Forever Yours Series Bundle (Book 1-3)

by Stacy Reid

  Emma had thought her happiness could not increase, but now…

  “Look at his little, pink, wrinkled face. He is perfect and so handsome. Oh, Elliot, he will break many hearts,” she said with a watery laugh.

  “If you believe so, my love,” her husband said indulgently.

  There was no description to express the love and happiness pouring through her heart. “We are truly blessed aren’t we, my darling?”

  “Indeed, we are, my love. Indeed we are.”

  The Viscount and I

  After jilting first a fortune hunter, then a lying libertine, Lady Fanny Dashwood has given up on marrying for love. This time it will be strictly business – a man who’ll agree to her terms, give her the children she craves, but will not trouble her heart.

  Sebastian Rutledge, Viscount Shaw, has desired Lady Fanny from afar for years. However, he is a factory owner with a new title – not nearly good enough for an earl’s daughter. Until a dream opportunity arises: a marriage of convenience with the woman of his dreams. Even as their growing passion unleashes in the bedchamber, his new wife remains at arm’s length. Could a wellborn lady ever fall for an unconventional lord?

  Chapter 1

  Hanover Square, London

  I'm to be married, finally.

  A fierce joy sparkled inside Lady Frances Elizabeth Dashwood, Fanny to her close friends and family. Her dear mamma had long despaired this day would ever come, considering Fanny had been the cause of a most dreadful scandal several years past. A disgrace that had sent her papa to his grave, or so her mother, the dowager countess often lamented, even though Papa had died four months after the unfortunate incident.

  It had taken years, three to be precise before Fanny had been tentatively enfolded back into the bosom of society. How glorious it had been this season to finally attend balls, musicales, and ride through Hyde Park once more, without ladies lifting their fans and cutting her, without speculative whispers, and the dreadful conversations that abruptly ended whenever she approached. Of course, being courted by Harry Basil, the Marquess of Trent had been the feather needed to set her cap upright.

  And today they were tying the knot at St. George’s, Hanover Square. Determined to look ravishing, she’d worn a fashionable dress of the palest pink silk, which accentuated her curvy figure to its best advantage. She’d caught her blonde hair up in the most elegant of chignons with becoming wisps framing her face, and a coronet of flowers woven between the strands. Today was to be a most splendid day, and Fanny ensured she appeared the most elegant and perfect bride.

  The ceremony was to start in fifteen minutes. Her carriage had already driven around the square a number of times because her mother was so eager that her daughter had landed a gentleman of such esteem, but it would not do for her to be waiting in the church on him. Her mother was glowing with pleasure at the prospective match. Fanny thought it absurd but had agreed to remain in the carriage until the marquess reached the altar. She had done so to settle her mother’s nerves. Fanny had never been one to display emotions of any sorts in public, and she had needed a few moments to herself.

  Her carriage paused at the grand frontage of St. George's and a footman jumped down to confirm whether the Marquess had arrived. Apparently, his carriage had delivered him on her previous circuit of the square. Her step was let down, and she was helped down by the footman. She smiled at him nervously as she straightened her shoulders to climb the steps to the entrance. It was hard not to be intimidated by the imposing façade with its six Doric pillars and Grecian triangular frieze. Her mother in the second carriage would organize the bridesmaids and follow her up. Her brother Colin, the current Earl of Banberry should be waiting in the porch for her and then they would proceed up the central aisle on the red carpet to the altar.

  She opened the church door and entered, taking a left turn down an isolated corridor. She faltered as she spied a couple ahead. The man appeared familiar. Something terrible and fearful gripped Fanny’s heart and a cold knot twisted through her stomach. For precious seconds she was unable to comprehend the sight. The man she was to marry was locked in the most passionate of embraces with a lady Fanny recognized as Miss Miranda Shelby. Fanny only had cause to know Miss Shelby for she had been the unfortunate recipient of vulgar rumors which claimed Lord Trent had offered this woman carte blanche. She had asked her brother for clarification, and he had refused to mortify her sensibilities. Against her brother's advice, she had asked her betrothed about Miss Shelby, and the marquess had re-assured Fanny, his friendship with Miss Shelby was in the past.

  The hot sting of tears burned her eyes. The loving way he placed her palm on his cheek and the tender smile on his lips belied his assurances and promises given only last week. A crushing weight settled against her chest, and an alarming sound of pain slipped from her. The two lovers were too enthralled with their moment, to notice Fanny hovering on the threshold.

  “Oh, my darling, I cannot bear that you are to be married. How I despair I will lose you,” Miss Shelby cried, crushing the marquess’s hand to her chest. Her bosom heaved over her low-cut gown, her golden ringlets bobbed with her agitation, and Fanny suspected the lady’s light blue eyes glistened with tears.

  “You will never lose me,” Lord Trent vowed fervently. “As soon as possible my sweeting, I will order Lady Fanny to the country, and she will remain there until I say otherwise. Nothing will sway my love for you…” Then he lowered his hand to the gentle protrusion under her gown. “I will be with you every step of the way when our babe comes into this world.”

  They kissed fiercely, their ardor for each other mortifying, and an arrow of envy and sorrow darted through Fanny's heart. She desperately wanted to flee, but her limbs would not obey her. She was frozen, the pain hammering through her terribly. Lord Trent had professed to love her, had showered her with acceptable gifts, and had even stolen a few kisses, a liberty she had allowed for she had been so sure she loved him in return.

  All evidence showed he was ardently caught in the throes of passion with Miss Miranda Shelby. The few indelicate rumors Fanny had heard, could no longer be denied. She turned away, a harsh sob tearing from her throat, and hurried down the hallway. Tears blurred her vision and hating the notion the marquess might exit and see her fleeing, she clutched the skirts of her dress and ran.

  “Fanny?”

  With a gasp she halted, pressing trembling fingers to her lips. “Mamma…” How she wished she could fling herself into her mother’s arms.

  “My dear girl, you are fleeing as if the devil is on your heel. It is not seemly.” The countess glanced behind Fanny, her elegant brows puckered in a severe frown.

  She allowed her mother to tug her toward a hidden alcove near the entrance that would lead her to the altar.

  “What is amiss, Fanny?”

  She desperately tried to swallow past the pain in her throat. “Lord Trent…”

  “Yes?”

  A flush traveled along her body. "I saw him just now, clasped in a most improper embrace with Miss Shelby."

  Her mother considered her as if she had never seen her before. “And this is what has you so out of sorts?”

  Confusion rushed through Fanny. “Mamma, they…they were declaring passionate love for each other, and kissing most salaciously,” she whispered, beyond mortified to be revealing such intimacy to her mother.

  “Pish. Today is a most auspicious day, and the only thing that is important is in a few minutes you will be a countess. Lady Trent. The likes of Miranda Shelby should never upset you. She is too low to be given any prominence in our thoughts. Now let’s set you to rights, for the ceremony is to start.”

  Fanny grappled for a precious moment to perceive her meaning. “Mamma, I cannot marry a man who has no regard for me, and on the day we are to marry he is professing his devotion—”

  “Nonsense,” her mother said sharply, her dark green eyes flashing with ire and determination. “Men will always flatter their vanity and have their mistre
sses. It’s the way of the world, and we do not let it bother us. As ladies, there are far more pressing matters to occupy our attention.”

  Fanny recoiled. “You are speaking in jest, of course! The fidelity and the honor of the man I marry cannot be suspect. Mamma—”

  Her mother gripped her chin in a painful clasp, shocking Fanny into silence.

  “You will listen to me, Fanny Elizabeth Dashwood. You were foolish enough to break your betrothal to Viscount Aldridge because it was revealed it was your fortune which attracted him. It took years for society to forgive your outrageous behavior. You are on the cusp of being a marchioness, and you will not ruin your chances and bring disgrace to this family again.”

  Disgrace.

  She trembled at the reminder of how intolerably unforgiving society had been when she had rejected the viscount weeks after her initial acceptance of his proposal. She made no reply, for Fanny was a mess with the emotions rioting so forcefully inside.

  “Gather your composure, we have a wedding to attend.”

  Then her brother appeared from inside the church, and she was hustled down the aisle on his arm so that he could give her away.

  Several minutes later, Fanny stood at the altar of the cathedral, facing the marquess, who did not have the appearance of a man who had been passionately making love to another. He peered down at her with familiar tenderness. She had been so confident he loved her. Was she so naïve and desperate for a family she had allowed a libertine to deceive her? How could she have been so mistaken in his heart and character?

  Colin stated that he was giving her away before taking his seat.

  The bishop began the ceremony, and she bit the inside of her bottom lip to prevent the tears burning behind her eyes from spilling over.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate…”

  Please stop talking! It would not do to be fodder for gossip on her wedding day. Nor must she bring disgrace to her family. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders and met the gaze of the man she would pledge to love and obey for the rest of her life. He winked, a charming habit he had whenever he wanted to make her smile. But now she saw the emptiness and the lies for what it was. He did not love or esteem her, it had all been a cruel charade with a purpose she could not understand. The earl did not desire her fortune, for society knew he commanded fifty thousand pounds a year. It hadn’t been because she was an heiress.

  Lord Trent had courted her so ardently with the sweetest of poems and flowers. All those long walks in the park, the picnics, and the dancing at balls. They had meant nothing to him for his plan was to send her to the country, while he resided in passionate bliss with the woman he loved. Fanny trembled, and Lord Trent frowned, concern darkening his eyes. Liar, she wanted to snarl, hating that she was reduced to this mess of pain and anxiety on a day she had been anticipating since her sixteenth birthday.

  “Henry George Basil, Marquess of Trent, wilt thou have Lady Frances Elizabeth Dashwood to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?

  “I do.”

  It was becoming more difficult to breathe by the minute.

  Fanny perceived she was poised on the cusp of the scandal of the season. She would make everyone forget the jubilation of their beloved Queen Victoria’s coronation, and last week’s disgrace of Sebastian Rutledge—the Iron King—in refusing to marry Miss Arabella Sutton, despite being caught in a compromising situation with the lady. No, Fanny’s scandal would be like no other.

  The slice of pain that went through her heart made her tremble. I will lose everything I have been hoping for. To marry this man after what she had witnessed…

  “Lady Frances Elizabeth Dashwood, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  A dreadful silence blanketed the church as the bishop waited for her affirmation. Why had she allowed herself to be persuaded to the altar? A murmur of voices penetrated her panicked thoughts, and her gaze snapped to the dozens of guests in attendance. Only one hundred or so people were present to witness the joining, but it felt as if all of society waited in judgment. If she did not commit now…if she truly walked away, she would be ruined, and nothing would render her respectable.

  The knot in her throat was growing.

  Her mother paled and gripped her brother's arm who seemed to observe something was wrong. Colin slowly stood, his hands clenching at his side, a warning flashing in his expression.

  The bishop cleared his throat the action shaking his jowls.

  “Lady Fanny, is all well?” Lord Trent asked, peering down at her.

  “I saw you,” she finally answered. Her throat felt thick, and there was a tightness across her chest that made it difficult to breathe. “I saw you…with your mistress.” A woman who also waited in the pews. How did she dare stand watching the man she loved marrying another? Humiliation clawed through Fanny at the memory of how they had clung to each other only a few moments ago, and the whispered words of promises her fiancé had vowed.

  The Marquess stiffened, knowledge darkening his pale blue eyes. He reached for her gloved fingers, and to the onlooker, his clasp would have seemed gentle. But her fingers ached from the way he subtly twisted them. She tried to yank her fingers back, but there was no give in the marquess’s grip.

  Something awful must lurk within her, for she knew to walk away would be the ruination of all her dreams and the reputation she had struggled to reclaim. Fanny desperately wanted her own family. She was three and twenty and after the last fiasco three seasons ago when she had called off her engagement to viscount Aldridge, the scandal had been terrible. The viscount had even threatened to sue her family for breach of promise, and her father had settled an unnamed sum on him. The scandal sheet had dubbed her the runaway heiress, and for the longest time, Fanny had thought society would never accept her back again.

  But they had, and she had crept from the shell she had slipped under to protect herself from their vicious gossiping, and cruel scrutiny. If she did not marry the marquess now…everything she had wanted for so very long would disappear like ashes with the wind.

  Lord Trent lowered his head. “You will confirm your vows,” he warned, twisting her fingers, grinding the knuckles against each other.

  A low whimper escaped her, and her heart quaked. Another revelation flowed through her soul. Not only was he a libertine who planned to order her to the country and be wicked with his mistress, but he was also cruel. This was a man who would not hesitate to beat her if she should dare defy him. How could she have been so mistaken in his character?

  “You will release me, or I shall scream.”

  He ignored her, and Fanny slapped him. His expression of comical dismay filled her with satisfaction. Then she walked away unable to look into the faces of her guests, especially her dearest friends and close family. With every step she felt the awful weight of their shock and judgment. Eyes followed her, the whispers of shock accumulating and cresting in a swell through the church. The news would spread through society like wildfire, and her family might never forgive her. The scandal sheets would burn for weeks with this spectacle.

  Unable to walk serenely down the aisle, she ran.

  Chapter 2

  “Have you heard?”

  Sebastian Rutledge now Viscount Shaw danced lightly on his feet, avoiding the hammer like fists of his closest friend and business partner in a housing venture, Percy Taylor. They had been boxing now for almost an hour, and though Sebastian's muscles burned, an
d sweat dampened his hair and body, he was nowhere ready to throw in the towel. “Are you attempting to distract me, because I am winning this bout?” he asked with a grin, slamming a right into his friend’s side, his thinly wrapped knuckles meeting hardened slabs of muscle.

  Percy had been obliged to offer himself up as a sparring partner and had arrived at the crack at dawn at Sebastian's townhouse in Berkley Square. Sebastian had been restless, eaten up with a sense of anger and despair that was quite unlike him. He was known for his calm, methodical approach to business and personal matters, and he prided himself on being practical. This release of energy was the best thing to divert his thoughts from the sense of loss eating through his soul. His friend had suggested he visited a bawdy house and released his frustrations in one or two willing female bodies, but Sebastian had been unable to confide he had been without a woman for over two years. Because of her—Lady Fanny Dashwood, a woman who didn't even notice his existence beyond the barest of polite social conversation. He was a damned fool.

  “So, you really have no notion,” Percy said, a taunting smile on his lips.

  They circled each other now, both getting in another punch before Sebastian replied, “Notion of what?”

  “Lady Fanny ran away from Lord Trent. They are not married.”

  And that was all Percy needed to say to knock the wind out of Sebastian. The man took advantage and clipped him on the chin, and he allowed himself to fall backward on the ground with a resounding thud. The ache of that didn’t even penetrate, nor did the ringing in his head. Lady Fanny wasn’t married. The reason for his tormented restlessness would not be slowly unwrapped tonight by another man and out of his reach forever. He was the worst sort of scoundrel to even feel for a minute the primal satisfaction that slammed into his gut.