey returns to London to the shocking news his estranged brother, the Earl of Delvin, has not only killed his friend in a duel but is engaged to the woman Alec hoped to marry. The dead man’s mother wants Alec to investigate, so he reluctantly attends a weekend house party celebrating the engagement. Houseguests get more than they bargained for when a lady’s maid is murdered, the bride-to-be is attacked, and a guest is shot dead. Uncovering a connection between these sinister acts and his brother's duel, Alec confronts a cruel twist of fate and why his brother will go to any lengths to ruin him in Polite Society.

  LONDON, SPRING, 1763

  WHEN SHE TRIED to draw away from him he would not let her go and anger got the better of him. “Second put you up to this, did he?”

  Emily swallowed. “No! No! No one has said a word to me!”

  The Earl fought hard to master his anger and forced himself to smile sadly. “My dear, do you think me without a brain? You are too sweet a child. You have been gently bred to do as you are told, what we think is best for you. These harsh words, these doubts, they are not in your nature. How may I set your mind at rest? Have I offended you in any way? My one desire is to make you my wife. I had thought it your only wish too.”

  Emily felt hot tears behind her eyes. “Edward. Edward—is Lady Gervais—is that creature your mistress?”

  Delvin looked away from her and took out his snuffbox. “My dear, you c
heapen yourself by asking such a base question. I shall not answer it.”

  “But I must know!” she demanded, wringing her hands. “She is your mistress, isn’t she? I know because I overheard her and Lord Gervais in the ballroom—”

  He put up his hand. “That is quite enough. I will not discuss that woman with you, now or ever.”

  “No? But you bed her nonetheless?”

  “Listen to me!” he snapped, grabbing her hard by the shoulders and sticking his face in hers. “My one desire in life is to marry you. It is you I want as my countess. You are all the things a man can hope for in a wife: Beauty, obedience, youth. I will make you a good husband, but the rest of my life is none of your business; nor will you make it your business. I want you to give me sons. I want—”

  Tears streamed down her face. “Please, my lord, you are hurting me.”

  The Earl stared at her blankly, then released her suddenly, realizing he was fast losing control over her. “The weekend has exhausted you. You are not yourself. Upon a week’s reflection you will see that I am in the right. I will speak to Her Grace and—”

  Emily shook her head. She pulled her shoulders back and adjusted her straw bonnet. “It is not you, my lord. It’s just that I cannot marry a man who keeps such a woman as a mistress; who fornicates with her at his own engagement party! Is that not what occurred last night? Did you not go off with her into the gardens? Do you know how that makes me feel? To be consumed in such misery—”

  “Misery?” The word was wrenched from him, and with that one word his cool and charming facade was shattered forever in her eyes. “What do you know of misery?” he spat out. “You dare to cast me aside, all because I am a man? You, the product of a debased liaison between a whore and a cowherd? You should’ve been well-satisfied had I made you my mistress! As it stands, I am considered a laughing stock by my fellows for wanting to ally myself with the likes of you! I shall not turn ’round now and allow you to make me a buffoon—the butt of every joke in town!”