Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 25
“Viola, unhand this young man!”
Oh—Now her father realized Brock could not possibly be taking advantage of her, so it must be his daughter in the wrong, instigating the compromising situation. Thankfully, her back faced the door and her father would not see her exposed breast. She grasped Brock’s hand in her own and deepened the kiss, knowing it would not last much longer—-and then it was not guaranteed she would ever be in his arms again.
He moved between them to shift her bodice back into place. Just as quickly, he disentangled her hands from his hair and returned them to her lap with a quick squeeze before letting them go.
“That is better. Now, Viola, you come out of this carriage at once. What will the servants think? See you out here like a common hussy in Cheapside.” The carriage groaned as her father stepped down.
She couldn’t turn to face him, to see the disappointment in his eyes once again, although she feared raising her face to meet Brock’s, either. What would she see there? Disgust, disdain, repulsion.
“Are you listening to me, young lady?”
Suddenly, she was a child again caught pilfering her father’s favorite sweets. Vi shored her courage and prepared to face her father’s wrath. She straightened her shoulders and Brock laughed.
A loud, deep chuckle that echoed in the small carriage.
Slowly, her eyes met his. There was no aversion, trepidation, or distaste. What she did see looking back at her made tears spring to her own eyes.
Joy, acceptance, and admiration stared back at her.
“Here, take this,” Brock said, and pressed a folded piece of paper into her hand.
She closed her fingers around the worn paper. “What—?”
“Viola, do come out at once!” her father’s angry tone drifted into the carriage.
Brock laughed again. “Open it later. You will understand, I promise. Now go. I will see you soon, I am sure.”
She turned then, taking her father’s outstretched hand as she departed the carriage.
“Young man, I expect to see you on the morrow.”
“Of course, my lord,” Brock called as his carriage pulled away from her father’s home.
Vi tucked the paper into the pocket hidden in her skirt and marched up the front stairs, her father only a few steps behind. She didn’t wait for the scolding she knew was coming, but rushed to her room. As soon as she slammed the door, she withdrew the paper from her pocket.
As she unfolded it, she realized it was two pieces of paper. One was written in Brock’s bold handwriting; the second was a list of some sort. She set Brock’s note aside.
She unfolded the second piece of paper and studied the words. Every one of her clients, past and present, including purchase details and estate locations, were listed in Connor’s hurried hand.
Next, she retrieved the note accompanying the list.
It simply read, “This was taken from you. Allow me to extend my deepest apologies for the wrong done to you and your livelihood by the scoundrel who called himself a man. You will not have cause to fear this type of treachery in the future. I have handled the situation in a manner best fitting the misdeed.”
The note was signed with only a B.
Vi smirked. “I guess he was able to give his apology after all,” she whispered.
Epilogue
The reflection staring back at Vi was one of contentment—and unbelievable happiness. The last month had passed in a haze of euphoria and disbelief. The euphoria was thanks to the love she saw in Brock’s eyes every time he looked at her; the happiness in her father’s demeanor at these recent developments. The disbelief stemmed from the very notion that Brock could feel affection for her after all they had been through. He loved her despite the pain she had inflicted on his family.
She smiled and turned from the looking glass and makeshift dressing room that had once been her office. The room was different now. She was different.
A crown of fresh flowers encircled her head and laced through the rich mane of hair that flowed down her back. Her dress had arrived only hours before from Madame Sauvage, in London. The shimmering, pearl-white dress flowed down her body, much as her hair did down her back, hugging her in all the right places.
All the right places—one of them being here at the one place she felt at home. Although, after today Haversham House would be her home. She only dreamed it would be the sanctuary that Foldger’s Foals had always been.
A light tap sounded and the door opened. It was time.
Time for her new beginning.
Time for her to take her place where she belonged.
Beside Brock: That was where she belonged.
“Come in,” Vi called.
The door opened on well-oiled hinges and Ruby stepped in, her smile matching Vi’s. “You look beautiful.” Her friend looked her up and down.
“Is everyone ready?”
“Yes. My mother and Lady Darlingiver finally arrived, and everyone is seated.”
“Is he ready?”
“By ‘he,’ I presume you are speaking of Lord Haversham. He is in attendance and looking quite dashing.”
“I remember you using just that phrase not long ago. How things have changed.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her face heated.
Today, he would be hers and she his.
“I am so very happy you found Lord Haversham,” Ruby said as she embraced Vi.
“I, too.” Vi drew back and looked, truly looked, at her friend. “You look stunning, as well.”
Ruby was dressed in a deep plum-colored dress, the neckline high and the back cut low to expose her trim shoulders and long neck. Her hair was piled atop her head with nary an ornament to distract a person from her natural beauty.
Color blossomed and her friend dipped her head. “Thank you. This is one of the dresses I hadn’t a chance to wear while in London.”
“I am sorry.” Vi pulled her friend in tight for another hug. “I truly wanted you to have the season you were not afforded when you were younger.” It was Vi’s only regret since her departure from London the month before, to prepare for her wedding. It hadn’t started out that way. Her father had once again shipped her to the country, fearing another scandal. But Brock had quickly made his intentions known, and had come to Vi with a proper proposal.
Ruby pulled back and turned a bright-eyed smile on Vi. “Do not fret over me. I will travel to my family’s estate until next season. Which means you and I will not be far apart.”
“That is wonderful news,” Vi gushed.
The door burst open and Abby came to a halt, a glowing smile on her face. “Look, Lady Viola!” the child screamed. She pushed a hand full of silky material in Vi’s face.
“Whatever do you have here?”
“Oh, only the loveliest gloves ever!” Abby continued, pulling the gloves back and waving them around. “And just look at this.”
Vi grabbed the gloves that matched Abby’s pale pink dress perfectly.
“All the other girls got them, too, and the nice handkerchiefs.”
“They are lovely.” Ruby stood behind Vi, admiring them over her shoulder.
The material moved between Vi’s hands as she too admired the finely tailored accessory. In a lower corner were the monogrammed initials LAH. “What does this stand for?” she asked Abby.
“Why, Lady Abby Haversham, of course.”
Stunned, Vi looked from Abby to Ruby and back again. Both smiled, as if they knew a secret that Vi wasn’t privy too.
“Lord Haversham said since you will be married to him—and your name will be Lady Haversham—all your children will also have the title. I did not tell him I’m completely aware of the correct way to address an earl.” The child winked at Vi. “So, as of today, I am Lady Abby Haversham.”
Both women burst into laughter.
In that moment, she fell in love with Brock all over again. How she’d ever thought him cold and arrogant, she would not know.
“Shall we, ladies?” Ruby asked, sweeping her arm toward the open door.
“There is nothing I want more,” Viola answered. And there wasn’t.
The trio stepped out the door and were greeted by a crowd of Vi’s nearest and dearest friends and family. They all stood, their smiles beaming, mirroring her own.
And just past them all stood the most dashing, forgiving, compassionate man she had ever met. The man who had been brave enough to cast off the past and embrace the future, with Vi at his side. He held his hand out to her. It took everything in her power not to run to him.
He was a part of her tragic past.
He was the reason for her present joy.
And he would be her salvation in the future.
Forgotten No More
A Lady Forsaken, Book Two
Copyright
Copyright © 2014 by Christina McKnight
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-9882617-5-8 (Electronic book)
ISBN-13: 978-0-9882617-5-4 (Electronic book)
La Loma Elite Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Christina@christinamcknight.com
To Marc~
My very own Harold. You are always there to rescue me…even if it’s only from myself!
Prologue
7 April 1783
Not a fiber of my being knows why I seek to put this terrible moment to paper, to commit the wrongs against me to a tangible surface. Part of me believes—no, hopes—if I do not acknowledge these foul sins I have made against my family, then all can be forgotten. Alas, I can no more hide from my misdeeds than one can hide from the plague. It consumes me, inhabits my every waking thought, devours me in my dreams…
Verily, I did not wish to bring this dishonor down upon my husband. I did not go in pursuit of falling—falling so surely I can no longer be whom I have always been. So drastically I have changed…or perhaps not I, but my perception of my world and my place in it.
I was the Honorable Miss Pearl, daughter of an English Baron.
I was, and have been, Mrs. Pearl St. Augustin for over ten years.
But what I have always sought to be is a mother.
Mayhaps I set my sights too high for what the good Lord planned for my husband and me.
Or possibly He has forgotten me altogether.
I know naught. I ceased caring what the Lord had planned for me the night I met the man who ripped my heart in two, tore my very soul from within, and dashed every dream, every desire for life I had within me. He did this all whilst placing the beating heart of a precious child in its place.
He was to be my salvation and instead he has damned me to an eternity of hiding. Hiding my sins, my love, and his child.
Possibly I write this to remind myself of the evils of seeking what is not meant to be yours—to warn others, including my unborn child, of the malevolence of mankind.
Chapter 1
London, England
January 1816
Miss Ruby St. Augustin glanced over her shoulder as she ran down the endless dark hall toward the safety of an empty room. Skidding to a halt, she eased the door open and slipped soundlessly inside. She leaned back against the solid door, breathing heavily as the latch clicked into place. She hoped she hadn’t been followed, though she couldn’t be certain.
She’d only been in town a few days, but was finding it harder and harder to escape the notice of her mother. The woman attended every social engagement from afternoon teas to grand balls.
It quickly grated on Ruby’s nerves. She wasn’t ready to face the woman. There was still information to gather, emotions to sort out, and a certain man to locate—even though by doing so, she was working in direct opposition to her mother’s wishes.
Ruby looked around as her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of the room. The smell of after-dinner cigars engulfed her. It was standard London style: massive desk no gentleman of the ton actually used, two straight-back chairs facing said monstrosity of a work area, and an enormous hearth large enough to burn the abundant misuse of wood in the room. Two chairs were cozied up nicely for maximum heat, an assortment of collectables and books scattered about. The only thing that changed from house to house was the color scheme. Lord Trenton, or possibly his esteemed wife, had selected a mix of blood red and gold. Gaudy, yet the height of fashion this season.
Ruby had quickly learned that stealth and efficiency would benefit her greatly if she hoped to find the object she sought without being caught by another guest or—heaven forbid—the lord of the house. A servant she could handle, blaming her presence on being lost looking for the ladies’ retiring room, but anyone else’s suspicions would be difficult to allay. Moving into action, she went straight for the desk and opened one drawer after another, pushing papers to the side or gently lifting objects, careful to put everything back in its place. Her mother had detailed the thing so specifically, Ruby felt she could sketch it in her sleep.
A handcrafted letter opener, polished metal with inlaid rubies, and the inscription, The course of true love never did run smooth. She knew the quote well, even without her mother’s reasoning for selecting the line. Penned by William Shakespeare, and performed at the local playhouse the night her real father had laid eyes upon her mother. As her mother had written it, it was true love at first sight, the line coinciding with the moment their eyes had met across the crowd—Pearl ensconced in her dear friend, Lady Darlingivers’, box, her father meanwhile consorting with the commoners in the general seating area.
Her mother wrote countless pages of how she’d sold her most prized possessions to have the opener crafted for ‘her love,’ as she’d called him early on in her journal. Her mother had gushed with pride when she wrote of presenting the gift to her lover: How he’d accepted it with reverence and declared his own love. The words and feelings within the journal were as foreign to Ruby as the people it described. She did not know her mother as a woman who could care about another so much that she’d give up her own funds to make him happy.
Only a few pages later, her mother wrote of her desire to stab her lover with said letter opener when their affair went awry. The words, so wisely inscribed, had proven prophetic for the pair—assuming the man had ever loved her mother at all. She lamented on and on about the injustices of the world, the fickle hearts of men, and the burden of living with one’s decisions.
Despite the inadequacy of her methods thus far, Ruby saw no other way to gain what she sought without approaching the only woman with the knowledge to set her mind at ease. Still, a part of her hoped that someone would tell her what she’d found in the attic of their country estate was a ruse, the writings of an imaginative mind, the journaling of a lonely and bored woman of the ton.
Unfortunately, Ruby would not—could not—trust the mother who had ignored her existence for all her adult life, treated her like an inconvenience, and then as soon as she was able, shipped her to the country estate of a friend to become a young lady’s paid companion. The irony of the situation was not lost on her: For years her mother sought to avoid her, and now Ruby did everything in her power to evade the woman.
Ruby slammed another drawer closed after finding nothing of use. “Where are you?” she muttered. Pulling another open, she moved papers, extra ink, and a sealing kit aside in her search.
She did not, for one, minute regret her years in the country, spent with her nearest and dearest friend, Lady Viola. But Vi was now married and starting a life of her own with Lord Haversham, so she had no need for a paid companion.
How Ruby wished she could go back to that time when she’d been unaware of her mother’s deceit. A time when she’d thought her mother, Mrs. Pearl St. Augustin, only a detached woman with limited motherly instincts unhampered by attachments. Was it truly only six months ago? And only a few short weeks since she’d found her mother’s journal, detailing her extramarital exploits?
Closing yet another drawer, she turned her attention to the last and the largest of them all. She eyed the keyhole suspiciously, as if it would click locked if she grasped the handle too quickly.
Ruby took a deep breath before trying the final drawer that could hold all the answers to her past, her true heritage. Her lungs expanded; she held the air inside. She didn’t exhale until it burned. With trembling fingers, she reached for the last drawer and pulled.
Her nicely trimmed nails nearly snapped when her grasp on the handle slipped from the force of her tug. The drawer hadn’t budged.
Locked!
“Oh, poppy cocks!” she hissed. Moving her hands to the folds of her evening gown, Ruby procured a small pouch tucked neatly into a hidden pocket. Setting it on the desk, she pulled out her array of lock-picking devices, really only hairpins and small wires she’d collected since her first night—and her first failed attempt at breaking into a desk—to help her disengage the drawer.
She had to know what secrets this lord held. Would she find an envelope inside labelled ‘Abandoned Daughter,’ or a report from the Bow Street Runners with details about herself—her hair color, the particular green shade of her eyes, places she’d been, perhaps the details of her activities over the course of her life?
Nothing worth finding was that simply ascertained.
