An Earl’s Redemption: Brides of London Read online

  An Earl’s Redemption

  Brides of London

  Joyce Alec

  Contents

  Love Light Faith

  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

  More Stories You’ll Love

  Thank You!

  An Earl’s Redemption

  Text Copyright © 2019 by Joyce Alec

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2019

  Publisher

  Love Light Faith, LLC

  400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825

  Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311

  Love Light Faith

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  Prologue

  Miss Lydia Whitaker sat down heavily at her dressing table. Dinner had not gone well and she felt no eagerness to prepare for this evening’s ball, even though she had been ordered to do so by her father, Viscount Templeton. Her mother would be weeping, most likely, over Lord Templeton’s cruel manner, and she herself would have to endure the quiet silence of anger and sadness that would linger between her parents for the next few days.

  It was growing rather wearisome.

  Her mother, Lady Templeton, was too caught up with her own appearance and presence in society to care much for what Lydia needed, even though this was now her third Season in London. The fact that her daughter was still unwed and still seemingly unimportant to the gentlemen of the ton would have been a matter of grave concern to most parents, but Lady Templeton did not seem to care. She often gave Lydia leave to do as she pleased and it was up to Lydia herself to ensure that she remained within the bounds of propriety at all times. She did her best to remain as dignified and as genteel as she could, but having a mother unwilling to introduce her to anyone of importance—for that would take time and effort and Lady Templeton was willing to give neither—was slowly beginning to eat away at Lydia’s patience.

  Lydia was used as nothing more than a drudge whose sole purpose in life was to comfort her mother when she had difficulties of any kind facing her. She would have to go to her mother’s bedside should her mother take to her bed in anguish and fetch her whatever it was she required. A maid would not do, she had been told many times before, and indeed, Lady Templeton made certain that Lydia did her bidding by simply refusing to move or to even eat until Lydia herself came to her and did as she asked. When she did not use Lydia as her own personal servant, Lady Templeton did not care an iota for her daughter.

  Lord Templeton had only ever had one purpose in life, which was to make sure that his son married and married well. Given that her brother was already married, settled, and had produced the heir within a year of his marriage, Lydia had hoped that her father might show her the same interest that he had shown to her brother, but that had not come to pass. Her brother had been sympathetic and had written to encourage her many a time, but had been unable to come to London on his own to help her given that he had responsibilities of an estate and now, a wife.

  Lord Templeton now came to London for the Season simply so that he might have an enjoyable few months of gambling, drinking, and doing whatever else he wished. And, of course, Lady Templeton would grow weary of being forced to leave whatever soiree they had attended in order to accompany her drunken husband home each night and the arguments would begin in earnest. Lord Templeton would summon Lydia to listen to their arguments, demanding that she tell her mother this or that, whilst Lady Templeton was in the very same room as them both. Lydia knew she was simply a pawn in their games and so had learned to remain entirely silent rather than doing her father’s bidding and speaking to her mother in order to get her to admit some sort of guilt so that the argument might come to an end. But still, Lord Templeton persisted in demanding that Lydia join them whenever an argument was to begin. It was growing tiring but there seemed to be no escape.

  Having danced to her parents’ tune the previous two years, Lydia was frustrated with both of them for their selfishness and their manipulation of her, whilst also deeply upset that they seemed to care so little for her that they did not even notice what she did or where she went—unless, of course, they required her for their own purposes. The ball this evening would undoubtedly force her to remain in the shadows or standing with the wallflowers, as her mother would almost immediately be caught up with her own acquaintances and her father would disappear to the card room within the first half an hour. As she did not have a chaperone, she would have to linger near her mother, who would not pay her a jot of attention. The evening would drag on, each minute going slower than the previous one, until finally, she would be granted the sweet blessing of returning home.

  Something dripped onto her cheek and, to her surprise, Lydia realized that she was crying. She wiped it away quickly, not wanting the maid to see her so overly emotional. This was something she was used to by now, was she not? Why, then, was she so upset about what she knew to be the way of things?

  Things will never change if you continue on as you are.

  Lydia sniffed and pulled out a lace handkerchief to dab at her eyes. That held some truth, she thought to herself, realizing slowly that if she continued to simply accept that this was the way of things, continued to behave in such a flawless, proper manner, then nothing would change and she would find herself here again the following Season, until she was nothing but a spinster who would still be forced to return to London for the summer so that her parents might find their own enjoyments. If she did what was expected of her, which was to continue to linger near her mother and not seek out introductions to those she did not know, then all that would occur would be a few months of lingering shadows, of disappointment, sadness, and boredom. Was that to be her lot? Was that all she was willing to achieve? Her parents did not care what she did or who she met, just so long as she was not met with scandal, so surely there must be some way for her to change her situation and circumstances even if it was only in a small way?

  Looking back at her reflection with a clear gaze, Lydia took in her appearance. Her cheeks were pale, her light blue eyes holding an obvious pain. When she smiled, it looked as though she were forcing it, for it did not light up her gaze as she hoped. Her long, dark tresses tumbled down her back, not yet held up tightly in some ornate fashion. Her maid would do that soon enough.

  Was she pretty? There was certainly nothing about her that Lydia believed would instantly capture the attention of any gentleman, for whilst she was not overly plain, she was not a diamond of the first water. Her charms were few, for whilst she had good conversation, she was not particularly used to speaking at length with gentlemen of the beau monde. It had occurred on one or two previous oc
casions, but Lydia had, unfortunately, had her mouth go dry and her throat fill with dust as she had tried to make conversation. It had been most frustrating.

  Sighing to herself, she pinched her cheeks hard, hoping to flood them with color. Looking at herself again, Lydia considered whether or not she looked any better and came to the conclusion that a little color in her face was better than none at all. Her eyes were still lackluster, however, and her smile did not come easily to her face.

  “This evening will be different,” she told herself, trying to summon the inner courage that would be needed to go about matters differently. “You shall speak to ladies and to gentlemen, you shall dance and you shall smile and laugh. What else is there for you but the darkness?”

  The dark shadows of each and every ballroom she had attended had become something of a familiarity to Lydia. Her mother did not notice where Lydia went and skulking back into the darkness had become something of a sanctuary for Lydia. It had meant she would not be noticed by another living soul and, for the most part, that had suited her fairly well. It meant that she behaved entirely within the bounds of propriety whilst saving herself the embarrassment of being noticed as a wallflower.

  “But no longer!”

  The thump of her fist on the dressing table startled her with the sound it made, although it also began to fill Lydia with a deep determination that flooded her soul. Her chin lifted, her eyes began to sparkle and, as the maid hurried in, murmuring an apology for being late, Lydia let herself smile. Things were to change for her. No longer would she be the obedient, proper Miss Whitaker. Instead, she would go about her business as a refined yet determined young lady, who did not care much for the intricacies that came with polite society. She would make herself out to be independent, even though she was still in her father and mother’s care, and in doing so, might find a change of happiness that would bring a new brightness to her future.

  “I want you to ensure that you do your very best this evening, Millie,” she told her maid, who looked up at her, startled. “The pearls will be threaded through my hair in some sort of fashion, I think.” She arched one eyebrow at the maid, who began to nod fervently. “And I shall have the cream satin gown.”

  The maid hesitated, then turned and disappeared into the small dressing room before emerging with the gown in question. Lydia nodded satisfactorily, seeing the maid’s eyes flicker with surprise but giving no explanation as to her choice. The cream satin gown had been declared improper by Lydia, who had disliked that it showed so much of her décolletage. Lady Templeton had trilled a laugh and stated that it was the highest fashion and it was to be expected that a gown should have a low bodice, but Lydia had not accepted this and had refused to wear it.

  Until this evening.

  “I shall be entirely transformed,” she told herself calmly, seeing a spark in her eyes that had not been there before. “The ton shall know Miss Lydia Whitaker and no longer think her nothing more than a flickering shadow.” A smile caught her lips, her cheeks flooding with color of their own accord.

  This evening was going to be very different.

  1

  “Good evening, Lord Ancrum.”

  Joseph, Earl of Ancrum, said nothing. Instead, he bowed over Lady Greaves’ hand and prayed that his notoriety had died down somewhat since the disaster that had been last year’s Season. He had been quite foolish and had behaved in a most improper and hurtful manner towards a Miss Ophelia Grey. Of course, that had all come to a swift end after his actions and he had lost a great deal of money in the process.

  He had disliked losing money, although it did not impact his estate too greatly. More had been the embarrassment and mortification of losing such a sum to a gentleman he disliked intensely. Of course, he had also been ashamed of his own drunken behavior, which had been the only reason he had made such a ridiculous wager in the first place. Since reflecting on all that had occurred, he had therefore decided that he would not allow himself to act so foolishly again. And it would begin with an attempt to recover his reputation amongst the ton as much as he could.

  “Lord Ancrum.”

  He stiffened, seeing the coy smile on another lady’s face as she drew near to greet him.

  “Lady Starling,” he murmured, aware of how heat climbed up his spine as he bowed in greeting. “How good to see you again.”

  Lady Starling was a rich young widow whom Joseph had known for some years. She made playthings of the gentlemen of the ton but, as yet, Joseph had not been one of her chosen toys. His stomach tightened as he saw the way she smiled at him, her dark blue eyes fixed upon his. Her golden hair was delicately pulled away from her face, held back gently and seeming to give her a halo that only added to her beauty.

  “You have returned to society, then,” Lady Starling murmured, her eyes flickering over his form as though she wanted to be assured that he was, in truth, the gentleman she knew. “Have you thought of taking a wife?”

  Joseph hesitated, finding that he did not wish to speak to Lady Starling of all that was in his mind to do. “I seek only to prove myself to society once more, Lady Starling,” he told her, seeing the amused expression on her face. “My reputation has suffered somewhat of late, although I can only lay the blame for such a thing at my own feet.”

  Lady Starling laughed and tapped his arm with her folded fan in a playful fashion. “Well, if you will attempt to go around kissing young ladies so that you might win a wager, then yes, I fear that your reputation will suffer somewhat,” she replied teasingly. “Although it is not as though you have been spurned from society, Lord Ancrum.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There are those amongst us who believe you to be something of a rake.” Arching one brow, she leaned back and looked at him steadily. “And that is not always a poor reflection on a gentleman’s character, Lord Ancrum. It might be seen by some as an accolade!” She laughed softly, her eyes glinting with mirth. “What say you to that?”

  Joseph sighed inwardly, frustrated that, already, the conversation had returned to his past mistakes. No, he wanted to say, he did not wish to be called a rake nor did he want society as a whole to think of him as one, but it seemed he was not to get what he wished. There was no one to blame but himself, of course, for attempting to kiss a lady in full view of the beau monde was, of course, the action of a fool and could well be construed that he was nothing more than a rake. He had never had any intention of marrying the lady he had attempted to kiss but had done so simply to mar her reputation and, therefore, ensure that he won the wager.

  “I am no rake, Lady Starling,” he told her emphatically. “And I intend to make sure that, this Season, I prove myself not to be so.”

  Lady Starling’s gaze became a trifle more serious. “How disappointing,” she said lightly, now putting her hand on his arm instead of her fan. “I had hoped that you were something of a rake, Lord Ancrum.” Her voice became singsong, her playful words hitting Joseph so hard that he felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Clearing his throat, he quickly placed his hands behind his back and tried to smile, which, given that he could not find anything to say to such a thing, was the only thing he could do. His heart began to quicken with the look in her eyes, knowing full well what it was that she was suggesting he pursue.

  “One does not need to be a rake to enjoy the company and the delights offered by another,” Lady Starling continued softly, her eyes gleaming as if he were the prize she had been searching for. “I shall watch you carefully these next few weeks, Lord Ancrum. Mayhap there is a chance that our acquaintance will grow.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, her steps slow and yet determined. The other guests stepped out of her way as she moved, clearly aware of just how much gravitas she held. Joseph let out a long breath, unable to keep his eyes from her. Lady Starling, it seemed, was considering him to be her next plaything and Joseph found himself overcome with delight at the prospect. He was no rake, no, but it was as Lady Starling said: one did not need to be a rake in or
der to enjoy the company of another. Particularly if it was warm company.

  “You appear to be quite delighted with yourself, I must say.”

  Joseph turned his head to see none other than Lord Irwin approaching him, a broad grin on his face.

  “Irwin,” Joseph exclaimed, shaking his friend’s hand fervently. “Good evening to you.”

  “Good evening,” Lord Irwin replied, his grin never slipping. “I did not expect to see you here this evening, although I am glad of it.”

  Joseph chuckled ruefully. “I believe my notoriety had been the cause of my invitation,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But I am determined to prove myself to the beau monde so that they do not continue to consider me to be either a rake or unworthy of their company.” He grimaced, the truth of the matter hitting him full force. “And I have become aware that I must wed. The estate is doing well and I must therefore produce an heir.”

  Lord Irwin laughed as though this was something mirthful. “It is not as bad as all that!” he exclaimed, evidently seeing Joseph’s dislike of the married state. “You know that I myself am wed now, do you not?”

  Joseph nodded. “I do,” he replied quickly, recalling that Lord Irwin had become engaged last Season. “And does it go well?”

  “Wonderfully,” Lord Irwin replied with seeming honesty. “Of course, it does help if one has a fondness for one’s spouse. Thankfully, I seem to have been blessed with a wife that truly cares for me and, indeed, over the past year, I have discovered that I myself have a very great affection for her.”