The Regency Season: Blackmailed Brides: The Scarlet Gown / Lady Beneath the Veil

SARAH MALLORY was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award from www.singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice for Gentlemen in Question. As Sarah Mallory she is the winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s RONA Rose® Award for 2012 and 2013 for The Dangerous Lord Darrington and Beneath the Major’s Scars.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

The Scarlet Gown

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Lady Beneath the Veil

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Copyright

The Scarlet Gown

Sarah Mallory

WHAT IS HE HIDING FROM HER?

When impoverished Lucy Halbrook arrives at Lord Adversane’s estate she knows her assignment is unusual—not only will she act as hostess at his Midsummer’s Eve play, she must also pretend to be his fiancée!

What Lucy doesn’t know is that Ralph is hiding something dark and dangerous. He must uncover the truth behind his wife’s death—and Lucy is the key. She challenges him at every turn and, as each day passes, unlocks a little more of Ralph’s guarded heart….

To Cecilia and David, thank you for preserving the moor that inspired a large part of this story!

Chapter One

Mrs Killinghurst’s register office was well known as the saviour of many a gently bred young lady who had fallen upon hard times and needed to earn a living. Mrs Killinghurst specialised in finding employment for such young ladies as companions, governesses or even seamstresses, depending upon their accomplishments. Her offices occupied a suite of rooms above a hatter’s shop in Bond Street, and young ladies wishful of finding employment could slip along the narrow alley beside the shop and through the freshly painted doorway with its discreet brass plate.

Miss Lucy Halbrook had already made one visit to Mrs Killinghurst’s establishment and now, a fortnight later, she was returning to the office, as instructed by the proprietress herself, with high hopes of obtaining the gainful employment she so desperately needed. When her father had died twelve months ago Lucy had been prepared for life to change for herself and Mama, but it was only after the funeral that Lucy discovered just how poor they really were. They had been taken in by Mrs Halbrook’s invalid sister, but Lucy soon realised that although Mama had found a niche as nurse-companion to Mrs Edgeworth, she herself was constantly harassed by Mr Edgeworth. Lucy had always thought it a little odd that the female servants in her aunt’s house were all rather mature, but within days of moving in she knew the reason for it. She had so far managed to evade her uncle’s lascivious attentions but she must find somewhere else to live, and soon. If she was honest with herself, she also wanted a little more independence. Her father’s death had been painful, but her mother’s sudden revelation that they were penniless had been even harder to bear. They had never been rich, and it was not just their poverty, but the knowledge that Mama had kept the situation from her. And what of her father, a man she had adored? To find that he was not the hero she had thought him was a severe blow. If only they had told her. After all, it was not as if she was a child. Surely they could have trusted her with the truth when she reached her majority, three years ago? She might even have been able to help. By finding employment, for example, as she was doing now.

Lucy hurried along New Bond Street, dodging between the crowds of fashionable ladies and gentlemen who were taking advantage of the mild spring weather to stroll along, giving more attention to the shop windows than to where they were going. At last she reached the hatter’s and stepped quickly into the alley. It was darker than she had expected and it took her a moment to realise this was because someone was standing at the far end, blocking the light.

Her step faltered, but she pressed on. After all, Mrs Killinghurst was expecting her and she was not to be put off. She might wish she had worn a veil, but since there was no help for it, Lucy continued towards the door. The man—for it was undoubtedly a man—had apparently just emerged from Mrs Killinghurst’s door, so he was either looking for work or for someone to employ. The latter, she thought as her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows and she took in at a glance his coat of blue superfine, buckskin breeches and black boots. In fact, he might well have purchased his coat from Mr Weston’s hallowed portals in nearby Old Bond Street, for it fitted him perfectly with never a wrinkle to mar its elegance. His boots, too, shone with a smooth, highly polished gloss. The buckskins may well have been similarly free of creases, but Lucy had felt a frisson of something she did not quite understand when she had first observed the man and now she dared not let her eyes dwell on those muscular limbs.

Instead, she kept her head up, chin defiantly raised. She would not stare at the ground like some humble, subservient creature. Consequently she could not avoid at least one quick glance at the man’s face. It was rugged rather than handsome, black-browed and with a deep cleft in his chin. There was a latent strength about him that sat oddly with his fashionable dress—clearly he was no Bond Street Beau. Whatever his status, Lucy’s main concern was that he was blocking her way. His curly-brimmed hat almost brushed the roof of the alley and his broad shoulders filled the narrow space.

She observed all this in the time it took her to cover the short distance between them, and it struck her in the same instant that he was the most solid and immovable object she had ever encountered. She stopped, but refused to be intimidated and returned his direct gaze with a steady look. His grey eyes were curiously compelling and again she felt that tremor run through her. An odd, unfamiliar mixture of excitement and attraction that had her wanting to know more about this man and at the same time to turn around and run for her life.

Lucy quelled such feelings immediately. She was not the sort to run away from a problem—not that there had ever been many problems in her life until now. She realised a little sadly that her parents had protected her from the harsher realities of life. Perhaps a little too much. But all that was at an end. She must now stand up for herself and that meant not being intimidated by this solid wall of man standing in her way. She wondered if she was going to have to ask him to move, but at that moment he stepped back, pushing the door open with one hand.

Silently, Lucy sailed past him and up the stairs. She had the uncomfortable sensation that he was watching her ascent, for her spine tingled uncomfortably, but when she reached the landing and looked back there was no one below and the door was firmly shut.

* * *

An iron-haired woman was guarding the small reception room at the top of the stairs. She showed Lucy into Mrs Killinghurst’s office, invited her to remove her cloak and bonnet and sit down, then she shut the door upon her. Left alone, Lucy folded her cloak neatly and laid it on a chair then carefully placed her bonnet on top. There was no mirror in the room, so she could only put her hands up to make sure her soft brown hair was still neatly confined in a knot at the back of her head. She had put on the same high-necked gown she had worn for her first interview, a plain closed robe of pewter-coloured wool, and hoped she portrayed the modest, unassuming character that an employer would be looking for.

After a few moments alone, Lucy became prey to uncertainty. She thought over her previous visit, wondering if she had perhaps mistaken the day.

No, she had been sitting on this very chair, facing Mrs Killinghurst across the desk, exactly two weeks ago. Lucy had been encouraged by the lady’s businesslike air, and once she had explained her circumstances and answered a number of searching questions, the lady had risen and disappeared through a door at the back of the room. Some personal inner sanctum, thought Lucy, for she had glimpsed the carved and gilded edge of a picture frame. This had surprised her a little, for the walls of the office and the reception room were singularly bare of ornament, and Lucy had been puzzling over this when Mrs Killinghurst had returned, saying that, yes, she did think there was a suitable position for Lucy.

‘It is rather an unusual position but perfectly respectable, I assure you, and the remuneration is extremely generous, considering that it is only a temporary position. You will only be required for a short period—part of May and the whole of June. However, I need to ascertain from my client—that is—you will need to come back. Shall we say two weeks from today, at eleven o’clock?’

Lucy had agreed immediately. Another two weeks in her uncle’s house would be a trial, but she would manage, somehow. The date and time of the next meeting had been repeated and confirmed, Lucy remembered, with Mrs Killinghurst promising that she would then be in a position to explain the post in detail. Lucy had thanked her and prepared to leave, but now she recalled that at that point the proprietress had shown a diffidence that had not been apparent throughout the rest of their meeting.

‘Good day to you, Miss Halbrook and—my dear, should you find another post in the meantime I hope you will feel free to take it. A little note to me explaining the situation will suffice...’

Lucy had looked at her in surprise.

‘I assure you, Mrs Killinghurst, I am more than content to wait two weeks, unless perhaps you think there is some doubt about my suitability for the post you have in mind?’

‘Oh, no, no, I think you are eminently suitable.’ Thinking back, Lucy remembered the slightly anxious timbre of the lady’s voice, as if she regretted the circumstance. She had looked a little uncomfortable as she continued, ‘Of course, this post is by no means guaranteed, and if something else should come up I would be failing you if I did not advise you to accept it.’

‘But you do not have anything else to offer me?’

‘Well, no, not at present.’

Lucy had thought it an odd way to go about business, suggesting that she should look elsewhere for employment, but she guessed it was some sort of a test of her loyalty, and she had been quick to reassure Mrs Killinghurst that she would return in two weeks’ time at the agreed hour.

‘And here I am,’ she announced to the empty room. ‘Ready and waiting to know my fate.’

The rattle of the doorknob made her jump, and she wondered if someone had been listening, for at that moment the door to the inner sanctum opened, and Mrs Killinghurst came in, smiling and apologising for keeping Lucy waiting. She went to her desk and in her haste left the door slightly ajar.

‘Now then, Miss Halbrook, where were we?’ She sat down, pulling a sheaf of papers towards her. ‘Ah, yes. The character references I have received for you are excellent. As I mentioned when we last met, this is an unusual post. My client is looking for an accomplished young lady of gentle birth to spend some time at his house in the north.’

A movement from Lucy caused the lady to pause.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, but your client is a married gentleman, I assume?’

Mrs Killinghurst shook her head.

‘He is a widower, but quite respectable,’ she added quickly, a little too hastily perhaps.

Lucy felt her heart sinking. She decided she must speak frankly.

‘Mrs Killinghurst, is—is there anything, ah, questionable about this particular post?’

‘Oh, no, no, nothing like that! My client assures me that a chaperone will be provided, and you will be treated with the utmost respect during your stay. You are to live at the house, as his guest. And the remuneration is extremely generous.’

She mentioned a sum that made Lucy’s eyebrows fly up.

‘But I do not understand. Your, ah, client wishes to pay me to be a guest in his house?’

‘Yes.’

‘But, why?’

Mrs Killinghurst began to straighten the papers on her desk.

‘I believe he wishes you to be there as his hostess.’

Lucy’s disappointment was searing. For the past two weeks she had been looking forward to this meeting, speculating about the ‘lucrative post’ that Mrs Killinghurst had in mind. A governess, perhaps, or companion to some elderly and infirm lady, or even a gentleman. The temporary nature of the post had indicated that perhaps she was being engaged to make someone’s last months on this earth as comfortable as possible. Now she realised that her daydreams and speculation had been wildly inaccurate and naive. An unmarried man—even a widower—would not hire a hostess for any respectable purpose. Thoughts of Uncle Edgeworth and his wandering hands came to her mind.

She rose, saying coldly, ‘I am very sorry, Mrs Killinghurst, but this is not the kind of employment I envisaged. If you had only told me a little more about this post two weeks ago we might have saved ourselves a great deal of inconvenience.’

She had already turned to leave when she was halted by the sound of a deep, male voice behind her.

‘Perhaps, Mrs Killinghurst, you would allow me to explain to the young lady?’

Lucy whipped around. Standing in the doorway to the inner sanctum was the man she had seen below.

His solid form had filled the alleyway, but here in this small office he looked even more imposing. Mrs Killinghurst rose from her seat, but she barely reached his shoulder and only emphasised the man’s size. He had removed his hat to display his black hair, cut ruthlessly short, and his impassive countenance did nothing to dispel Lucy’s first impression of a stern, unyielding character.

She was aware of the latent power of the man. It was apparent in every line of his body, from the rough-hewn countenance, through those broad shoulders to his feet, planted firmly, slightly apart, as if he was ready to take on the world.

Ready to pounce on her. This man was dangerous, she was convinced of it, but some tiny, treacherous part of her found that danger very attractive.

Alarmed by her own reaction Lucy stepped back, one hand behind her feeling for the door handle.

‘I really do not think there is any need—’

‘Oh, but there is,’ he said. ‘You’ve waited two weeks to learn about this position; it would be a pity if you were to leave now without knowing just what it entailed, don’t you think?’ He spoke quietly, but with a natural authority that brooked no argument and when he invited her to return to her seat, Lucy found herself complying.

He indicated to Mrs Killinghurst that she should sit down and while the lady was settling herself Lucy made a mental note that if this stranger should try to get between her and the door to the reception area she would flee, however foolish and cowardly that might appear. Thankfully, though, the gentleman contented himself with moving to one side of the room where both ladies could see him. He nodded to Mrs Killinghurst.

‘Perhaps, ma’am, you would be good enough to introduce me.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Miss Halbrook, this is Lord Adversane, my client.’

He bowed to Lucy, who was surprised at the elegance with which he performed this courtesy. For such a large man he had the lithe grace of a natural athlete. She inclined her head in acknowledgement, but remained silent, waiting to hear what he had to say.

‘Mrs Killinghurst has told you that I am in need of your services for my house in Yorkshire,’ he began. ‘Adversane is the largest estate and the most prominent house in the area. Since the death of my wife, I have lived there very quietly, but you will appreciate that this has had an adverse effect upon the neighbourhood since I am not employing so many staff, nor is the housekeeper ordering so much from the local tradesmen. I think it is time to open up the house again and invite guests—family and friends—to join me there. However, I require a hostess.’

Lucy nodded. ‘I understand that, my lord, but surely there is some lady within your family who would be more than willing to fulfil that role.’

A sardonic gleam lit his eyes.

‘Oh, yes, dozens of ’em!’

‘Then I do not see—’

‘The thing is,’ he interrupted her ruthlessly, ‘I have been a widower for nigh on two years now and my family and friends are all determined I should be much happier if I were to marry again. To this end they are constantly badgering me to find a wife.’ He paused for a moment. ‘What I am looking for, Miss Halbrook, is not only a hostess, but a fiancée.’

* * *

Lucy knew she was staring at him. She also knew that her mouth was open, but it was some moments before she could command her muscles to work so that she could close it. Lord Adversane continued as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary.

‘I have invited a number of guests to stay at Adversane for the summer and I need a young woman to pose as my future wife. She must have all the accomplishments of a young lady of good family and her reputation must be above reproach. From everything Mrs Killinghurst has told me, you are perfectly suited to fulfil this role.’

‘Thank you,’ Lucy responded with a touch of asperity. ‘Let me make sure I understand you. You wish to enact this...this charade to stop everyone, er, badgering you?’

‘Exactly.’

‘If you will forgive me for saying so, my lord, from the little I have seen of you I cannot believe that you would allow anyone to badger you!’

Ralph regarded the little figure before him and felt a stir of appreciation. The chit was dressed in a dowdy grey gown, demure as a nun, yet she was not afraid to voice her opinion or to meet his eyes with a challenging sparkle in her own. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

‘Ah, but then, you do not know my family.’ This was unanswerable, but clearly did not reassure the girl. He could tell she was seeking the words to decline gracefully and take her leave, so he added, ‘I realise this is not the post you were expecting to be offered, Miss Halbrook, but I have considered my dilemma and conclude that hiring a hostess is the best solution.’ How much more to tell her? He added, a shade of impatience in his voice, ‘I am an educated man. I have never yet found a problem that could not be solved by logic. Believe me, there is not the least risk to your person or your good name. Indeed, it is imperative that your stay at Adversane is perfectly respectable if we are to convince everyone that the engagement is genuine. When the time comes to part I shall make sure it is understood that the decision was yours—you may be assured that those who know me will not find that at all surprising—and you will walk away with enough money to allow you to live in comfort and style for at least the next year. A handsome remuneration for less than two months’ work.’ He paused. ‘So, Miss Halbrook, what do you say?’

* * *

Preposterous. Outrageous. Not to be considered.

These were the first words that came to Lucy’s mind, but she did not utter them. Her situation, living in her uncle’s house, was not comfortable. To spend six weeks as the guest of Lord Adversane, no doubt living very luxuriously, would not be a hardship, and with the money she earned she would not need to rush into another post for some time. In fact, she might even be able to invest the money—in a shop, say, or a little school—and provide herself with an income. She might even be able to travel. She forced her gaze away from those compelling grey eyes and addressed Mrs Killinghurst.

‘You can assure me there is nothing untoward in this?’

‘Nothing at all, Miss Halbrook. It is unusual, but you may be sure I looked into the matter thoroughly before I accepted Lord Adversane’s commission. After all, I have my own reputation and that of my business to consider.’ Mrs Killinghurst tapped the paper on the desk in front of her. ‘The contract is drawn up, which will make everything legally binding. All that is required is your signature.’

Lucy hesitated. The offer was very tempting, and neither Mrs Killinghurst nor the advertisements she had scanned in the newspaper could offer anything else. And what choice did she have? Her uncle’s attentions were becoming more persistent and it could only be a matter of time before her aunt and her mother became aware of a situation which Lucy knew would distress them greatly.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will do it.’

* * *

Ralph watched in silence as she came to the desk to sign the contract. A slight doubt shook him. Perhaps it would have been better to hire an actress to play the role he had envisaged, but the danger of being found out would be that much greater, and the matter was too important to take that risk. He would not put it past his family to investigate his supposed fiancée’s background.

No, overall Mrs Killinghurst had succeeded very well. Miss Lucy Halbrook was everything he required and her breeding was impeccable, his family would find no fault there. She was not quite as tall as he had hoped, and her hair was not guinea-gold but a soft honey-brown. She also had rather more spirit than he had expected and he found himself wanting to tease her, to bring that sparkle to her eyes. He would have to be careful about that. He had been brought up to believe a gentleman should not flirt with a lady under his protection. However, he needed someone who could fulfil the role he had in mind convincingly, so she needed to be at least moderately attractive, and beneath that dowdy gown Miss Halbrook’s figure looked to be good. His eyes dwelled on the rounded bottom displayed beneath the grey folds as she bent over the desk to sign her name. It might even be very good.