The Scandal of Lady Eleanor Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  EPILOGUE

  PREVIEW OF BOOK II IN THE REALM SERIES

  Acknowledgements

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright Page

  I dedicate this book to my readers, who believe,

  as I do, that love is the most compelling of tasks.

  PROLOGUE

  “WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO?” James Kerrington rasped as he leaned across Brantley Fowler, pretending to reach for the bowl of fruit. Kerrington watched Fowler’s countenance tighten as the man stared toward where the Baloch warriors held the girl. Kerrington really did not need to ask. He and Fowler were the original members of a group the British government “lovingly” called the Realm. All seven of the unit ranged between the ages of nineteen and five and twenty. As he was the oldest among them, the others called Kerrington “Captain.” In many ways, he had served as the leader of their unit, although the government never made any such distinction.

  The others called Fowler “The Vicar” because he always wanted to save every lost soul he saw, especially the women and children. Surprisingly, through an authoritative persuasion, people confessed to Fowler nearly as quickly as they did an actual clergyman. He had joined Kerrington after a short stint with some shady seamen following the young man’s alienation from his father and the title he would eventually inherit. His friend never said exactly what happened, but Kerrington’s family knew Fowler’s indirectly. James’s mother, Lady Camelia Kerrington, had made her Come Out with Fowler’s aunt, Agatha Braton, the Duchess of Norfield, and so James knew some of the family history. Fowler’s father, the Duke of Thornhill, held a reputation for his lusty sexual appetite. Having seen his friend try to save more than one woman who suffered at the hands of a brute, Kerrington suspected some truth to the gossip.

  Fowler gritted his teeth, offering a grim smile to the Baloch warriors sitting about the low table, while Kerrington immediately assessed the situation. Fowler hissed, “Each man who enters that tent gives the girl a rupee because Mir says that is all she is worth—one rupee—one shilling and fourpence in England.” His friend’s breathing became shallow, obviously biting back anger. “She is not yet sixteen.”

  “You cannot save the world, Fowler,” Gabriel Crowden, another Realm member, cautioned.

  Fowler insisted, “I can save her.”

  “Oh, Lord, here we go again,” Crowden grumbled as he slid across the bench and into the shadows. “Give me time to get into place.”

  Kerrington stiffened in anticipation as the future Duke of Thornhill stood slowly and stretched, pretending to need to exercise his legs. “I think I will take a walk,” Fowler announced, but before he could execute more than five steps in the direction of the girl’s tent, a burly-looking soldier blocked his friend’s path. Without saying a word, the man told Fowler to reconsider his choices.

  Raising his hands in an act of submission, Fowler smiled largely and turned to Kerrington with a warning of what was to come. He shrugged as if to agree with the warrior, but in a split second, he struck the guard an uppercut, sending the man reeling with a broken nose.

  A heartbeat later, Kerrington and Fowler stood back-to-back, taking on all comers, delivering lethal thrust after deathly jab. “I have it,” Kerrington called as he parlayed a broken chair for a weapon. “Get the girl. Take her to the Bombay safe house.” He shoved Fowler toward the girl’s tent.

  Kerrington’s partner did not look back; Fowler knew he could count on James and the others in his group. Together, they would give him time to make a complete getaway.

  Preparing for the next assault, he wondered about his own sanity. How many times over the past two years had Fowler gotten him in “a fight to the death” in order to save some female? Somehow, James had accepted his friend’s “need” to rescue the disadvantaged. It seemed only fair, if he was to die, that James should do so in an effort to save some woman—an act of penance, so to speak. Kerrington could not save the woman he had loved—Elizabeth Morris—the woman he had married and had promised to love and to honor and to protect “as long as we both shall live.” Unfortunately, Elizabeth Kerrington had lived but two years, two months, and ten days before she died in childbirth—his child—their child. Maybe by saving these women he might atone for what he could not do for Elizabeth, and what he did to Daniel—just walking away from the boy, unable to look at his own child without seeing Elizabeth and feeling the pain of her loss.

  Turning his head, Kerrington saw Fowler pulling the scantily clad girl behind him, heading for the horses. James spun, twirling a sword he pulled from his walking stick, using the stick and the rapier in tandem with swinging figure eights to ward off three Baloch soldiers. “Now!” he called above the battle’s clamor, and the Realm members synchronized their final strikes, leaving their opponents sprawled on the tent’s floor. They dashed toward their tethered horses, swinging up into the saddles. They would distract their pursuers, heading in three different directions—all different from the way Fowler fled—to meet again in two days at their common house.

  Racing toward the nearest hill, Kerrington pulled up the reins to take a quick look, making sure they all made it out safely. He felt responsible, although each man was quite capable and very menacing in his own right. “Let us depart, Captain,” Aidan Kimbolt called from somewhere behind him. James had seen all he needed to see—they all were moving away from Shaheed Mir’s tents.Turning the horse in a complete circle, he simply nodded to his riding partner before galloping away into the dying sunset.

  CHAPTER 1

  FIVE YEARS LATER.

  “How are you, Sir?” James sat in the wing chair beside his father’s bed. The Earl of Linworth suffered from a weak heart and had been abed for well over a year. James had returned home nearly two years earlier to assume the position as his father’s heir.

  “Your mother tells me you are off to Kent.” James noted that the earl’s voice seemed stronger than usual.

  “Brantley Fowler finally returned to claim his title; Thornhill passed two months ago after a long illness. Fowler asked if I would come and take a look at the books for the estate. He says something does not seem right. I cannot imagine what it might be, but considering the late Duke was ill for some time, possibly someone took advantage of the situation.”

  “How long will you be away?” The earl shifted up in the bed, trying to use the many pillows as support.

  James stuffed one of the smaller cushions into the stack to brace his father’s lower back. “I can handle the books from anywhere, so unless you need me for something specific at Linton Park, I thought of taking in some of the Season. I will stay at Worthing Hall.”

  The earl gave a slight shake of his head in the positive. “You mean to look for a wife?”

  “It is time, but I will not settle for the first girl out of the schoolroom. Daniel will inherit so I do not need an heir. I plan to just look. I heard from Crowden; he will be in London also. It will be more pleasant with old friends.” James silently cringed every time he thought of Daniel and the wrongs he did to the boy. His poor Daniel still faltered and seemed out of place when James showed him any attention, and although he knew things were inherently better, he did not know ex
actly how to repair things with the boy, and so the awkwardness continued.

  James knew his answer would not please his father, who wanted to see him married and starting up a nursery before the man passed. However, the earl tactfully said, “Did you see to the new seed?”

  “Yes, Sir. Everything is ready for the growing season. I met with the cottagers and with Mackleroy; there will be no problems.”

  “You are a good son,” his father looked directly at James. “I could not ask for better.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  The earl took on a serious mien. “I want you to look for a school for Daniel; the boy is old enough for Eton. We cannot coddle him forever.”

  James did not wish to send his son away; he had wasted too many years trying to kill the pain of losing Elizabeth. He realized his father was of the “old school,” those who sent their children off to be educated by others, but, despite being an absent father for so many years, James had hoped to be an influence on his son’s life—to show his child his love. “I will look into it, Sir.” He would wait before parting with Elizabeth’s child; once Daniel started school, James would see very little of him. He had recently decided that in his search for a wife he would consider Daniel’s needs also. His son needed a mother, or, at least, a woman who would treat him with some kindness, maybe even affection. He would add those qualities to his list for his new bride.

  “You will give Fowler our regards.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And if you make the acquaintance of his aunt, the Dowager Duchess, hint that your mother might wish to renew their social relationship. Camelia spends all her time tending to me; she deserves a life of her own, especially when my time is over.”

  James looked uncomfortable, not wishing to speak of such a loss. “You have many years ahead of you, Father, and neither Mother nor I will hear of anything less. However, I will foster Her Grace’s good favor for Mother’s sake.”

  “That is superior.” The earl paused, wanting to say something else but choosing not to. “You travel tomorrow?”

  “Early—with the first light.”

  Eleanor Fowler rode across the estate, the late winter wind stinging her cheeks. Things at Thorn Hall changed the day her brother returned home. Now, Brantley was the Duke of Thornhill, and although Ella had not quite forgiven him for leaving her alone to bear the weight of running Thorn Hall and tending to William Fowler’s regrets, she thoroughly enjoyed letting someone else deal with the disorder surrounding the title for a change.

  Recently, she had told her brother she had a desire to travel—to see the world—to be independent—to never be subservient to a man again. Ella thought Brantley receptive to what she had said; at least, he had listened without censure. She had seen what a marriage based more on lust and less on love did to a person. She thought spending the rest of her life alone might bring her happiness, an eccentric daughter of an eccentric duke; she would not settle for a marriage of convenience. She would be out of her element in a romance, even an arranged one. “No,” she thought, “it would be best if I simply chose not to marry at all.”

  Today, she rode her favorite grey, letting the horse kick up its heels and prance when it wanted. They both needed to simply run free with no destination in mind, and it was the perfect day to do so. “Come on, Sampson,” she urged. “It is our time.”

  “You have no idea, Kerrington, how surprised I was to walk out of that gentleman’s club to find my sister waiting on the steps.” James sat in Brantley Fowler’s study, having arrived less than an hour before. “And poor Ella…she has dealt with it all since the Duke took ill. For two years, Father lay in bed enduring the ravages his lascivious life had brought him.”

  James’s brows drew together. “How in the world did Lady Fowler manage? An estate this size would cause most men to falter.”

  “Eleanor is quite resourceful. When the Duke, for example, had a lucid moment, Ella presented him with page after page of blank paper to sign so she could later write orders for supplies or work to be completed. Her farce perpetuated the rumors that Father suffered from a reoccurring bout of pneumonia.”

  James thought Fowler’s sister quite ingenious. Few women would manage under such conditions. “I cannot imagine,” James said with a hint of amusement in his voice, “that you willingly agreed to return to Thornhill.You were always set on ignoring the entailment, even if it came your way.”

  Fowler took another swallow of brandy, pointedly pausing before responding. “I refused, despite Eleanor’s best arguments. My cousin Horton Leighton would inherit, and Ella promised she would not disclose finding me in Cornwall.” His friend hesitated. “I should not have denied Eleanor’s request. I was aware of Leighton’s own depravity, but I could not relinquish my pride to save my sister from a life as Leighton’s mother’s companion.”

  James noted Fowler’s culpability. His friend had spent years protecting the weak—searching for the noble cause. Now, Fowler admitted that he failed to “save” his own sister because of his personal ghosts. “What changed your mind?”

  Fowler chuckled lightly. “Ella again. I underestimated her resolve. Women can be quite devious, Worthing,” he observed. “Eleanor returned to Kent, but she sent me a package—two miniatures. One was of my mother—a reminder of what she suffered in order that I might ascend to the title.”

  “And the second?” James admired Lady Fowler’s way of thinking. She had reached her brother’s inner motivations.

  “The second was of Velvet. I had wanted to ask Ella about her when my sister dwelled with me, but I did not believe I had the right.”

  James insisted, “Your commitment to Ashmita was for Sonali’s sake. You do not have to deny yourself the woman you have loved all your life because you saved an innocent girl from a crazy Baloch.” Every member of his Realm unit had dreamed of coming home and making things right—correcting the wrongs each left behind. Not a day went by without his spending time in anguish over losing Elizabeth. She rested in his heart and in his soul, and he could not let her go—could not forget what she had meant to him. Dutifully, he had accepted his fate: he had known the quintessence—the ideal love; and although he was likely to remarry, he would never know such happiness again. Despite that fact, he would remarry; he owed that much to his parents and to his title.

  “Sonali’s presence and the knowledge of my marriage has put a strain on my reunion with my cousin,” Fowler disclosed.

  “Do not give up.” James offered a slow, triumphant smile. “My money is on you, Fowler.”

  His friend nodded his agreement. “Speaking of Velvet, she and I were involved in an unusual attack three days ago. Someone took a shot at us as we visited the cottagers. I assume my cousin has accumulated no enemies.”

  “Whereas you have, Fowler?”

  “Whereas we all have, Worthing.”

  James tilted his head in an acknowledgment of the truth. “Are you sure there is no way it could have been an accident?”

  “I considered that—hunters or poachers—butVelvet and I were out in the open—standing along the riverbank. No one could have mistaken us for animals. The thing is—whoever did this hit Velvet…just a graze, but it is now personal. I will not stop until I know who and why.”

  “Anything else?”

  James watched as Fowler leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked so he might mindlessly tap his chin. “Entries in my father’s ledgers, several of them. Each simply say ‘3L.’ Each for two to three thousand pounds.”

  “And what do you want from me?” James suspected he knew the answer, but he would ask just the same.

  Bran looked at his friend—leveling a direct gaze, solidifying their understanding. “It is important to me to rid Thornhill of its negative reputation. That means I must tie up all the loose ends. So, besides enjoying your company, I need another pair of eyes and a different perspective.” James knew this was his Thorn Hall mission even before he had arrived; Fowler held an undeniable desire to wipe
away his father’s reputation. Brantley Fowler wanted to be someone’s “knight in shining armor.”

  “So, all we must do is to solve the mystery of missing estate funds, to absolve your family name, and to find a way to convince Miss Aldridge that you are the man she must marry.” James’s mouth curled in a sly smile. “Seems simple enough. All in a day’s work for the Realm. Did you have any ideas on where we should start?”

  Fowler frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I do have a plan to convince Velvet that my marrying Ashmita was my past. Velvet is my future.”

  The conversation reminded James of his and Fowler’s first mission together. From the beginning, they had worked well as a team—their thoughts similarly detailed and predictable.

  “I did not simply inherit the title; I also assumed my father’s position as Velvet’s guardian. Therefore, I plan to provide her and my sister a Season. When Velvet has had a chance to find another and, hopefully, has failed, I will claim her at the end of the Season; then we will be equal—she will see that things are not always as they are told in a fairy tale or novel—dreams change.”

  “It is a bold move,Your Grace.You are gambling with the prospect that your lady love will not choose another.”

  “It is the only thing I can think of doing. Do you believe it is a mistake?”

  Fowler looked worried. James recognized the feeling of disorientation Miss Aldridge brought to his friend’s life. He had known such anguish, too, in those early days of winning Elizabeth Morris’s affections. “In the game of love, I suppose it is as good as any other move. What do I know? I keep Mary as my mistress because love avoids me like the plague.”

  Before they could continue, a light tap on the door announced Sonali’s presence. “Papa,” she giggled as she ran to where Fowler sat. “Look what I have.” James enjoyed the girl’s innocence. The child cupped her small hands lightly together. He sorely wished he had been at Linton Park to experience such moments with Daniel. She opened them enough for her father to see what she held. “It is a baby frog. May I keep it?”