Scandal's Child
Table of Contents
SCANDAL’S CHILD
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
SCANDAL’S CHILD
PAMELA GIBSON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
SCANDAL’S CHILD
Copyright©2017
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.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-052-8
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 my sister,
Deborah Ereth,
who was taken from us
far too early.
Acknowledgements
A number of people brought this book to fruition. First and foremost was my late sister, Deborah Ereth, who helped research life in England at the beginning of the nineteenth century in-between her chemotherapy appointments. My early readers and editors who made huge contributions were Faith Freewoman, Mark Gibson, and my critique partner, Author Sharon Hamilton. Finally, I’d like to thank the team at Soul Mate Publishing, especially editor and publisher Debby Gilbert, who plucked this book out of a contest judging.
To my ophthalmologist, Dr. Patrick Caskey: thank you for confirming there is indeed such a thing as hysterical blindness.
Prologue
Longley Manor, May 1806
Louisa Angelique Elizabeth Montague, Countess of Longley, thrust out a bony hand and curled her index finger.
“Give me the letter.”
Tommy flinched at the tone, and hackles rose at the back of his neck. “But I was told to give it only to the earl.”
As a sailor, Tommy Larkin had no commerce with the Quality, unless the captain counted. But nobody called him disloyal. Captain Kildare had recommended him for this task, and by God he’d see it through. His mum was dying, and the captain had excused him from the voyage to see to her last days. He’d deliver the note and be on his way.
“My husband is out riding,” the countess said. “I was told the letter is from my elder son. You can give it to me. I shall see Longley gets it.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, but I’ll be waitin’ in the stable fer him to return.”
“Hand it over to me. Now!”
The power of the slap surprised Tommy. Putting his hand up to his stinging cheek, he stared hard at the woman who bared her teeth like a monkey he’d once seen in Madagascar.
“You dare to thwart the order of a Countess? Give me the letter!”
He really had no choice. The footman in the room could pin him with one beefy arm, and the lady’s maid standing behind the harridan looked like she’d been in a fight or two. She’d lost one though, and recently. A bruised arm poked out from her loose sleeve.
Shifting from one leg to the other, Tommy wished he hadn’t been so accommodating. But the gentleman who’d booked passage with the captain had provided a gold coin for the messenger, and it was money he sorely needed. Looking at the old lady with her fine clothes, rings glittering from three fingers, a curling lip, and eyes as hard as stones, he worried about whether he’d get to his mum on time.
The smell of unguents in the overheated room made it hard to breathe. If he stayed here much longer, he’d cast up his accounts. He drew the sealed note slowly from his pocket and placed it in the hand still extended before him.
“That’s a good lad.” The woman smiled with her lips drawn back and her expression softening, as if he was a lover come to call. “Jonah, take the lad to the kitchen and give him a draught of ale before he goes on his way.”
“Yes, milady.” The giant turned and nodded toward him.
Tommy followed, happy to leave the ornate sitting room with its gilt mirrors, spindly furniture, and the woman whose mood changed direction like a sail in a shifting wind.
“You. Boy.” The menace was back in her voice.
Tommy’s back stiffened, as if he knew the eyes focused on him could bore clear through to his heart.
“Aye?” He stopped but continued to stare at the door, calculating the steps needed to get to the hall.
“No one will ever hear of this incident. Do I make myself clear?”
Her voice was barely a whisper, so low the words came out as a hiss. He’d recently heard a snake make the same sound. He’d tensed, knowing it was still somewhere in the hold of the ship and could strike him at any moment. But the countess had already struck and was letting him go, as long as he kept his trap shut.
Without turning, he nodded, straightened, and walked with rigid steps out the open door.
Laughter, loud and raucous, vibrated in the air behind him, and along with shouted words from the countess, made him glad he’d never set foot in this place again.
“I knew it!” she screeched. “He was planning to run off with that whore’s daughter. The chit will never know he sent for her now. And Longley, my dear husband, was to secretly deliver the note to her? I think not.”
Tommy flinched as he heard the sound of paper being ripped, over and over, until surely nothing was left except dust.
Chapter 1
Port of Liverpool, May 1806
Jeremy Alexander Ashton Montague, the future Earl of Longley, checked his timepiece for the twentieth time. The wind was building, and the captain said they couldn’t delay sailing much longer.
Why hadn’t she come?
He’d sent word to Miranda t
o join him three days ago, knowing it would be a full day’s journey for her. Father, who delighted in the match because it would infuriate Mother, was to deliver the note to Miranda, along with enough coin for her to hire a hack to Liverpool.
Their marriage would not take place aboard ship, as captains of merchant ships were not allowed to perform the service. Instead, it would occur in Jamaica. He’d procured a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, at great expense, to insure there would be no impediments once they arrived.
The deck swayed beneath his feet as he paced from one end to the other with arms locked behind his back, eyes straight ahead, and thoughts in turmoil. Sea birds screamed overhead, and the rank smell of stale fish assaulted him. Had her father, the vicar, intervened?
Not if the earl delivered the note. Their marriage would one day make Miranda a countess—a good prospect for a girl whose mother had run off with an actor.
She couldn’t have changed her mind. She’d risked her reputation, her family’s good opinion, and her self-esteem to meet him in the old summerhouse at night.
He hadn’t meant to begin an affair with an innocent. His previous liaisons had been with older, more experienced women. But one day he was out riding, and he came upon her standing in the old fishing pond, skipping stones across its surface. Long blond locks were tied back with a blue ribbon, and her white lawn dress was hiked up past her knees, so she could immerse her bare legs in the water.
He’d hung back, not wanting to disturb her concentration, but she’d heard him and had glanced his way with a smile brighter than the flowers at her feet. When she called out to him, his breath caught, as if seeing her for the first time. He’d had a premonition then, as sweet as the scent of the meadow in spring. This angelic girl he’d known all his life would someday be his.
“Sir, we have to go with the tide.” It was the captain’s voice, intruding on his memory.
“Can we not wait another hour?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Is everything aboard, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Everything but Miranda.
“Give me a moment to write another note.”
“No more than ten minutes, sir, begging your pardon.” The hard planes of the captain’s face were barely visible through a full gray beard. His eyes looked at him kindly.
I must resemble a pathetic dog, searching for his master.
He hurried down the forward hatch to his cabin, took a piece of heavy vellum emblazoned with the family coat of arms, and wrote a hasty note.
I waited as long as I could, but ships depend on wind and tides. I am sure you have a good reason for not coming. I will await your first letter and will hasten back as soon as I can. Wait for me, Mandy. I love you.
He sealed it and ran out to the deck, but it was too late.
The crew had cast off.
Jeremy leaned against the rail, listening to the creaking deck as the ship’s sails were released in preparation for departure. Living on a plantation in Jamaica would have been a difficult life for Miranda, leaving everything she knew, going to a foreign land where slaves tended sugar fields, and the heat and bugs sometimes drove people mad. But she loved him. Those beautiful, sinful trysts in the old summerhouse had been as important to her as they were to him.
Or were they?
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but only for a moment.
Movement around him roused him from his musings. He grabbed his spyglass and hurried aft. Crewmen in thick coats and watch caps coiled the heavy dock lines. Gradually the ship eased away while men with long poles kept it from bumping into the dock. The wind filled limp sails, and the ship moved, carried partly by the breeze and partly by the current. Jeremy scanned the quay once again, hoping for a glimpse of a woman carrying a portmanteau. But there were no women at all; there were just men loading the last cargoes on nearby ships that would set sail the next day.
He hunched his shoulders and plodded back to his cabin.
“Might as well tell the captain he can have his own cabin back, Lewis.” It was supposed to have been Miranda’s during the voyage. To maintain propriety, he had hired a lady’s maid to accompany them, a woman who departed this morning when Miranda failed to arrive.
Jeremy poured himself a tot of rum and glanced over at his trunk. He downed the fiery liquid and leaned into his hands.
I should have gone after her myself.
But there hadn’t been time.
Situating his father’s latest cast-off had taken much longer than expected. Mary Anne and her child now lived in a suitable house in a respectable neighborhood. The child was his half-sister—his blood. Someone had to take responsibility for her since Father refused.
He hoped the mantle of respectability, and the quarterly stipend he provided, would keep Mary Anne from finding another protector. The woman was unpredictable and not like Miranda who would never stray. He was sure of it.
Would Miranda wait for him?
Her father might try to marry her off. She was a pretty little thing, full of life and energy and mischief. She definitely had a mind of her own, the minx. Although they had grown up together, she had not been considered a suitable playmate. Those had been carefully selected from the neighboring gentry. A scandalous mother made Miranda ineligible, but when she came with her father and aunt to take tea, she always managed to escape the eyes of her elders and play with him and his brother, just like another lad.
He poured himself another tot and felt the ship heel sharply.
It was hard to believe he was on his way to Jamaica. Father couldn’t go. He’d developed a cough and was anxious about his health. It fell to Jeremy to check on the plantation and to remain in the Indies, learning the sugar business until he hired a new overseer. He’d been astounded at his father’s decision because it seemed more natural that his brother, John, would be sent. But father was still head of the household, and Jeremy was a dutiful son. He was also well versed in numbers.
As soon as sails were trimmed, the ship righted itself and sliced through the water. Jeremy looked down and saw his cravat had come undone, probably because he’d been fiddling with it, and his hair was loose about his face. He fought the tightness in his throat and the ache in his chest threatening to spill over into behavior decidedly unmanly.
He would not be upset over this. He would not believe Miranda had changed her mind about him, or worse, suffered some kind of harm that prevented her from coming.
His golden girl would have moved heaven and earth to get to him.
Lewis, his valet, interrupted his thoughts. “My lord. The captain would like to have a word with you on the quarterdeck.”
“Can’t it wait?” He was appalled to hear a tremor in his voice.
“He says it’s important, sir.”
“Very well. Tell him I’ll be there shortly. Can you fix this bloody thing?” He stood while his valet expertly retied the cravat and helped him into his fitted coat. After brushing a speck off Jeremy’s lapel, Lewis opened the door and stepped back, waiting for his master.
“I shall tidy up while you are absent, sir.”
“I shan’t be long.”
The air was brisk, and the shore was still in sight. Resisting the urge to go back and get his glass to scan the quay once again, he stopped to look at other ships in the harbor. A few were anchored while others were still tied to the old dock. Activity was brisk as crates of stores and barrels of water were carried aboard ships waiting to set sail.
He’d been excited about this trip once he’d formulated his plan. He explained everything to Miranda in the letter he sent by special messenger, hoping she would be as eager as he to explore this faraway place which had been given to his family by George III.
The captain joined him at the railing.
&
nbsp; They both stared at the flickering oil lanterns in the distance. The wind picked up, and cold air slapped his cheeks, like a dose of reality.
“I assure you the lad who took your letter is reliable. He would have delivered it,” said the Captain.
Jeremy shifted at the rail and swallowed hard. He’d wondered.
If only they could have delayed their departure one more day. But what would that have accomplished? It didn’t allow enough time to get to Longley and back to search for Miranda or the messenger. This was a merchant ship. Its hold was full, and it had a schedule.
“What will you do, sir?”
“Nothing. She’ll wait. And we’ll be married when I return.”
“You’re a lucky man, sir.”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
Jeremy recalled this conversation four months later when he received his first letter from his brother, telling him it had been an unusually hot summer. He also informed him his old pal Lord Argyle had won a high-speed curricle race down a busy highway to the chagrin of those who wagered against him, and their father still suffered from that nasty cough he’d had since Spring.
And Miranda Carlyle, their childhood playmate, had secretly married elderly Dr. Will Comstock to the shock of the entire village.
Chapter 2
Village of Longley, five years later
A mourner strolled past, tipping his hat as he left the cemetery. Miranda Comstock raised her head, nodded, and resumed the study of gloved hands clenched in her lap. It had been a long day . . . a very long day.
It was a relief to relax her shoulders and sit, even though the bench was hard. Her body ached from a day of polite phrases, erect posture, and correct facial expressions. Her eyes were heavy with unshed tears. But it was more than grief causing the tightness in her chest.