The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part fifty-four

The Truth

Posted as a gift of my time and thoughts to the readers of my books, thank you for the lovely messages of appreciation,

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this novel should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18 ,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33,34,35,36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53

Richard

It had been weeks, and it need not be much longer.

With hands clasped behind his back, Richard stood before the hearth looking down at the flames that licked at the wood. The room was chilly, perhaps not to others but to his body that was used to the temperatures of India.

Beyond the one announcement in the paper stating that, Miss Emma Martin, distant cousin of the 5th Duke of Sunderland, had arrived in town and was residing with his Grace, following the sudden and unexpected loss of her mother, wife to the Governor of Calcutta and granddaughter of the 3^rd Duke of Sunderland, Richard had heard nothing of Emerald. But they had both been in mourning, and therefore tied to the house.

But not hearing about her had not stopped her from haunting his thoughts, he constantly wondered how she was. He had feared for her, wanted to call upon her, but knew he should not. She had not been able to accept visitors in full mourning. It would raised comment if he had called. He could not even claim that he was a close friend bringing felicitations and comfort, he ought to be nothing to her. He was merely the owner of the ship that had brought her here.

Was she happy? Was she with child? No. She could not have been, it would be known by now. Had she forgiven him?

The air dragged into his lungs.

As much as he could not lose the vision of her from his mind, nor could he lose the image of Sunderland. That man had been with her every day for weeks, and every time Richard thought of it envy licked at him like the flames about the wood.

Every morning he took his letters from the tray with a thumping heart, looking for her handwriting. It was never there. He still looked. His feelings were unchanged.

What of hers? Did she ever think of him?

He turned away from the fire, his hands separating, as though in a movement to go somewhere. His body urged him to run – to go to London. To speak to her.

He had never been uncertain about anything in his life until he’d met Emerald. He was uncertain in this. He feared if he spoke to her he’d not convince her to have him.

He crossed the room and sat down at the desk to try to focus on the ledgers again.

His father’s will had been read the day after his return and then, within hours, Richard had left London to take over the main property of his father’s estate. Not his father’s––his. Richard had to keep reminding himself of that. He had received the entailed property and nothing beyond it. His younger brother had been given everything else––the livestock in the parks, the furniture and ornamentation, the pictures of their ancestors, the farm machinery in home farm, everything, even down to the utensils in the kitchen. Their father had left Richard the bricks and mortar he had to and nothing else.

It was a damn good job Richard had spent his life amassing a fortune. It was also his good luck that despite Frederick’s initial antagonism, he had more sense than their father. Frederick’s reaction to the will had been a surprise. Richard had initially imagined Fred a spoiled, greedy and jealous man. He’d been wrong. Frederick’s frustration had been empathy for their father. Frederick had probably been too young to understand why Richard had left. However Frederick had not approved of the mutilation of the estate. His response to the will had been anger. He had not liked to be used as a pawn in their father’s revenge. He had refused his inheritance and signed everything over to Richard before leaving the solicitor’s office.

Richard had tried to thank Fred before he’d left London, but his brother had also refused the gratitude.

It had taken a dozens letters flying back and forth to persuade Frederick to take something. In the end he had agreed to a sum to be put in trust, and an increase in the sum of Rose’s dowry. An outcome of their communications had been a fragile peace, and Frederick making several visits here to bring Rose to see him.

Richard had been working with the steward here, going over everything to understand how the place operated, fighting impatience, looking at the facts and figures, the stocks, the yields, planning out what to do. It was all profitable, from everything Richard had seen his father ran a tight ship, little was wasted or lost. Richard did not need to be here, not really, and yet if he were not here, where would he be? Not on a ship back to Calcutta, he was waiting for Emerald. In London, then, knocking on the Duke of Sunderland’s door.

It was better he was not tempted and remained here.

But her deep mourning period was over within the week, and that was what was making him particularly fractious. Because why the hell was he not in London?

Because he could hardly be the first to call. He breathed out heavily, unable to focus on the figures.

He would wait another three weeks. He did not wish to risk her reputation in any way and calling too soon would insight the memory of the fact that she, and he, had been aboard a ship with the crew and servants their only chaperone for weeks. But in those three weeks he must decide what he would say.

How was he going to persuade her to accept his renewed offer?

He had made her stronger. She had made him a coward. The truth was he was avoiding the moment for fear he would not succeed.

But calling on her in three weeks would be unexceptional. Expected almost. He had said he would call. He was an acquaintance; he had reason to pay his respects.

***

In the next days, as Emerald ventured out of the house, word of her grew, she became the talk of the social press.

‘Miss Emma Martin, the Governor of Calcutta’s only child, who recently arrived in London, was seen on the arm of the Duke of Sunderland’––in Hyde Park––in the Duchess of Gloucester’s drawing room––at the theatre––in Oxford Street.

‘She is stunning,’ it was said. ‘Quite remarkable.’ ‘Charming.” He laughed at that, Emerald, his siren of the sea, enchanting, enthralling––but charming? It implied a sweet nature. She was vibrant and glowing, not sweet.

There had been speculation about him in the papers for some weeks. There had been rumours; the will had been made public, but not that Fred had given him everything back. But as the interest in Emerald grew, the supposition about him waned.

By the second week her name became linked with other influential men, lords and politicians; she was taking London by storm even though she was still not attending parties or balls.

Envy cut him harder as he told himself to hold fast for one more week. But the interest she was arousing may help him. If he called on her more than once it would be assumed that she had caught his interest on the first occasion as she had snared everyone else’s.

To be continued…

The Marlow Intrigues: Perfect for lovers of period drama

The Tainted Love of a Captain #8 – The last book in the Marlow Intrigues series out in May and available to preorder

The Lost Love of Soldier ~ The Prequel #1 ~ A Christmas Elopement began it all

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan #2

The Passionate Love of a Rake #3

The Scandalous Love of a Duke #4

The Dangerous Love of a Rogue #5

The Jealous Love of a Scoundrel #5.5

The Persuasive Love of a Libertine #5.75 now included in Jealous Love, (or free if you can persuade Amazon to price match with Kobo ebooks)

The Secret Love of a Gentleman #6

The Reckless Love of an Heir #7

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the story of the real courtesan who inspired The Illicit Love of a Courtesan,
another free short story, about characters from book #2, A Lord’s Scandalous Love,
the prequel excerpts for book #3 The Scandalous Love of a Duke

Jane Lark is a writer of authentic, passionate and emotional Historical and New Adult Romance stories, and the author of a No.1 bestselling Historical Romance novel in America, ‘The Illicit Love of a Courtesan’.Click here to find out more about Jane’s books, and see Jane’s website www.janelark.co.uk to learn more about Jane. Or click ‘like’ on Jane’s Facebook page to see photo’s and learn historical facts from the Georgian, Regency and Victorian eras, which Jane publishes there. You can also follow Jane on twitter at @janelark

The Truth by Jane Lark ~ a free book exclusive to my blog ~ part fifty-three

The Truth

Posted as a gift of my time and thoughts to the readers of my books, thank you for the lovely messages of appreciation,

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this novel should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18 ,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33,34,35,36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52

Chapter Fifteen

Emerald

“Look at this Mr Coomb?”

Emerald looked up as the Duke of Sunderland threw his morning paper across the breakfast table. It landed before her uncle, folded back on a certain page.

“Wroxeter’s son is back,” the Duke said before Emerald’s uncle could begin reading. “The heir. Have you heard the tails of the prodigal son? My father knew old Wroxeter well, the son is an utter bounder? He disappeared when he came of age, letting the old man down. I’d just left Oxford myself. He’d attended Cambridge. My father had no regard for the son. He was a disappointment, he’d no manners nor morals. He was a constant trial to the old man and now he shall inherit. His father must be rolling over in the grave.”

The Duke looked at Emerald then. “The paper says he was in India, did you meet him there?”

“I have never met anyone called Mr Wroxeter.”

He gave her a smile that was indulgent and benevolent – and said he thought her foolish, young and naive. “Lord Wroxeter, and he is the Earl of Wroxeter now.”

She had never heard anyone speak of a man named Wroxeter in India, certainly she’d not known an Earl of Wroxeter. “I did not hear of him in Calcutta.”

“Well then, he cannot have been much in India, can he?” The Duke’s smile broadened. He was annoyingly subjective at times, and yet despite his habit of speaking to her as though she was a child to be taught, he was kind.

Since she had arrived in his home two days ago she had felt as though the world swayed as the ship had done – everything shifted unsteadily. These people were her relatives, they wore black armbands for her mother although they had never known her mother, and the Duke was supposed to be her fiancé. “We shall, of course, wait until the end of your mourning before anything is announced,” he had said. Emerald did not want anything to be announced ever; her whole heart longed for her father to come as Richard had thought he would, and save her from this – no matter that the Duke was kind.

Her aunt had taken Emerald’s purse and jewellery, the things that had belonged to her mother, and put them in a safe, and she was going shopping with Emerald today to buy black crepe to make dresses for Emerald to wear in her mourning.

“Indeed, Cousin,” her uncle said to the Duke, “Wroxeter sounds a very ill-mannered man.” He passed the newspaper back across the table.

“With the audacity to return the week after the old earl was buried, a vulture to pick over his bones. Still he’ll come back to little else but bricks and mortar the earl left everything un-entailed to his younger son.”

“And I am sure this Wroxeter fellow deserves that,” her uncle replied. He seemed to toady to the Duke, saying yes even if an answer ought to be no.

“Yes, certainly, he must deserve it,” her aunt added.

Emerald had noticed that her aunt and uncle constantly flattered the Duke.

Emerald set her knife and fork down. The action drew the Duke’s gaze back to her. “I think I shall go up and see the children. Would you excuse me?” Her mother had never mentioned to her that the Duke had been married before. His first wife had died in childbirth, while bearing twins, a boy and a girl. They were the most charming children. They were eight years old and full of life and laughter and their innocent enthusiasm had eased some of the pain in Emerald’s heart. Playing with the children cheered her as nothing else did.

The children had also made her think about the possibility that Richard had voiced, that inside her there might be a child of theirs. The idea of it had been growing like a planted seed. It ought to frighten her. But a part of her hoped for a child to distract her from the loss of her mother. But if that happened, she would not turn to Richard. He had said he would call here, she hoped he never did. Her father would come before any child of theirs arrived and he would know what to do.

“Stay with us a little longer,” The Duke urged. “I would like to talk to you.” He looked at her uncle, though. “Did you see, as I told you.” he continued their conversation. “He has been left with little beyond stone. The younger son has everything, portraits, porcelain, even down to the pots and pans in his kitchens.” The Duke laughed.

Her Uncle scoffed and clucked his tongue, agreeing with the Duke’s amusement, even though he had never met this man Wroxeter.

Emerald pushed her plate,away. She had begun to feel bilious. But she had hardly slept.

“Cousin? You look pale are you ill?” It was the Duke who asked.

She smiled, weakly. She was not really ill but heart sore.

“You are sad,” he said, presumably seeing it in her eyes. “I shall cheer you up. We will take the children to the park when you have returned from the shops. Open air and sunshine should do the trick?”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“We shall ensure you have something to wear immediately then,” her aunt said. “You cannot go abroad without your blacks, and you will need a black bonnet and parasol.” Her tone of voice seemed to make a great show of caring and desire to be a part in both the conversation and the Duke awareness.

“And then tomorrow, I think we ought to begin to prepare you,” the Duke stated.

“Prepare me?” Emerald leant back with surprise. “Why? For what?”

“To be a duchess, my dear,” her aunt said.

“But I thought -”

“You have so much to learn,” the Duke said. “You shall be in the society of the queen when we marry.”

That was what her mother had wanted, for Emerald to achieve the recognition due to her mother’s bloodline. That was what Emerald should think of, that being here was fulfilling her mother’s wishes.

She looked into the Duke’s blue eyes, and imagined brown eyes. He smiled. “What do I need to do?”

“You must practice dancing and deportment,” it was her aunt who spoke, “your singing, of course, and can you even play an instrument?”

Of course she had been taught an instrument, she had been taught all of those things. Her aunt spoke as though Emerald was feral. She had been brought up in India not raised by wolves. She would have said that answer aloud to Richard on the ship, here she kept is silent. “I play the harp.”

“Very well, you will show me and we shall see how suitably. You will be expected to entertain at smaller affairs.”

Emerald looked at the Duke and not her aunt, wondering what his thoughts were. He seemed to think her in need of being taught everything.

“Preparing will take your mind of the loss of your mother,” he said.

That was true. It would do that, and so she committed herself to practicing to be a respectable wife – even though she hoped to never become a wife. She would perform like a monkey in the market in Calcutta, or a puppet dancing on its strings, and practice everything, and hope her father came quickly.

***

A sticky warmth between her thighs made Emerald rise from the bed during the night.

She could tell it was blood.

“Rita,” Emerald whispered into the darkness.

Rita slept in a small bed in the room. Emerald had insisted they stayed close, even though her aunt had considered it an oddity.”Rita.” Emerald was afraid of stumbling into her.

“Miss, Emma…”

Emerald heard Rita sit up.

“I need rags. I am bleeding. Where are they?”

A few moments later the oil lantern was alight and Rita was finding out the rags that they had used on the ship and washed in water on the decks.

The last time that had been done she had not yet shared Richard’s bed. Her mother had died, her innocence had been lost, and she had arrived in a new country since she had last bled.

When she returned to the bed she curled up, bracing her knees, and once Rita had blown out the light and lain down, Emerald let silent tears fall, admitting to herself that she had wanted what Richard had offered, and she had wanted his child… But she could have neither thing. He had lied and the child was lost and now she was truly alone until her father came.