Scandal's Daughter

  Scandal's Daughter

  By Emma V. Leech

  ****

  Published by: Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2017

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN: B06ZY9PMNW

  ISBN-13: 978-1545392409

  ISBN-10: 1545392404

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred. The Earl of Falmouth was a real person and the family and the house still exist, however this is a work of fiction

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 860

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1181

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech300

  About the Author301

  Acknowledgements303

  Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;

  It is the reflex of our earthly frame,

  That takes its meaning from the nobler part,

  And but translates the language of the heart.

  Desire by Samuel Coleridge

  Prologue

  Eton. Windsor. England. September 1798.

  To Sebastian Grenville, newly The Duke of Sindalton, this year had been the most miserable and painful of his short life. A life that had now been subject to further upheaval by getting sent away from his home to school at Eton. At twelve years old he had lost his charismatic father in a scandal that had rocked the ton to their foundations; and now everything he knew, everything that was dear to him and familiar, was gone.

  That was bad enough, but coming from a home where he was cherished and feted as the heir to the dukedom to a cold and unwelcoming place was almost more than he could bear. He was regarded with a mixture of appalled awe and disgust in the light of his father's actions.

  A previously loquacious and confident boy, in a matter of months he had turned inwards, lost a vast amount of weight - making him gangly and awkward - and most mortifying of all, developed a stutter.

  The bullying had been as inevitable as it was terrifying and it was with a resigned and fateful air that he watched Lord Robert 'Boko' Bexley's fat fist swing back to 'draw his cork' with a fateful punch.

  The hand trembled in mid air for a brief moment before losing its momentum, but this was curious rather than relieving to one who had lost any interest in life or the effort of living it. It was also strange to see the dawning look of anxiety on Boko Bexley's face, as a bored and cut glass voice drawled behind him, "I really shouldn't do that if I were you."

  Boko was a ruddy faced, square-jawed boy who naturally excelled at sports but could barely add two and two without the help of his blunt, stubby digits. That being the case, coming face to face with the deadliest tongue in the entire school was not something the little Lord entered into lightly. The Marquis of Beaumont was also in his first year but his fame had already been established long before he set foot on Eton's hallowed grounds. His reputation was that of having a fast pair of fists and a way with words that could shred a boy many years older to devastating effect.

  Sebastian turned his head, which was not as easy as it sounded with Boko's meaty left hand wrapped around his throat, while his face awaited the attentions of his right. Although he'd heard of the Marquis, as had the whole damn school, this was the first time Sebastian had laid eyes on him. His own dark brown eyes met those of a startling, if rather icy, blue. A mop of thick blond hair crowned the most angelic face that had ever graced the visage of a twelve year old boy.

  "This is none of your affair, Beau," Boko said, his voice full of righteous indignation and just the hint of a whine.

  "Not so," Beau replied, his demeanour one of someone bearing bad news. "You see, I've decided it is, and so ... there you have it." The angelic countenance confronted Boko's scowling, mulish expression as Beau gave an apologetic shrug, apologetic because the only way for Boko to now save face was to fight Beau.

  Ten minutes later and Boko was being supported by his cronies as he stemmed the tide of a very bloody nose.

  "M-much obliged to you," stammered Sebastian, looking at his strange angel-faced saviour with something close to awe. "Though I don't understand w-why you s-should help me."

  A slight frown creased the saintly mien and the Marquis gave a shrug. "Neither do I," he replied. "I tend to act on a whim now and then, devil knows why." He grinned suddenly and Sebastian could see a lot more of the devil in his laughing eyes than the angel that innocent face might imply. "Besides," he added. "I was interested to meet someone whose father was as much a black-hearted scoundrel as mine still is."

  Sebastian gaped at him, unsure whether to be furious at the insult to his late father or shocked and impressed that he should speak of his own in such an insulting manner. He was saved from the trouble of figuring it out as Beau spoke again, amused by his dumbfounded expression. "Oh, come on. You're not going to tell me that if your father appeared to you from beyond the veil you wouldn't have a few choice words for him?"

  "W-well ... no," Sebastian replied somewhat doubtfully. Further discussion was halted, however, as the bell intoned sonorously over the quad.

  "Good God!" Beau exclaimed. "We're going to miss breakfast. Come on, I'm starving." And grasping Sebastian firmly by the hand he towed his new friend behind him, back into the school.

  Chapter 1

  "Wherein lifelong friends discuss the idiocy of the past and plan for the future."

  London. August 1816

  Sebastian remembered that fateful day, some seventeen years earlier, with a wry smile. He hadn't seen his closest friend for almost six months and was chagrined to find he'd missed the insolent fool. Beau could push his temper to the limit like no one else, never mincing his words or curbing his sharp tongue. But for Sebastian, who was at the receiving end of constant toadying and flattery in most every other quarter, it was as refreshing as it was
brutal.

  A slight scratching on the door made him aware of the presence of his butler, the redoubtable Biddle, who announced the Marquis as the man himself walked into the room.

  "Well, well," Sebastian drawled, lounging back in his chair and regarding Beau with amusement. "The return of the prodigal son."

  Beau lifted an eyebrow, his cool blue eyes amused. He turned to Sebastian, raising his hands in a beatific manner. "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."

  "Well that I do believe," Sebastian replied, snorting with amusement. "I'm only amazed you could remember the quote, you heathen."

  "Don't talk to me of heathens," Beau said in disgust, taking a seat and waving his hand to indicate Sebastian should get him a drink. "Six months! Six whole months in that God forsaken place. I was almost ready to cast myself in the river, I can tell you. And I'd have been damn sure to find myself one that was good and deep."

  "Ah yes," Sebastian said, grinning as he got to his feet to pour them both a drink. "And how is the estimable Lady Worth?"

  Beau scowled at him and took his proffered drink with a huff of annoyance. "Bearing in mind I've been in Scotland, for the sole reason of not knowing how Lady Worth is, I can't help but feel you are trying to annoy me."

  "As if I would," Sebastian murmured, returning to his seat. "Still, she lives at least, that much I do know. No more the worse for her plunge into the river Cam," he added, chuckling.

  Beau gave him a dark look. "It may seem amusing to you but I have suffered on account of that idiotic creature. I'm almost sorry the fool didn't realise the Cam is rarely more than three feet deep and tried the Thames instead. Though if she really intended to put a period to her life it's a wonder she didn't think to try it without a dozen of her admirers there to pull her out again."

  "Well, perhaps that will teach you to trifle with married ladies," Sebastian said, his tone chastising, though his eyes still danced with laughter. "So tell me," he continued, ignoring the look of disgust on his friend's face. "Are you getting the cut direct or do people still acknowledge you in the street?"

  Beau snorted and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Oh it seems as if I may have come through it well enough, though I've not seen my father yet," he added with a casual tone that didn't fool Sebastian for a moment. Beau's father was a cruel and malicious man who delighted in tormenting his only son and heir.

  "Are you going to?" Sebastian watched the shadow flit over Beau's face before he looked up, seeing Sebastian watching him.

  "Not if I can help it," he replied, the glimmer of a smile appearing. "Actually I was going to go down to Cornwall, Gower invited me, said you could come too by the way."

  "To Carn Brea?"

  Beau nodded. "He's promised entertainment," he added, grinning and downing the last of his drink in one large swallow

  Sebastian pursed his lips. He had a fair notion of their friend Lord Gower's entertainments and was discouraged to discover the idea bored him. In fact he had been aware for some time of a creeping sense of disquiet and dissatisfaction. Since his father's scandalous exploits he had become hardened to gossip but, besides a shocking and well-deserved reputation with the ladies, he rarely did anything to set tongues wagging too hard. He gambled moderately and rarely drank to excess. Unfortunately his friendship with Beau was such that he didn't need to. Beau was a scandal looking for a place to happen and Sebastian was tarnished by association.

  "Oh come on, Sin," Beau wheedled. "Don't say you won't. I've been devilish bored and it won't be the same if you don't come."

  Letting out a breath, Sebastian frowned and stared at Beau. "Oh very well, I could do with getting out of London, truth be told. Not that the weather looks very promising."

  "God no, it's bloody freezing, more like March than August though it was worse in the North I can tell you," Beau grumbled. "I was surprised to find you here actually. Thought I'd have to head out to that crumbling pile of yours to ferret you out."

  "It is not crumbling," Sebastian retorted, though he well knew Beau was baiting him. His interest and the amount of time he devoted to his estate was something that had always bewildered Beau who had begun referring to him as Farmer Grenville. "And I'm hiding from Mother," he admitted.

  "Ah," Beau nodded his understanding. "On about you getting riveted again I don't doubt."

  Sebastian acknowledged this with a grimace. He was well aware of what was due to his rank and his obligation to provide an heir. He had agreed over eighteen months ago that he should take a wife and soon. Agreeing to do the right thing and actually going through with it, however, were entirely different things. Now, however, everyone knew he was in the market for a wife and he was heartily sick of having every eligible young woman thrust in his face at every turn.

  The sight of another simpering miss batting her eyelashes at him in the hope of becoming his duchess was enough to turn his stomach and have him running for the hills. He had even gone so far as to compile a list of all the attributes necessary in his future spouse in the hope of making a sensible decision - something Beau had thought hilarious in the extreme. In Beau's absence, however, he had met the Comtesse de Lavelle and thrown the list away.

  What a beauty she had been, and not at all in the ordinary way. There had been an intelligence and a weight of experience in her eyes that belied her youth. But Celeste Lavelle was missing. He didn't believe for a moment the story that Lady Seymour had spread that she had gone to stay with family in France and guilt twisted in his stomach. There was something between her and Falmouth, he was sure of it. The foolish child was in love with him but a rake like the earl would never marry her. Sebastian had been struck with the chivalrous longing to save her, to protect her from her own folly, and all of his plans and lists had gone out of the window.

  In a move he now shuddered to remember he had sent Mrs Morris, Falmouth's glamorous mistress, to his London home to make a scene, a scene that Celeste would be unable to ignore. She would see just the kind of man Falmouth was and when Sebastian came the next day to make his offer of marriage, she would be moved to accept.

  But Mrs Morris had gone too far. She'd had her own score to settle with Falmouth and settle it she had. When Sebastian had arrived the next day he had been greeted with frigid politeness by Falmouth's sister in law and given the news that Celeste was not at home. When she continued not to be at home for another ten days and rumours began to circulate he had forced Mrs Morris to tell him everything. His anger had been something to behold.

  "Penny for them," Beau demanded, forcing him out of his reverie.

  He shook his head.

  "Still no news of your French fancy then?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked.

  Sebastian scowled and shook his head. Beau had an uncanny habit of knowing what he was thinking. He should never have told him about Celeste but the guilt of his actions had been eating away at him and he'd needed to unburden himself. Beau, as ever was a good sounding board.

  "What about Mrs Morris?" his friend asked, curiosity glittering in those cold blue eyes. "Are you still her protector?"

  "After what she did?" Sebastian replied in disgust. He shook his head and traced the pattern on the crystal glass he held with one long finger. "I think not. Why?" he asked, looking up. "Are you interested?"

  "Good God no." Beau grimaced and flicked a piece of lint from the sleeve of his perfectly tailored jacket. A ready buttered bun has never been to my taste," he murmured, a flash of malice in his eyes.

  "Vulgar, Beau," Sebastian said, his tone reproving. "Vulgar."

  Beau laughed, perfectly unrepentant.

  "So as we speak how many lonely Scottish ladies are languishing with broken hearts or throwing themselves off bridges now you have left them alone, pray tell?" Sebastian asked, turning the conversation back to Beau.

  His friend raised one haughty eyebrow. "A quite respectable number I'm sure," he replied with utter seriousness.

  For a moment Seba
stian was appalled by Beau's apparent lack of regard for the women he dallied with. It was something he had always had a problem with, how Beau, who was such a loyal friend and capable of quite humbling, if capricious, acts of kindness, could be such a brute where women were concerned. "She's ruined, you know," he said, watching Beau's face for any trace of regret or guilt. He found none.

  "Well that's what you get for throwing yourself off a bridge in front of a dozen or more spectators," he said in disgust. "When I think of the pains I took to be discreet ... and it's not the slightest bit of use looking at me with such reproach. It's not like I seduced an innocent. Idiotic woman, she well knew there was nothing serious in it."

  "You don't always choose who you fall in love with, Beau."

  "Love?" Beau replied, his face incredulous. "She didn't love me. You know as well as I do a woman like that doesn't love anything more than your title and your purse."

  Sebastian was shocked by the vitriol of his words, not that he could contradict him. He'd learnt at a very young age the truth of it and shut his true feelings far away, though perhaps not quite as far as Beau had managed. Celeste had reminded him that it was possible for him to feel, though he had no illusions about being in love with the girl. They had only met a handful of times, but it had reminded him that he was flesh and blood and that his feelings were still there, dormant, but not dead.

  "Well then, it's agreed," Beau said, returning to the earlier point of their conversation. "We'll head down to Gower's in the morning, yes?"

  Sebastian nodded. "I'll pick you up at eight, do not keep me waiting," he warned, giving him a fierce look from under thick dark brows.

  Beau rolled his eyes. "Why do we have to leave at such an ungodly hour of the morning?"

  "Because I say so."

  "Yes, your Grace," Beau replied, giving a rather impressive imitation of Biddle.

  Sebastian grinned. "Quite so. But mind we keep off Falmouth's estate. It borders Gower's if I remember rightly, and I doubt he'll be glad to see me."