Lady Disguised -
A Tenacious Trents Novella
(Book 7)
Mr. Sebastian Stanwick
never intended to marry. It was bad enough that his father gambled away
everything they owned and then drank himself to death, leaving his mother
broken until she could not go on. But the death of his good friend at the hand
of the man’s wife only solidifies Stanwick’s decision to remain a bachelor.
Women were simply unpredictable and unstable if not taken care of properly.
Hélène Mirabelle wants
few things in life. One, is to perform on the stage, and the other, is to be
out from under the roof of her overbearing new family: Lord Bentley and the
Trent brothers. Since her mother’s recent passing, Hélène's desire to return to
Milan and the stage has only grown. A husband could never fit into the plans
because no decent man would take an actress as a wife.
One fateful night leaves
Hélène questioning if being an actress is the only thing she wants, while
Stanwick begins to wonder whether all women are truly prone to madness and if
they are, he may never get Hélène off of his mind.
December, 1814
“Yorkshire?” Hélène Mirabelle Trent glanced
around the parlor decorated in pale blue and gold in the Acker London
Townhouse.
“Yes,” her
sister-in-law, Elizabeth Trent, answered. “We are to leave at the end of the
week.”
“Why?”
“For
Christmas, of course.” Elizabeth smiled. “Because the roads are unpredictable
this time of year, we want to make sure we arrive before the twenty-third.”
Why must
they travel to Yorkshire? Hélène wanted a simple, quiet Christmas with just her
sisters and Maman, which was impossible.
Maman had been dead for five months after succumbing to consumption, and
Juliette, her older sister, was now married to Lord Acker. Neither she nor Hélène’s twin, Genviève,
lived with Juliette and Acker, but with their recently discovered half-brother,
the Earl of Bentley and his wife. Hélène
would prefer to live in the home on Henrietta Street in Covent Garden near the
theatres, but her brothers wouldn’t allow her to do so. The lot of them thought
it unseemly.
Hélène
hadn’t known her four half-brothers and half-sister even existed until seven
months ago, yet it hadn’t stopped the gentlemen from taking over and dictating
her life. At least Bentley and the
brothers were allowing her to stay with Juliette during their short visit in
London. She had missed Juliette terribly
over the last few months.
“My
grandfather insists my sister and I come home for Christmas this year,”
Elizabeth explained.
“I don’t
understand why we need to be there as well.”
Elizabeth
chuckled. “Because my husband now has his three brothers and four sisters with
whom to share the holiday. He has not had everyone before,” she explained.
“When he said as much to my grandfather, it was decided that the entire family
would go to Yorkshire for Christmas.”
Hélène
clenched her teeth and bit back a retort. She was highly tired of others
deciding what she would be doing, without once inquiring if she wished to
participate. She wasn’t a child, incapable of making her own decisions, and
hadn’t been treated as such for several years. Hélène wanted to tell them all
to go hang and she would do what she very well pleased.
Elizabeth
reached over and grasped Hélène’s hand. “There is an estate that borders
Grandfather’s and stands vacant. He was able to rent it through Twelfth Night,
and we will all stay there together.” She grinned. “As long as we are at the
castle during the day and early evening, Grandfather will be happy. As long as
we have the privacy of our own home, John is happy, which means I’m happy.”
John was the youngest of four brothers.
“Grandfather has also taken control of the
situation,” Elizabeth added.
Hélène knew
the particular situation in question
was sorting out how to let society know that her now-late father, the former
Earl of Bentley, had married and sired a daughter when he still had a wife who
was very much alive. He had let society believe she had been dead, along with
his daughter, for nearly twenty-two years. “I don’t know how His Grace can
change anything. It will be a scandal whether anyone likes it or not.”
“Grandfather is The Duke of Danby,” Elizabeth
reminded her. “He has more power than any of us like to acknowledge. If anyone
can defuse a situation, it is Grandfather. I can almost guarantee that when
spring arrives, nobody will dare shun anyone in the family. ”
Hopefully
the rented estate was large, and the castle even bigger.
“When
Twelfth Night has passed, we will return to London. While Bentley returns to
the manor, we will spend our days shopping and preparing you and Genviève for
your coming out,” Elizabeth announced.
Just the
thought of being presented to the ton as
if she were eight-and-ten was enough to make Hélène break out in a rash. She
was not a debutant and never had been, nor would she ever be, yet her brothers
would not accept that fact.
Hélène
wasn’t even sure she wanted to remain in London and knew she didn’t wish to go
to Yorkshire. She wanted to return to Milan where she could continue acting,
making costumes, and experimenting with different makeup and wigs. She belonged
in Milan. She had to find a way to come up with the funds to buy passage, rent
a room, and buy food until she could work again. And she needed to find the
money before the Season began.
“Good
afternoon, ladies,” Acker announced as he walked through the door with
Juliette.
Acker
thumbed through the post and dropped an envelope into the waste can.
“What is
that?” Juliette asked.
“Another
invitation to Dagger’s Haven.” Acker shook his head. “I don’t know why Stanwick
keeps sending me vouchers. I am already a member, though I don’t visit often.”
He smiled down at Juliette, who was apparently the cause of Acker not visiting
this particular establishment.
Dagger’s
Haven. It sounded slightly dangerous. “Is it a gaming hell?” Hélène asked.
Acker
nodded. “No cheating, no women, and Stanwick always comes out ahead.”
Mr. Sebastian Stanwick lifted a silent toast to his
departed friend, then tossed back the brandy.
It was a bloody shame Arrington was gone from this world at such a young
age and in such an inconceivable manner.
He reached behind his desk in the office of his gaming
hell, Dagger’s Haven, and grasped the bottle of brandy to refill his glass. The
shock of Lady Arrington killing her husband still lingered. He poured a large
amount of the warm, brown liquor into his glass and set the bottle aside before
taking a sip. One never knew what to expect from a woman. After all, they were
the more fragile of the genders. Heaven knew that their dispositions could
change with the wind, but to take a fire iron to one’s husband’s skull was
rather extreme.
Stanwick didn’t blame Lady Arrington for being angry.
Her husband had been dipping his wick in another woman, but to hit him over the
head with a fire iron? And she hadn’t stopped there; she’d hit him several more
times. At least, those were the rumors.
Had she beat him first and when he didn’t die, she
struck him in the head? Or had she struck him in the head first and then
proceed to beat his lifeless body until her anger was dispelled? Surely one
whack against the skull was quite enough.
Stanwick shuddered at the thought.
Regardless, it was a horrible way to die. There were
certainly less gruesome ways that Lady Arrington could have punished her
husband.
Stanwick leaned back, tipping the chair so it balanced
on the back two legs. He cradled the snifter of brandy as he tried to think of
a reasonable punishment. Denying him access to her bed would do no good since
he preferred another’s anyway. She didn’t hold the purse strings, so she
couldn’t cut him off.
He stared up at the ceiling. The candles cast a bright
light that dimmed into shadows, leaving half of the ceiling in near darkness.
There really were no ways a lady could punish her husband. A gentleman had many
options, such as denying her pin money, sending her to the country for life, or
refusing to spend time with her. Really, a gentleman’s options were endless. No
wonder ladies felt helpless in these matters. It might just explain much of
their behavior.
Stanwick righted the chair, the front legs hitting the
wooden floor with a thud. Women were unable to respond to uncomfortable
situations with a reasonable emotion, Lady Arrington being a perfect example.
Why didn’t gentlemen understand that women, as a whole, were delicate creatures
in mind and in body, and great care should be taken so they were not
distressed?
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk,
staring ahead at the closed door of his office. Were all women prone to madness
if not taken care of properly?
The thought gave him pause. It was a frightening
thought indeed, and all the more reason he was glad he never planned to marry.
The pact he’d made following Arrington’s funeral only solidified that vow.
Staring into the fire burning brightly behind the
grate, Stanwick relaxed in his chair again and took another sip of the brandy.
He had yet to witness a woman behave the same as another woman would in a
similar situation. Where Lady Arrington took a fire iron to her husband, his
mother had retreated into herself until she was only a shell of the woman he
had known as a child. After father lost everything they owned gambling he
turned to drink. That is what killed him in the end. It was a shame he didn’t
have the decency to die at home, but in his mistresses bed instead.
That had been
the fatal blow to mother. She had given up. Too humiliated to go into public
and too hurt to eat. His uncle, Earl Walcutt, did nothing to help mother, which
probably angered Sebastian more than his father’s activities. Uncle could have
easily seen that the debts were cleared, but did not feel they were his
responsibility. However, he made certain Stanwick got an education that would
rival any lord’s son but that was only because Stanwick was the heir. His uncle
had only daughters and it was unlikely there would be a son in the future.
Unfortunately, the neglect his uncle showed toward mother would be his
downfall. Never would Stanwick marry and he most certainly would not sire the
required heir. The title could go hang and disappear in to oblivion for all he
cared. His younger brother might do the necessary duty, but Stanwick was not
compelled to do so himself.
Besides, even if Stanwick felt the urge to procreate
and provide a future for the family, he didn’t want to be saddled with a wife.
There were too many instances where it do not go well for the husband.
The firelight reflected off the fire iron standing in
its holder as the flames danced. He had never thought of it as a deadly weapon
before, but it looked lethal from where Stanwick sat and nobody was even holding
it. Beside it was a glass case filled with a variety of weapons. He could use
the knives, swords, and guns with deadly accuracy, not that he ever had despite
the rumors. Stanwick simply kept them on display to discourage anyone who
thought to threaten him when called to the office to discuss gambling
debts.
Stanwick looked from the case, back to the fire iron,
and then to the small but heavy figurine of a child sitting at the corner of
his desk. It had been a favorite of his mother’s, yet even that innocent object
could be used to harm someone. In fact, almost any object could be used if the
lady was in the frame of mind to kill her husband.
Just the thought of some woman, upset and bordering on
madness, coming at him with a weapon sent a trickle of fear through him. If it
were a man, Stanwick wouldn’t hesitate to use his dagger, but he could never
physically harm a woman, no matter what she did. If he ever was the cause of
scarred or bruised skin, Stanwick wasn’t quite sure he could forgive himself.
He took a drink, and the liquid burned down his
throat, warming his belly.
If only women were more like men, life would be much
easier.
Stanwick finished his drink and placed the glass on
his desk. At least he was safe in Dagger’s Haven where no women were ever
allowed.
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