Page 1 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Cornwall, England

“F rederica? What are you doing?”

Frederica froze at her aunt, Honora’s voice. She waited a beat to see if Honora would find her then continued to tidy up the ashes from the loose fire.

“Frederica?” her aunt cried again.

Frederica kicked the fire screen back into place, brushed the ash off her skirt, then turned to greet her aunt who was now hastening in through the doorway.

Her rather eccentric aunt appeared, with her hooked nose lifted high and her hair pulled tight across her head. She was a strict soul; at least, that had been Frederica’s initial impression of her though after a year of living in Honora’s house, she saw her aunt rather differently.

“Were you cleaning again?” Honora raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips.

“No,” Frederica said in innocence. “Maybe a little,” she confessed, when Honora simply raised that eyebrow higher. “I like to help you, Aunt. You need some help in this house.” She reached behind her and adjusted the coal scuttle beside the fire.

“Hmm,” Honora murmured, not sounding convinced by the idea as she wrung her hands together.

Frederica was so grateful to Honora for her help this last year that offering a little help with the cleaning seemed like the very least she could do. One year ago, when Frederica had fled London with Charlotte’s help, she had managed to come to her aunt in Cornwall.

Honora, a distant aunt for she was really her father’s cousin, had offered to take Frederica in at once when she heard of her plight. Honora knew what it was like to have a scandal hanging over her head. She had suffered a similar scandal when she was young and had also fled to the countryside to escape the whispers.

Honora claimed to be happy as she was, but Frederica was not always convinced. She sensed some loneliness in her aunt and a need to have people with her. It would explain at least why Honora seemed to involve herself in every charitable thing that was passing in the local villages. It wasn’t just about helping others, but it gave her a sense of community, too.

“Enough cleaning. Come, come, there is something I need your help with.” Honora beckoned her out of the room.

Frederica followed her aunt into the adjoining drawing room, looking longingly back at the book she had been hoping to read though she knew she would have to abandon it now. As she entered the drawing room, she found herself being thrust into the nearest chair by her aunt.

A cup of tea was pressed into her hand then a slice of thick strawberry and cream cake was placed into the other.

“Eat up,” Honora urged though Frederica wondered how exactly she was supposed to eat when both of her hands were taken up with holding things. “Do you not like it?”

“Of course, I do. Thank you, Aunt,” Frederica said gushingly, trying her best to juggle the teacup and cake as she watched her aunt bustle around the room.

More cakes were quickly presented in front of Frederica, and she saw her aunt had catered for an entire party rather than just the two of them. With sadness, Frederica chewed slowly, wondering how much Honora longed to have guests to talk to.

“Now, tell me what you think of these.” Honora opened large white boxes which had been placed on an ottoman nearby. “I had them made by the village seamstress. There is to be an assembly at the end of the month and a gathering for our charity work in the spring. What do you think?”

She held up the first gown to her shoulders. It was very pretty with an excessive number of ruffles.

“I think —”

“Maybe there are too many ruffles. Yes, you’re right. How about this one instead?” She picked up a sage green gown and held that up to her shoulders.

“It’s —”

“Too green? Hmm, perhaps you’re right about that too.” As Honora rifled through the gowns, Frederica tried to hide her laughter by taking another bite of cake.

It charmed her to see how often Honora would long for her conversation then talk over her in her excitement and not really notice that Frederica hadn’t said anything at all. Frederica wouldn’t change her aunt for all the world.

It was pleasant to have someone so excited about her company. It was in sharp contrast to the parents Frederica had left behind.

She couldn’t even concentrate on the next dress Honora held to her shoulders as she thought of her parents.

Since the night she had fled her parents’ house, she hadn’t been back home, and they had not searched for her here. Plainly, her father either thought she wouldn’t travel all the way to Cornwall, or he thought so ill of his own cousin, he did not consider for a minute that Frederica would wish to see her.

Whatever the reason for not searching this house, Frederica was grateful for it. Her home with Honora was a warm and pleasant one, even if it meant missing two people she longed to see most desperately — Dorothy and Charlotte.

In her time here, Charlotte had managed to visit her once, and Dorothy wrote to her most weeks, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them all the time in London.

I miss them.

“I think this one would suit you much more, Frederica.” Honora’s words broke through Frederica’s thoughts.

With her mouth around a bite of cake, she couldn’t answer her aunt as Honora swept toward her. Instead, Honora swept the cup and plate out of her hands then dragged Frederica to stand.

“What are you doing?” Frederica struggled to ask around her mouthful of cake.

“It should be yours, dear.” Honora turned Frederica to the window that she was using like a mirror and held the gown in front of her. “What do you think? It suits you, doesn’t it?”

The cotton was the palest of pinks, offering a soft hint of color without being overly strong. It was a beautiful dress indeed, and because of Frederica’s soft complexion, it complimented her blue eyes and her light brown hair very well indeed.

“You shall have it.”

“Aunt, I could not. You have paid for it for yourself.”

“And I wish you to have it.” Honora insisted, thrusting it toward Frederica when she tried to hand it back. “You live off such a small amount here. It’s right you should have a treat.”

“Aunt, that is very kind indeed. Thank you.”

Honora blushed warmly. She turned away to look at the dresses again though clearly her attention was caught by someone beyond the window.

“Oh, it looks like we have some letters today.”

Frederica didn’t pay attention. She returned to her seat, admiring the pink gown.

It was unlike anything her parents would have purchased for her. They would have chosen the most fashionable dress, one that may have even been too revealing. Frederica liked this dress so much in comparison that she sat there smiling at it quite ridiculously.

“A letter for Lady Frederica,” the butler’s voice made Frederica stiffen.

She looked up as the butler walked into the room. He handed the letter straight to Frederica.

She wasn’t sure if it was the handwriting or the scent she noticed first. It was not Dorothy’s or Charlotte’s handwriting which meant someone else knew she was here.

“Pungent,” she whispered as the butler returned to the doorway. The cologne on the letter made her gag as it had done so many times before.

In an instant, she could have been back, trapped in that library as Lord Wetherington moved toward her, trying to force a kiss from her. Her hand shook around the letter.

“Could it be from your parents?” Honora asked, clearly sensing Frederica’s unease.

“The messenger did not leave the name of a sender,” the butler explained.

Honora thanked him one last time then he left the room. As the door closed behind him, Honora scurried so fast toward Frederica that she was in danger of tripping on the hem of her gown.

“I know this scent,” she whispered to her aunt, certain by the wide-eyed look on Honora’s face that she could sense Frederica’s fear.

“Is it him?” Honora asked. When Frederica didn’t answer, she nodded. “So, it’s him. Maybe do not open it, dear —”

Yet Frederica could not hold back. If Lord Wetherington had discovered her hiding place, then she had to know.

She tore open the back of the letter and unfurled it with her trembling hands. Her eyes shot down the letter, taking in every word as, at her shoulder, Honora stood reading too.

My dearest Frederica,

Did you think you could hide from me forever? Did you think that I would never discover where you have hidden yourself away?

Love can travel great distances. Even down to Cornwall and into cottages. It will not divide us.

Do you not see yet, Frederica? Do you not see how we are meant to be together? How you belong back here in London at my side?

“This is disgustingly possessive,” Honora suddenly snapped. Frederica nodded heartily in agreement though she couldn’t muster any words as she continued down the note.

You leave me with one last course of action. I miss you so much that I must act for fear of being driven mad without you here. Frederica… come to London. You must reveal yourself and come to me. Only then will all be as it should.

If you do not do this, you will leave me no choice but to take action.

I understand your friend, Her Grace, Dorothy Weston, Duchess of Stotbury, is much in town at present. A happy wife and mother to two children, imagine how they would feel if something were to happen to her?

“Surely he does not mean to hurt her,” Honora cried, trying to take the letter in her shock, but Frederica held on hard.

I am not a cruel man, my dearest, but my hands are tied in this matter. We are meant to be together, and if you do not return to London, then I must act.

Come to me, and all will be well. If not, then I shall have to keep a close eye on your friend, the Duchess of Stotbury.

Your true love,

Morgan.

“It’s him?” Honora asked shakily.

“It’s him,” Frederica said, a lump forming in her throat. “Morgan Blackwood, the Viscount Wetherington. Oh, God.” Suddenly, she was on her feet, discarding the letter. “Aunt, this is awful. If I do not return to London, he will hurt her —”

“Calm yourself, dear.” Honora placed her hands on Frederica’s shoulders. “This is only a ploy. He cannot mean anything by it. He knows where you are, and yet he has not come to the house to claim you, has he? He has instead sent a letter to make you come to him.”

“He is that selfish and demanding.”

“It shows this is a trick, a ploy, just words. He would not hurt your friend; I am certain of it.”

Frederica was not so certain though. Unlike her aunt, she knew Lord Wetherington. She had seen time and time again his sense of entitlement. He would have been horrified by the idea of coming to her door and knocking it down to retrieve her, for it would have made him look pitiful.

No, he wanted things in reverse. He wanted Frederica to turn up at his door and beg for him to have her as his bride.

I will not give him the satisfaction though what else am I to do?

“He could hurt her,” Frederica said, shaking all over. “Dorothy is one of my dearest friends in this world. I cannot let anything happen to her.”

“Then write to her and put her on her guard,” Honora said hurriedly, “but you do not need to return to London, Frederica. This man is all words. He does not have the gumption for action in him.”

Yet Frederica knew her aunt was wrong. Had he not tried to force Frederica to kiss him that night in the library?

He is a man capable of vast action indeed.

* * *

That night, Frederica could not sleep. She kept trying. She laid her head down on the pillow frequently, but each time she closed her eyes, she saw Dorothy.

She saw her friend dancing at a ball in her husband’s arms, Stephen Weston, the Duke of Stotbury. Frederica saw how happy they were together then she saw too just how happy the two of them were with their children. Those two children, a boy and a girl, were the light of their lives.

The thought of those children seeing their mother hurt — the tears, the fear — was too much for Frederica.

Sometime after midnight, she flung the blankets off her body and stood in her chemise. She moved to the window and stared out at the rain lashing the glass.

It would hardly be the first time she had run away in the dead of night in the rain. Now, it was necessary for a second time.

If she sent a letter to Dorothy, it would take a long time to get there and even longer for a reply to come back to Frederica. She also knew her friend very well. She loved Dorothy dearly, but she knew she was a stubborn woman. Dorothy would probably laugh off the propensity for any man to come and hurt her.

I must warn her in person. I must make her realize that this threat is very real indeed.

Frederica hurried to change. The few gowns she had, she gathered together in a case then she took the pale pink gown which Honora had gifted her, too, running the cotton through her fingers lovingly for a minute.

As she crept down the stairs with her bag in her hands, she listened for sounds through the cottage, but there was nothing. No floorboard moved, and no wind whistled through open doors.

Downstairs, she took the opportunity to use her aunt’s writing bureau where she wrote her a note. She explained why she had to go, what she intended to do, and pleaded with her aunt not to worry. The final paragraph she was certain would stay with her for some time.

I cannot thank you enough for the home you have given me this last year. It was a beautiful home, a happy home, but I cannot stay hidden and risk someone else being hurt because of me. It’s time to act, Aunt. It’s time for me to come out of hiding. I shall write to you soon.

With love, Frederica.

Then she put down the quill and reached for the door. As she stepped out into the rain, intending to walk to the nearest village and take a stagecoach up to London, she muttered words under her breath.

“I’ll keep you safe, Dorothy. Maybe I’ll have to do this alone, but I will not let that man win.”