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  SCANDAL’S DECEPTION

  PAMELA GIBSON

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  SCANDAL’S DECEPTION

  Copyright©2021

  PAMELA GIBSON

  Cover Design by Fiona Jayde

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-64716-238-2

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For Lorna, Cathy, Jackie, and Liz.

  Thank you for your support

  Acknowledgments

  There’s always so many to thank, so I’ll start with a group. A huge shout out to Regency Fiction Writers for their amazing information about all things Regency. The group was especially helpful in its posts about divorce (almost impossible), and an interesting discussion about how reckless peers of the realm could ruin a young girl’s reputation, and could even get away with serious crimes if they had the right connections.

  Thank you, as usual, to my editors, Tamara Hughes and Debby Gilbert, and to Cheryl Yeko for her wonderful covers. My beta reader and spouse, Mark Gibson, faithfully reads every manuscript with a critical eye. I couldn’t do this without you.

  Finally, thank you readers. You’ve embraced this series, continuing to leave reviews long after the first book was published. You are the best!

  Prologue

  Baltimore, Maryland, November 1817

  Jane Stafford stumbled down the stairs, banging the massive front door behind her as she fled the house. Her throat ached from unshed tears, and fear squeezed her chest like the hug of a giant bear.

  An old quote from Homer lodged in her brain, “’Tis better to flee from death than feel its grip.”

  She gulped the cold air of the November night, hoping for calm. Instead, the pain in her chest tightened, denying her the peace she sought among the grove of oaks bordering the rutted driveway.

  Slowing, she sat on a stump, her head in her hands. Light barely penetrated the canopy above—green in the brightness of day, black as sin at night. Better than Papa’s sickroom, kept hot enough to keep even a persistent mosquito away.

  Papa, you cannot die.

  “Janie?” a voice called out. “You must come back. You’ll catch a chill.”

  Maddie, bless her, would stand on the porch until she returned. A native of Martinique, the woman had been their housekeeper as long as Jane could remember. Papa said he had hired her three days after he arrived in Baltimore.

  Taking one last deep breath, Jane rose and wandered back toward the house. Maddie leaned against a wooden pillar, her arms crossed. Frowning, no doubt.

  “I was suffocating in there. I thought I might faint because the fire is kept stoked, and no windows are open.”

  Maddie patted her shoulder and led the way back inside the house. “Do you want a cup of tea? You hardly touched your dinner.”

  “Neither did you.”

  “Whiskey might be best on a night like this.”

  She poured a tot for each of them from a crystal decanter kept on a sideboard for Papa’s guests. Jane sniffed it and wrinkled her nose.

  “Take a petite sip, Janie. It will help you face what comes this night.”

  The amber liquid singed a path all the way to her stomach. When Jane caught her breath, the doctor stood at the top of the stairs. “Your father is awake. He wants to speak to you.”

  Maddie took the glass from her hand and hugged her with her free arm. “Be strong.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jane lowered her head as she entered Papa’s room, loathe to gaze on her father in his pale, weakened state. The darkened room smelled of camphor and some other sickly-sweet substance she couldn’t place. She dragged a wooden chair to the side of the bed and sat, her hands clasped firmly in her lap.

  Papa turned his head to face her. “My dear.”

  She leaned closer to hear what he had to say, her throat tightening once again.

  “I’m here.” She swallowed and forced herself to look into the feverish eyes.

  “You will be amply provided for. Hornsby has the details.”

  “I know, Papa. I’m not worried about my future.”

  He smiled, and her breath caught. “After . . . after my funeral, he has instructions to purchase passage for you on a ship bound for England.”

  Jane straightened, not sure she heard correctly. “England? I shall stay here in Maryland. I do not know anyone in England.”

  He turned his face away, his breaths coming faster. The doctor rose from his chair by the fire and peered into his patient’s face. “You need to rest, Mathew. Speaking is taking your energy.”

  “No. I have to tell her.”

  Jane picked up his cold hand, a chill skipping along her spine despite the heat in the room. “Tell me what?”

  He turned back to her. “You have relatives in England who will care for you.”

  She hunched her shoulders and bent closer, astonished by her father’s words. “Who?”

  He closed his eyes, as if gaining strength, then opened them.

  “Your mother.”

  Jane squeezed his hand and shook her head. Poor Papa. How cruel for such a brilliant man to be delusional at the end. Her mother was dead. Died in childbed. She’d been told as soon as she was old enough to ask.

  “I’ve written to her,” he whispered. “She’s expecting you.”

  He lapsed into a coughing fit, the doctor by his side. Janie rose and moved away, her brain unable to process what she’d been told. His mind was tricking him. It must be the pain.

  Maddie, standing by the door, hurried in and led Jane out of the room, seating her in a chair in the hall. She handed her the glass she still carried and told Jane to sip slowly. “You need this, child.”

  Trying to process Papa’s words, Jane took the glass and held it in both hands, mesmerized by the candlelight playing on the facets of the crystal.

  England. Your mother. I’ve written to her.

  How odd for him to say such a thing.

  She sipped from the glass and handed it back. “Maddie? Wasn’t I born in this house? You were here, weren’t you?”

  “You were nearly a year old when your papa offered me the position of both housekeeper and nanny. It was difficult for me to care for a house and a child, but he paid well so I accepted. I’ve never regretted it.”


  You have relatives in England.

  “Did you ever ask about my mother?”

  “It wasn’t my place. I assumed she must be dead, although I found it odd he never spoke of her.”

  “That’s what I was told. Whenever I asked about her, he said it was too painful to discuss. So I stopped.” She stared at her tightly clasped hands. “You heard what he said?”

  “I did, and I have to tell you I’m bewildered.”

  The door opened, and the doctor came out. A longtime friend of Papa’s, Dr. Hadley shook his head. “He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  Maddie shrieked, her hand covering her mouth. Jane sat silently in the chair, cold to the core, chilled by an ugly premonition.

  Her life was about to undergo a momentous change.

  And not for the better.

  Chapter 1

  Baltimore, four months later

  Jane drew her cloak around her and waited for the carriage to arrive. Her home and its surrounding acreage no longer belonged to her. Papa’s will had ordered the house and its contents sold, along with the rest of their farm. The few items she’d been allowed to keep were now safely tucked in the trunk that would accompany her to London.

  Maddie stood beside her, a handkerchief clutched in her hand.

  “How long will you remain here in Baltimore, Maddie?”

  “One more week. I’ll be traveling to Philadelphia to join my brother. He’s a busy tailor now and can use my sewing skills until I find a new position. I’ll be happy to see him and his family. I’ve missed my two nieces.”

  “Do they live in a big house?”

  “No, they live in quarters above their shop in the building my brother owns. He said there’s room for me and he and his wife are thrilled to have me.”

  “I shan’t worry then. You’ll be safe. Philadelphia abolished slavery years ago. If you remain here, you could fall prey to rogues looking for runaways. They care not if you have papers to prove you were born free.”

  “I wish I could say the same about your journey, Janie. Are you afraid, sailing off to London?”

  “I’d be lying if I denied it. I have no idea what to expect. During the past few months, I realize I didn’t even know my own father. So many secrets. My head spins with them. I fear they’ve revealed ugly truths.”

  “Sometimes secrets revealed open new opportunities.” Maddie’s hand on Jane’s arm soothed some of the hurts, and there were many.

  “I hope you’re right. At the moment the burdens seem too heavy to bear.”

  Her eyes still ached from reading all the documents sent to her by her father’s partner, Josiah Hornsby of Hornsby and Stafford, Attorneys. Page after page, all on expensive vellum, revealed a bevy of unknown facts.

  Papa had been wealthy. He’d owned properties both in Maryland and in England. He’d had a title—Lord Siltsbury, one he’d inherited upon the death of his elder brother, Peregrine. And most shocking of all? He had a wife still living in London.

  My mother.

  “He was a good man. Don’t you forget that,” said Maddie, dabbing her eyes.

  Jane nodded. How often had she reminded herself? She wanted to be angry—because he had died, because he had kept important information from her, because his will stripped her of her home and most of her belongings and was sending her to England.

  To a stranger.

  But she couldn’t. He had been a good man. A good father, even. Just a secretive one, and there were still mysteries to unravel.

  The enormous black coach pulled by a team of four horses lumbered into the yard. Mr. Hornsby descended, prim in his beaver hat and caped topcoat. “Are you ready, Miss Stafford? A great adventure awaits. A new family. A new home. How fortunate you are.”

  “Am I, Mr. Hornsby? I’ve lost my father, and now I’m leaving the only place I’ve ever lived. Not so lucky, I’d say.”

  He said no more as Jane hugged Maddie for the last time. “Stay safe. I shall miss you dreadfully.”

  “And I you. Remember, you are strong enough to face whatever you must. Use your wits and make me proud.”

  Jane climbed into the coach and nodded to Mrs. Hornsby who sat on the opposite seat. Jane’s black bonnet and gloves would remain on during the trip to the harbor. This evening when the tide ebbed, the sailing ship bound for England would proceed down the Chesapeake and out into the Atlantic. The voyage took six to eight weeks if winds were fair, longer if they were not. Fortunately she didn’t suffer from mal de mer. Papa had once taken her on a voyage to New York, and the seas had been rough the entire trip. This time she’d be on the water a much longer time. She expected storms but hoped for calm.

  “When we get to the hotel, I’ll introduce you to the Murdocks. We’ll share our noon meal together. They’ll be looking after you on the ship.”

  “Are they your friends?”

  “I’ve known them for years. Mrs. Murdock is a vicar’s daughter. Delightful woman. Horatio Murdock is a wealthy merchant going home to England after spending time here. He’ll carry additional papers to give to your guardian when you arrive.”

  “My guardian?” She forced herself to pay attention. “You mean my mother?”

  Hornsby answered, “Guardians are males, usually relatives. Your father had no living siblings, and he had no idea who the new earl would be. Probably some distant cousin. Regardless, a guardian is named by the father when a child is under the age of twenty-one.”

  “Someone you recommended?”

  “No, ’tis someone your mother suggested. Your father must have known him as well, to accept her advice.”

  My mother. The mysterious woman who sent me to America with Father when I was still a babe, who never visited, who never wrote.

  She wanted to hate her—a woman who had given her daughter away. Curiosity overruled her resentment. What circumstances had led to this unnatural act? Female children usually stayed with their mothers. Was hers unsuitable in some way? Why would Papa take her child away and pretend the woman was dead?

  Unanswered questions buzzed in her head like a swarm of angry bees. Hornsby could not tell her much beyond the fact her parents had still been legally married and Papa had mentioned his wife only when drawing up his will. Hornsby had been shocked by the news, but his partner had always been a private man, and given that he’d been ill, Hornsby hadn’t probed.

  Was her mother even respectable? Jane had mulled over several scenarios and had come to only one conclusion. Perhaps her mother had been a soiled dove, and after doing the honorable thing by marrying her, Papa spirited the baby away.

  If he’d married for love, her mother would have come with him when he settled in America. Even if she had an illness precluding travel, he surely would have mentioned the woman’s existence to their only daughter. They apparently had remained in touch.

  Unless Papa had only contacted the woman once he knew he was dying.

  Jane leaned back into the squabs and kept her hands primly in her lap.

  As an heiress, maybe she could establish her own household. She knew younger females who had done this in America. Even though most were married, why should a single state be an impediment? The news of a guardian bothered her. The man would control her fortune until she came of age. Among all the papers she signed, there had been one detailing how much pin money she should receive monthly from the estate. She’d thought her mother would be the one in charge of dispensing funds.

  Pin money. What a quaint term.

  Jane loved words. She and Papa had made words a game, trying to discover original meanings for words commonly used. The term pin money originated in the sixteenth century when pins were scarce and costly. Now it seemed to connotate funds for fripperies.

  She didn’t use money to buy either.

  On her sixteenth birthday, Papa had turne
d over decisions regarding the farm and household to her. America had ended its war with England, and as a result of disputes and property damage from various battles, he’d been busy with his law practice.

  According to Hornsby, all of the decisions regarding her life now would be in the hands of this strange guardian. Her wishes would be of no consequence.

  We shall see about that.

  Jane shuddered and plucked at her skirt. Her home—now former home—was on the outskirts of the port city. The journey in a closed carriage on bumpy roads with dour companions would be blessedly short. Then she must endure a sea voyage which could be equally boring, depending on the weather. When she arrived? What then?

  “Are you cold, dear? I saw you shiver.” Mrs. Hornsby, a woman with curly, gray hair and a pleasant smile, handed her a folded blanket.

  “I am a bit. Thank you.” Jane spread it over her lap and leaned into the corner.

  For someone accustomed to having a neat, orderly life set in a predictable routine, the events since Papa’s death had been a nightmare. With all the property sales, travel arrangements, and sympathetic callers, she hadn’t even had time to grieve.

  Grief will come in an unrelated moment when you least expect it. Perhaps aboard ship during the voyage. Perhaps when you set foot on English soil and see something that reminds you of your papa. Until then, keep yourself busy, stay sharp and attentive, and trust your instincts. Everything comes right if you believe in yourself.

  She’d remember Maddie’s comforting words during her darkest hours. They were also prophetic. But it wasn’t the voyage that caught her off guard. It was the moment ashore when she first set eyes on the man who now held her life in his hands.

  Gilbert Carmichael, the Earl of Ralston.

  Chapter 2

  London, April 1818

  Lord Ralston paced in his sister’s upstairs sitting room, his hands behind his back. “Tell me again why I am here.”

  “Will you sit?” His sister Elizabeth handed six-month-old Rose to her nurse and reached down to lift two-year-old Henry onto her lap. Three of her older children played a game in the corner, and the other two napped in the nursery.