The Rise of a Forsaken Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Read online

  The Rise of a Forsaken Lady

  A Historical Regency Romance Novel

  Emma Linfield

  Contents

  A Thank You Gift

  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

  Extended Epilogue

  A Duke Under Her Spell

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Also by Emma Linfield

  About the Author

  A Thank You Gift

  Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.

  As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called The Betrayed Lady Winters. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.

  Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.

  With love and appreciation,

  Emma Linfield

  About the Book

  She was his wonderful secret that he never wished to share…

  Lady Penelope Dawson has had enough of her brother’s antics.

  Openly disgruntled by his persistence to marry her to his childhood friend, the Baron of Hillbrook, she finds herself at her wits’ end when one of her Earl brother’s parties goes awry and a bodyguard is assigned to protect her.

  Newly-hired footman, Heath Moore, quickly discovers that serving as the bodyguard of the beautiful but elusive Lady Penelope just might be his hardest task yet. Especially when it becomes apparent that not only is he hopelessly in love with her, but she is also a target.

  When a body is discovered on the Dawsons’ lands, and Penelope’s brother is accused of murder, Heath must reveal a secret of his own. His true identity holds the key to the riddle and quite possibly, to the salvation of the Crown itself.

  Prologue

  London, 1814

  The mood in the private room in the back of White’s was somber, and two parties sat surrounded by the smell of sweet cigar smoke and strong brandy. One was sporting a greying beard and sly wrinkles around his eyes. The other was younger.

  Half-filled glasses and a bottle of brandy sat between the two on a grimy wooden table where a thrice-read and discarded broad-sheeted London Gazette lay tossed in the middle. The two drank the same liquor in the same room where they met once a month. After seven months, they became adept at reading each other’s responses to the same topic that brought them together.

  It was customary for them to sit in silence, allowing the faint strains of classical music to seep from the clubhouse and through the air, until the older broke in. However, this time, the younger party was brave enough to disrupt the ritual.

  He took a fortifying sip of the brandy. “So, I remember your proposition from last month.”

  “You’ve come around then?”

  “There was no issue of me coming around,” the younger man drew in his breath with a hiss, then measured his tone back to respect. “It is more of figuring how to do what needs to be done.”

  “I told you—”

  The young man lifted the bottle and refilled his glass. He spoke dismissively. “Yes, yes. I know. You’ve drummed it into my head over and over again. It’s the only way, you say, but how?”

  “Do not mistake my intelligence or yours. You already know what to do and how to do it.”

  He grunted acceptation of his older partner’s rebuke.

  The man took a low draw on his pipe, then relaxed in a long slow exhale of smoke. “If you want your own credit line from the suppliers in the continent that come from my connections, then yes, it is the only way to get the payoff you seek.”

  He leaned in and looked right into the young man’s eyes. “Unless, of course, I had misjudged you and you are not as hungry for success as I thought you were.” He slowly leaned back, pipe in hand. “If so, I fear that the last seven months of our meetings have been a waste.”

  “I am as dedicated as ever,” the younger man was growing angry. “But I am sure there can be a less…damaging way of going about it.”

  “For you to rise, someone has to fall,” the gruffer voice said. “That is how it has been from the dawn of time, for personal gain, there must be a sacrifice.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically. “I am sure you know our history. Marcus Brutus and Caesar…Ephialtes of Trachis and King Leonidas of Sparta…and now it is your time to do the same.”

  “I was sure you were going to tack on Judas Iscariot,” the younger man said humorlessly.

  “Your target does not have the power to amass a legion of angels to assist him,” the man said wryly. “And furthermore, do you have the suicidal deliberation of killing yourself?”

  “No,” the younger man cringed.

  “Then, let us skirt that example,” the older man said dryly. “He has concealed his contacts overseas for too long, suppressing your ventures and making you lose out. Don’t you think it is time for your patience to run out?”

  “I agree, but…this?”

  “It has to be done one way or another,” the older man replied sagely. “You are close to him, and our association needs what he knows and who he has. And, with him out of the way, you can finally have what, or whom, you want, hmm? He stroked his greying beard. “If you choose not to, you will lose the momentum you have built in the last three years.”

  “So, blackmail is what you are resorting to?”

  “Admit it,” the older man’s voice was sage. “You are tired of his honorable shenanigans too, and how comfortable he in his position when he—and you—could be so much more.”

  “I do not think it is his contact really,” the younger man stressed. “As far as I know, he has not used those contacts since he rose to power. I think they are his fathers…or were anyway.”

  The senior leaned in, “And they are not dead, so be it if they are his father’s or not. With him out of the way, and if you do wed the lady, those connections will be yours by default. I told you a year ago,” tapping his forefinger on the table to emphasize his point, he continued. “and I will tell you for the last time, as this is prime time for you to do so. Do what you have to do, and you will see how much it works out…for both of us. Untold riches are ours if you do this right, and you want that, do you not?”

  The shuddering breath the younger man let out was answer enough, even before he replied, “Undoubtedly.”

  “Then we have an agreement.” A hand was stuck out over the table and lingered there before another hand grasped it.

  “We have...it’s agreed. In three months, someone will be in jail or dead, and we will be so much richer.”

  Both men leaned back in resignation, signaling that the matter w
as decided on.

  Chapter 1

  The Earldom of Allerton

  October 1814

  The butler bowed to Edward Dawson. “Your guest, My Lord, as by your orders, is in your study,”

  “Wonderful,” the youngest Earl of Allerton tugged off his riding gloves from his long fingers. “Tell him I will be in shortly. Where is Lady Penelope this evening, Gastrell?”

  “I believe she is in the library, My Lord, regaling her maid with a tale in French, one which I believe, she had written herself.”

  “Really…” Edward’s voice dipped to a suspicious tone. Knowing his sister’s wily ways, he looked at the butler directly. “Are you sure about that?”

  “As sure as I can be, My Lord.”

  Edward huffed under his breath. Gastrell was not the one who would know about the avant-garde behavior that defined Penelope. It was her maid Martha Bell, Penelope’s best friend, and her premier partenaire en crime. He suspected Penelope had snuck out to go riding while he had tended to matters in the town, but he did not have time to investigate her activities at the moment.

  Since the death of his ailing father, Richard Dawson, and late Earl, the estate had come to the point it needed an overhaul. Though he could rely on Gastrell and Mrs. Copperfield to assess all the maids, footmen and other servants needed to run the estate, Edward allowed himself the eccentricity of doing this one on his own.

  England was still at war with France, and although the majority of the battles were fought—many won and some lost—he was not going to allow the mistake of allowing just anyone into his home. His father had been no-nonsense when it came to rule over his Earldom, so he had to be especially careful.

  A friend is only an enemy in disguise, his father had told him.

  He took a moment to swallow a mouthful of water, quickly changed his shirt in his bedroom, and went to his meeting. This was the last footman he was going to hire, and the agency had sent this Heath Moore over on high recommendations.

  Edward entered the study; the man stood and bowed. That was a positive note in Edward’s book. The second was his posture. This man had the body for a footman, tall, and strapping.

  “Thank you for seeing me, My Lord,” Mr. Moore’s rolling, lax Midlands accent confirmed what had been in his recommendation—that he had lived and worked in Staffordshire.

  “Not a problem, Mr. Moore,” Edward gestured for him to sit down. “Normally, any other lord would have used their subordinates to interview you, but I prefer to have a personal hand in these matters, so humor me.”

  Edward sat back and crossed a leg over his left knee. “As your past occupation was much like this one, I assume you are proficient in all the activities of your post? Shadowing the butler, dining room duties, trimming lamps, attending to the fires?”

  “I am,” Mr. Moore replied. “I have also been trained in horse care and driving if you need a carriage driver.”

  The Earl’s eyes danced up. “That is…unusual.”

  “I concur. My previous master, the Viscount Masseur, was very thorough and particular,” Mr. Moore replied. “I was also trained in assisting his hunts, skinning and tanning his kills, managing his vast collection of weapons and even disposing of the trash. But I was not allowed to touch his clothing. As I said, he was very particular.”

  Edward leaned forward, “Gastrell is in charge of my suits, but I am a sort of aficionado of weapons, pistols and swords myself, and have not found anyone to help me in that avenue. The collection was handed down from my great-grandfather.”

  “I would be happy to assist you,” Mr. Moore spoke with an air of surety.

  As the conversation went, Edward was growing to like this young man. He was very respectful and proved himself to be smart in household duties. An hour later, Edward hired him without further questions.

  “I think you will be a brilliant addition to my household.” Both men rose and shook hands. “I will have you situated immediately on the morrow and have Gastrell look to your livery. I find the powdering of hair unneeded and frankly repulsive, so you will not be required to do so.”

  “Thank you, My Lord.”

  “Your salary will be twelve guineas per year and your livery of three guineas from the Old Bond Street will be taken care of,” Edward said. “I am glad that you are tall and agile, those attributes are very needed in a footman.”

  “Those thanks are my father’s, My Lord,” Mr. Moore said. “But I will accept them on his behalf.”

  “Now, our bond: Do you swear fidelity to my family and will you uphold all the needs of the Dawson’s, primarily our safety, security, and comfort?”

  “I do swear, My Lord.”

  “Wonderful. Let me take you to Gastrell who will take your measurements. Tomorrow, he will introduce you to the rest of the staff.”

  Stepping out, Edward nearly collided with a thin figure and got a nose-full of dark hair in the process. His sister, Penelope tottered with the armful of books she was holding and barely regained her footing after Mr. Moore had caught her while Edward had stumbled too.

  “Oh, dear me,” she gasped while jostling the books. “My apologies, Eddie.”

  The lord muttered a curse under his breath, “Penelope! How many times do I have to tell you to not carry so many books at one time? You could have injured yourself if Mr. Moore had not caught you…and I told you not to call me that in company,” he muttered under his breath.

  Meek honey-gold eyes peeked around the book covers and a small smile curved her bow-lips. “I’m sorry, Edward.”

  He sighed, “Mr. Moore, may I introduce my sister, Lady Penelope Dawson. Penelope, Mr. Moore is going to be our new footman.”

  She juggled the books again and an oval face and almond-shaped eyes peeked out. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Moore.”

  “Thank you, My Lady…do you need help?” Mr. Moore asked.

  “Er…I don’t think—”

  “She will take it,” Edward overrode her. “Before she trips and breaks her neck. Mr. Moore, please.”

  Penelope huffed and then handed over the books. Now fully revealed, Lady Penelope Dawson was a slender woman with a rather shapely figure. Her thick, dark hair was combed into an unstylish bun at the nape of her neck and a few stubborn tendrils were fluttering around her face.

  “Thank you, Mr. Moore,” she smiled softly. “I finished reading them all and was carrying them to the library. Please follow me.”

  “Follow us,” Edward interrupted. He might be liberal but was not going to allow his baby sister to be alone with a relatively unknown man. He followed them to the library where Penelope directed him to set them down.

  “Here you go, My Lady,” Mr. Moore said.

  “Thank you,” Penelope smiled, and Edward rolled his eyes at her soft blush.

  “Well, that’s done,” Edward said, “Good day, Penelope. Mr. Moore and I have issues to take care of.”

  “Good day, Mr. Moore,” Penelope said to their backs.

  “Good day, My Lady.”

  Thankfully, Edward had turned away the moment Penelope’s eyes had met Mr. Moore’s who had looked over his shoulder. With one shared look and one smile an invisible tether was made between them.

  The question was, where would it take them?

  Chapter 2

  Mr. Moore’s eyes…his eyes are so deep…fathomless even…I wonder what secret they hold? Penelope mused while sorting the books before she shelved them. They are like glittering chips of emerald but deeper…like deep verdant, but lighter.

  Her brother was angry at her for using her childhood nickname for him in polite company. Most of the time she did remember but…eh, what was one slip…or possibly, five?

  “Edward, you need to stop being so childish about these things,” she murmured under her breath.

  Thank God, the two men had left the room before she could have unknitted her tongue and spluttered something foolish.

  She flipped the cover of Pride and Prejudice and smiled. Romance novels were h
er second favorite genre of books, barely outpacing books about Greek myths and historical texts. She had a penchant to dream but was wise enough to be grounded in reality.