A Lord Undone: The Spinsters Guild (Book 5)
A Lord Undone
The Spinsters Guild (Book 5)
Rose Pearson
Landon Hill Media
Contents
A Lord Undone
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
Epilogue
My Dear Reader
A Sneak Peak of A Family for Christmas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Join my Mailing List
© Copyright 2019 by Rose Pearson - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective author owns all copyrights not held by the publisher.
A Lord Undone
Prologue
There were whispers everywhere she went. Eyes giving her sidelong glances. Smirks on the lips of ladies she had only yesterday considered to be acquaintances.
Beatrice simply could not explain it.
Her cheeks began to burn with embarrassment, although she did not know the reasons behind her shame. Looking surreptitiously up towards the next shop on the busy London street, Beatrice saw with relief that it was a bookshop. A place of solace. She had always loved losing herself in a book and now more than ever, such a place felt like a refuge. Hurrying inside, she moved quickly to the back of the shop without so much as a glance towards the bookshop owner who was standing quietly at the small table near the door.
Her face was still hot as she squirreled into the corner of the shop, pressing one hand lightly against her stomach in an attempt to push the tension from her frame. Everyone she passed had seemed to be whispering about her, although Beatrice had very little knowledge as to why such a thing might be. She had only been a fortnight in London for the Season and, of course, had ensured that she behaved impeccably at every single occasion. Her father, the Marquess of Burnley, had accompanied her to London and furnished her with a companion in the place of her late mother. Lady Burnley had passed away some two years ago, leaving Beatrice and Lord Burnley alone at the estate. Her elder brother – who was twelve years older than Beatrice – had already married, settled in his own estate and produced three lovely and healthy sons, meaning that the family line was well established. Her father did not much care for Beatrice but had brought her to London regardless, mostly because he wanted her removed from his estate and from her requirement of tugging on his purse strings! Her companion was a robust Mrs. Watson, who was some distant relation of Lord Burnley, but who was also a little lax when it came to her duties. If Lord Burnley had been in his cups the previous evening, then it was well known that he would remain abed for most of the following day – and Mrs. Watson would ignore her charge and do much the same as Lord Burnley.
But whilst Beatrice did not think well of her companion, she certainly wished that she was present here this afternoon. Whilst Beatrice had taken a maid with her for her afternoon excursion, she was not much protection from the glances and whispers of others. Mrs. Watson, in her vigorous manner, would have brought Beatrice a little more courage than she felt at present.
“Did you hear about Lady Beatrice?”
Beatrice closed her eyes tightly, pressing herself even more back into the shadows that wrapped themselves around her. It seemed her bookshop was not to hold the solace she had thought to escape to.
“Lady Beatrice?” said the second young lady, their voices only a little louder than whispers and yet seeming to be shouted so loudly that the room reverberated with the sound. “The daughter of the Marquess of Burnley?”
“The very same,” said the first, as Beatrice closed her eyes tightly, her hands clenched into fists. “I have heard it from Lady Dawson.”
Beatrice’s breath caught. Lady Dawson was one of London’s most notorious gossips, which meant that whatever Lady Dawson had said of her, it would be all around the city.
“Lord Burnley was with Lord Dawson last evening,” said the first young lady, eagerly. “There were more than a few gentlemen there too, of course, playing cards and the like.”
The second young lady giggled. “With a good deal of liquor, I would surmise,” she said, sounding thoroughly interested. “So what did Lord Burnley reveal?”
Beatrice held her breath.
“Lord Burnley stated that he believes his wife played him false,” the first young lady whispered, as Beatrice’s whole body began to grow weak with shock. “And that, as such, Lady Beatrice is not his own flesh and blood!”
“Good gracious!” came the reply. “Then it is not known to whom she belongs?”
Beatrice did not hear anymore, for even though the other two ladies began to talk all the more in excited, whispered tones, she could hear nothing but what had been spoken. She had never once heard that her father considered her to be illegitimate, had never even thought that her mother might have made such an indiscretion. Had her father waited until his wife had passed away before making such an accusation clear? Or was it only because he had been in his cups that such a thing had passed his lips?
A strangled sob left her lips as she pressed one shaking hand against her mouth, suddenly fearful of everyone around her. To have to return home now, to have to walk back through London knowing what people now thought of her was almost too much to bear. If only she had not left the house today! She would never be able to lift her head up in society again and certainly, all hopes of a match were quite gone from her now. No gentleman would marry a young lady who had a question over her parentage.
Slowly, the roaring in her ears began to fade and the sounds of the bookshop began to come to Beatrice again. Her heart still hammered furiously and she could feel a bead of sweat dripping down her back, such was her angst. Everything in her told her to remain precisely where she was, to remain hidden and to stay completely out of sight, but Beatrice knew she could not remain so for good.
“A Lady Smithton, you say?”
Her eyes closed again tightly as Beatrice prayed that these new voices would not seek her out.
“Indeed,” came the second voice. “By all accounts, she will be able to help me find a suitable match.”
The first voice did not answer for a few moments. Beatrice held her breath, not wanting to move even a fraction for fear of revealing herself.
“Then you hope that Lady Smithton will be able to find you a match, then?”
“I do,” came the first voice, full of confidence. “My limp may be pronounced but Lady Smithton will not notice it, I am sure.” There came a small, contented sigh. “I am quite determined to seek her out.”
Beatrice let out a long, slow breath of relief as the voices began to fade. The name of Lady Smithton seemed to carve itself into her mind, even though, for the present moment, she could not seem to think of anything save for what the first two ladies had revealed to her.
“Miss?”
Catching her breath and feeling a flurry of fear rush all through her, Beatrice turned her head to see naught but her maid looking at her with huge eyes, clearly fully aware now of what had been said about her mistress. Beatrice did not need to ask whether or not the maid believed such a thing, for gossip did not require belief in one thing or the next.
The kindness in her maid’s voice sent tears swarming into Beatrice’s eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, seeing how the maid bobbed a quick curtsy. “That would be more than appropriate at this time.”
“I shall only be a few minutes, my lady,” the maid promised, although her eyes still remained wide with evident shock. “You might watch for me from the window there.”
Beatrice nodded and watched her maid hurry from the shop, feeling her tension only rising all the more as she walked to the window to watch for her maid. She would have to scurry from the shop to the hackney and only then would she feel a small modicum of safety.
What she was to do thereafter, Beatrice had very little idea.
Chapter One
A sigh of exasperation left Frederick’s mouth. This was now the third time his valet had attempted to fix his cravat and still, the man was not managing to do as Frederick expected.
“I believe that is it, my lord,” the valet intoned, stepping back and fixing Frederick’s cravat with a critical eye, as though looking at it would force it to mend itself. “Unless you can see some fault in it?”
Frederick forced himself not to sigh heavily again before moving a little closer to the looking glass. He tipped his head right and left again, noting each and every crease of his cravat and feeling his sense of dissatisfaction begin to fade.
It was a little crooked, he had to admit, but not so much that others would notice. The valet had done his best, he supposed, tilting his head again.
“Thank you, you are dismissed,” he told the valet, without so much as glancing at him. “That will do for the moment.”
The valet bowed, nodded and quit the room hastily, perhaps out of fear that he would be dragged back into the room at any moment and forced to look at Frederick’s cravat for what would be the fourth time. Frederick sighed inwardly, shaking his head as he picked up his jacket and shrugged it on. Normally, he would have his valet about him to aid him with the rest of his dressing, but today he did not feel the need for such a thing. He could very easily pull on his boots and put on his hat by himself.
Striding from his bedchamber, Frederick made his way down the staircase to the bottom of his townhouse, his feet clattering on the marble floor. The front door was already open for him, with his butler holding Frederick’s gloves, hat, and cane in preparation.
“The day seems to be very fine indeed this afternoon, my lord,” the butler informed him, as Frederick put his hat on and then began to pull his gloves over his fingers. There was no specific requirement for them today but Frederick always thought it best to dress as properly as he deemed fit. “You may find yourself a little hot.”
Frederick snorted and took the cane from the waiting butler’s hands. “You shall not catch me in my shirtsleeves, Burton, if that is what you are thinking of.”
The butler, who had been in Frederick’s employ ever since Frederick had taken the title some ten years ago, managed a small if not controlled smile. “No, indeed, my lord,” he answered, calmly. “I was not thinking of such a thing at all.”
Frederick did not answer but stepped outside into the sunshine, feeling the heat creep around him like a warm blanket. A warm blanket that he did not require, given the beauty of the day and the joyful heat from the sun. Not that I shall remove a single item, Frederick thought to himself, grimly, climbing into the carriage – only to exclaim aloud at the sight of the person now sitting opposite him.
“Brother!” cried the honorable Mr. Adlington, seeming to welcome Frederick into his own carriage. “How very good to see you again.”
Frederick sat back into his own seat, staring at his brother in abject astonishment. “Good gracious, Adlington,” he said loudly, shaking his head in astonishment as the carriage began to roll away. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Adlington chuckled, then gestured to the carriage. “I am sitting in your carriage, Greaves,” he answered, as though this was just as Frederick should have expected. “I had to see you.” The twinkle left his eye and his smile began to fade, leaving Frederick feeling as though his brother were about to pronounce something of the most grievous nature.
“I did not expect you in London,” Frederick muttered, inwardly rather displeased at seeing his brother again. “I thought you had some difficulties with your estate.”
Adlington cleared his throat and looked away, tugging at his cravat with one finger and making Frederick wince. “I have no difficulties there at present,” he said, making Frederick narrow his eyes in suspicion. “Everything is set to rights and I am sure I shall have a very profitable year.”
“I see,” Frederick said, entirely unconvinced. “And you are in London in order to….?” He left the sentence unfinished, giving his brother a clear opportunity to express himself. However, Adlington did not do so at once, looking from left to right as though somehow, something might occur that would prevent him from speaking.
“Adlington,” Frederick said, his voice filled with warning. “What is it that has brought you to London?”
Adlington cleared his throat, turned his head and finally caught Frederick’s gaze. “I intend to marry,” he told him, sending astonishment rippling through Frederick. “I am come to London to find a bride and that is what I intend to do.”
Frederick blinked in surprise, taking a few moments to catch his breath before he could respond. Adlington had never shown such determination before, making Frederick wonder whether or not his brother spoke the truth.
“I am surprised that you have not done so as yet also, Greaves,” his brother continued, with a slightly proud air. “You are the Earl of Greaves. You carry the title – and yet you show no willingness to marry a young lady who might be able to give you the son you will require for the future of our family line!”
A faint heat climbed into Frederick’s cheeks as he held his brother’s gaze. “I am in London too, am I not?” he declared, even though he had not given any particular thought to matrimony as yet. He had come to London the last three Seasons but had never found a young lady as proper or as genteel as he required. “There is good reason for my purpose here.”
Adlington laughed, shaking his head and looking back at Frederick with a broad grin. “You cannot expect me to believe that you intend to find yourself a bride also this Season,” he told Frederick, who narrowed his gaze a little more. “You have been in London a good many times and have never once shown any sort of perceptible interest in any young lady, no matter how good a title she comes from.”
“That is because I intend to find someone who is almost entirely perfect and is exactly as I require,” Frederick answered, making Adlington laugh again. “You may mock me for my specific requirements,” he continued, with as much dignity as he could muster, “but I have every intention of ensuring that the lady I find to wed will bring me nothing but contentment for the rest of my days. That means that I will take a good deal of time and consideration in securing her.”
Adlington rolled his eyes, sat back in his seat and tilted his head as he looked at Frederick. “You are much too specific,” he told Frederick, who only looked away in exasperation. “You have always been so.” Adlington waved a hand, sighing heavily as he did so. “Your hat is not quite perfect. Your cravat has a slight wrinkle. Your boots do not hold the sheen you require. Everything must be just so when it comes to you, Greaves. I highly doubt that you will be able to secure a young lady’s hand in marriage, for you shall always find fault with them – and that is one thing you cannot abide.”
“I can abide faults,” Frederick contradicted. “I simply choose not to do so, however. There is a standard for my own appearance and the like and I cling to such a thing, for without it, I fail not only myself but the title I hold.” He did not pretend that it was at all easy for him to do so, but nor did he shrink away from the fact that he held the standards of propriety and gentility very high indeed. His brother did not appear to have the same desire, of course, wh
ich almost made Frederick want to improve himself all the more. Clearing his throat, he fixed Adlington with a firm eye, his mouth set. “Now, you have not yet explained why you are in my carriage, Adlington.”
“Oh.” His brother frowned. “Did I not? Well,” he continued, with a small shrug. “I knew very well that you would be disinclined towards having me call upon you, so therefore I thought to simply appear at your door. Or at your carriage door, given that it was already here and waiting when I arrived.” He looked out of the window, a little disinterestedly. “Where are you to go?”
“To Hyde Park for the fashionable hour,” Frederick answered, a little unwillingly. “I did not expect you to attend with me, however.” Realizing his brother had still not fully answered his question, Frederick bit back a sharp retort but narrowed his eyes as he caught Adlington’s eye. “For what reason did you wish to call upon me, Adlington?”
His brother sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment as though he had been quite unwilling to declare his reasons but now realized there was no way for him not to do so. “I need your help, Greaves.”
Groaning aloud, Frederick shook his head. “I am not willing to give you coin so that you might then go on to gamble it all away,” he said, with a hint of anger in his words. “I have done so before and you did not prove yourself trustworthy then.”
“Which is why I am not come to ask you for such a thing,” Adlington retorted, his eyes filled with anger and making Frederick flush with a sudden sense of embarrassment. “I am aware that you gave me a good deal of money before, Greaves, and that I did not do well with it.” He shrugged and looked out of the window again. “Instead, I was hopeful that you might be able to indicate to me which young ladies of the ton might be amenable to a gentleman such as myself.”