Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid (24 page)

“Give me your carriage and let us leave,” said Cantwell.  “I’ll
release her somewhere up the road.”

“You’re not leaving here with my family,” said Ned.

Cantwell narrowed his eyes.  “Like you’d care that much
about your whore and your bastard.”

Just then, Jane pulled the pins out of her pocket and
reached back to jam them in Cantwell’s eye.  She was only partially successful,
but Vi used the distraction to hit Cantwell on the back of his knees with the
branch.  Jane pulled Vi to safety just as Ned stood over Cantwell with his gun
aimed at his chest.  He pulled the hammer back. 

“Ned, no!”  said Jane.

Ned wanted nothing more than to kill the bastard, but as he looked
at his child standing so close, he knocked Cantwell unconscious with a fist to
the jaw instead.

Just then a second carriage pulled up bearing the Lynwood
crest.

Lynwood, Arthur and Hal jumped out.  All armed.  All ready
to do what was needed.  Stapleton enlisted their help in tying up the brigands
as he filled them in on what had happened.

Ned turned and pulled Jane and Vi into his arms.

“Papa!” his daughter said crying, as she buried her face in
his neck.

He looked at Jane, surprised, then held Vi even closer.

“My girl,” he said. “My daughter.  I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” her muffled voice said.  “And Mama.”

“I love Mama, too,” said Ned.  “With my very soul.”

*                    *                    *                               

Stapleton, Fisk and Lynwood used the rented carriage to
escort Cantwell, the coachman and the other accomplice to the next town, which
had a very secure jail.  Runners from Bow Street would be sent to escort them
to Newgate.  They left Sully in town with money to take the post chaise
wherever he wanted to go, strongly suggesting this would be a good time to give
up a life of crime.  He’d overheard them at the coaching inn where he’d gone to
rent the carriage.  He realized he could help the little girl who reminded him
so much of his daughter, so he’d gone along with their plan. 

After disposing of the brigands, and picking up Arthur, Hal
and Rigg on the way back, it was a cramped trip back to town.  It was the first
time Lynwood had ever traveled by hired carriage, a third-rate one at that.  He
vowed it would also be his last.

Ned, Jane and Vi took the Lynwood carriage back to London. 
He held his wife-to-be and their daughter for the entire trip.  Vi tried to
fill him in on every minute of her life he’d missed and he enjoyed each and
every story.  He also looked forward to living the rest of her experiences with
her.

And as Vi finally fell asleep, and Ned held her and her
mother close, he realized everything he truly needed was with him now.

It was a very good feeling indeed.

EPILOGUE

Vi had been elated to learn her beloved Ned was actually her
papa.  But it was only later that day when they returned to Lynwood House that
she realized she didn’t just have a new papa.  She also had an Uncle Liam, an
Uncle Arthur, an Uncle Hal and an Aunt Lizzie.  They told her she also had a
Great Aunt Agatha, but since no one was that excited about it, she felt it’d be
all right to wait and meet her later.

The wedding of Lord Edward Kellington to Miss Jane Wetherby
was held in London.  While both bride and groom would’ve preferred a smaller
affair in Marston Vale with the local vicar presiding, Lynwood felt it best to
show support for his sister-in-law in front of the
ton
, in the most
public way possible.  Likewise, Lynwood made it a point to go driving with his
niece in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour every day for two weeks.  He
called it his supreme sacrifice.  Not because he didn’t enjoy Vi; he very much
did.  It was that mass of humanity he met during those drives – the matchmaking
mamas, simpering debutantes and scheming matrons – that made the experience
insufferable.

Ned and Jane decided to return to Marston Vale so she could
resume her surgery practice.  The members of the local gentry who’d once cut
her, embraced the new couple with open arms and made it known that they hoped
his grace would soon visit the country.  For their part, Ned and Jane were
polite to everyone, but the friends they enjoyed being with were the people
who’d been kind to Jane all along.

Madeleine Merriman found an earl to marry.  A 52-year-old
earl to be exact.  With gout.  And very little hair other than in his ears.

Vi finally made a solemn promise to her parents that she’d
stop wandering off and that when told to run, she’d do just that.  It remained
to be seen if she’d ever keep those vows.

Father and daughter, accompanied by the dog that they’d
finally named Merry Man – in recognition of the family that had inadvertently
brought them together – enjoyed exploring the woods around their house.  And Ned
still climbed the occasional tree to try and roust Titania.

He was in one of those trees a few months after they were
married, when Vi asked her mother if she would ever have a baby brother or
sister.  Jane hugged her daughter and said that, yes, she’d have one in about
six months.

That made Ned fall out of a tree, again.  Fortunately, he
was only a tiny bit bruised as he held his wife and daughter in his arms and
wondered why it was that he was the luckiest man who ever lived.

*                    *                    *

Not long after Ned and Jane’s wedding, Sergeant Fisk
answered an urgent summons from Lizzie to attend her at Kellington House. 
Fortunately, he had the morning off from his new job at Bow Street.  As he
entered the house, a girl arrived from Minsberg Millinery. 

Apparently, Lady Elizabeth Kellington – daughter and sister
of dukes – had demanded that this particular shop assistant, Miss Clara Jones,
deliver 100 hat pins immediately, then stay until each and every one was
counted.  Miss Jones was only too happy to oblige, because she was very
sweet-natured and had always been a favorite of Lizzie’s.  Petite, blonde
haired and blue eyed, she had only one imperfection, a pronounced limp.

When Lizzie claimed fatigue would prevent her from counting
the pins, she enlisted Sergeant Fisk’s help in ensuring her purchase was
intact.  Then she sent Heskiss in with tea to facilitate the counting.  Then
she told Lynwood to call for his carriage, so Fisk could escort Miss Jones back
to the shop.

And the rest, they say, was history.

“Good God, woman, what did you do to poor Fisk?” asked
Arthur a few weeks later when they heard of the Sergeant’s engagement.  “You
pushed him into parson’s mousetrap right as the man was getting his life in
order.”

“I can do the same for you,” said Lizzie, “if you’d only let
me.”

“I have no intention of getting married for a good many
years, if ever.  You have my word on it.”

“Oh, Arthur,” said Lizzie, shaking her head wearily.  “Never
make a promise you can’t keep.  It’s simply not the Kellington way.”

Don’t miss the next installment in the Kellington family
saga.  Here’s a sneak peek at Lizzie’s story, coming in Fall 2011.

CHAPTER ONE

London, July 1822

Not for the first time did Lady Elizabeth Kellington
consider how much easier it was to be a man than a woman.  A man wouldn’t have
to suffer with a corset and petticoats on an unusually hot summer day, stuck in
the stuffy study of his even stuffier eldest brother the Duke of Lynwood. 
Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  Each of her older brothers, Ned, Arthur and
Hal, had spent time cooling their heels while waiting for Lynwood to berate
them for some transgression or another.  But none of them had done it while
wearing stays.

At least Lizzie assumed they hadn’t.

And none of them had ever been in trouble for such a mild
offense.  Hal was often called on the carpet for his time spent drinking and
whoring – not that Lizzie was supposed to know about such things.  Arthur had a
tendency to lose too much money gaming.  And just a few months ago, Ned was
told to attend to an understanding he’d had since birth with a most unpleasant
chit.  Fortunately for all concerned, he’d found a way to end his association
with that shrew and marry the wonderful Jane, who just happened to be the
mother of his six-year-old daughter Vi.

And that was the way of the world.  Men got to drink, whore,
gamble and father children out-of-wedlock.  All she did was get involved just
the tiniest bit in politics and it was as if she’d run naked through Hyde
Park.  Of course, that would be one way to be rid of the accursed corset.

The door opened and Lynwood entered the room.  Slightly over
six feet tall, with black hair, blue eyes and a nose that had been broken at
least once, William Kellington, Duke of Lynwood looked every inch the powerful
aristocrat.  Dedicated to his three brothers and only sister, Lynwood had been
head of the family since the death of their parents more than a decade
earlier.  He was stern but fair and, unfortunately for Lizzie, had an uncanny
ability to know when someone wasn’t being completely truthful.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” he said, as he took a
seat at his desk opposite her.

“I suppose it may have something to do with my political
activities.”

Lynwood leaned back in his chair.  “I thought we’d come to
an agreement.  I would allow you to attend a few meetings, well chaperoned by
Aunt Prue and Miss Mariah, and you would remain quietly in the background.”

“Which is exactly what I did.”

“Am I to understand then,” said Lynwood, as his gaze
penetrated hers, “that you were as quiet as the proverbial church mouse,
sitting docilely in the background, not making your views known to anyone?”

“I’m sure I don’t appreciate being compared to a rodent, but
yes, I was quiet.”

“So you didn’t, perchance, make yourself known to the ladies
around you?”

Lizzie sat up straighter.  “I am the daughter and sister of
dukes, Liam.  I hardly need to make myself known to anyone.”

“And as the properly raised daughter and sister of dukes,
you do know that society frowns upon political agitation by ladies, don’t you?”

She hated it when he took on that insufferable tone.  She
narrowed her eyes at him in response.  “I would hardly call the meetings ‘agitation.’ 
They serve tea, for Heaven’s sake.”

“What about when the participants call for property rights
for women, easier access to divorce for wives who’ve suffered physical abuse at
the hands of their husbands and – of all preposterous notions – giving women
the vote?”

Inwardly, Lizzie froze.  There’s no way he could possibly
know, could he?  Even a man as well connected as her brother couldn’t have
obtained a copy of her treatise.  Outwardly, she smiled and brazened it out.

“One day we will vote, you know.  Women shall run for office
and there’ll even be a female Prime Minister.”

“Heaven forefend.  That sounds like something only the
savage Americans would dream up.” 

Lynwood sat back in his chair looking for all the world like
a hanging judge.  But more severe.   He continued.  “I don’t need to tell you
that espousing such ideas here wouldn’t just be dangerous.  It’d lead to social
ostracism.”

“Even if I were to do such a thing, do you really think
anyone would dare to cut me?”  Lizzie watched her brother’s left eyebrow rise,
then matched it with one of her own.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed
to meet Rosalind.  I promise we’ll speak only of ribbons, balls and
embroidery.  Unless you think even those subjects too controversial, then we’ll
simply sit and become the empty-headed chits so clearly preferred by nincompoop
men.”

Lizzie got up to make her escape, then noticed Lynwood open
a drawer and pull out a sheaf of papers.  Her sheaf of papers.  It couldn’t
possibly be. 

“This nincompoop man,” said Lynwood, “made a very
interesting discovery today.  I found a copy of ‘Toward the Enlightenment of
England: A Treatise for the Reformation of Property Rights, the Rights of Women
in Marriage and Universal Suffrage.’  And if that title didn’t whet a person’s
curiosity sufficiently enough, the next line certainly would.  Because it seems
that the treatise was written by Lady Elizabeth Kellington.”

He tossed the pamphlet on the desk.  He was as displeased as
Lizzie had ever seen him.   He wasn’t yelling, which he used to do with some
frequency when she and her other brothers had gotten into fights growing up.  This
was worse.  Much worse.  He was quiet.  Precise.  And frighteningly calm.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“I have my sources.”

“Aunt Prue?”

“Of course not.  She’d never show you such disloyalty,
although I wish in this instance she’d used a bit more common sense.”

Aunt Prue was their maternal aunt and devoted to the
Kellingtons.  She and her companion, Mariah Campbell, served as Lizzie’s
chaperones when needed.

“You mustn’t blame Aunt Prue.  She thought I was going to
publish anonymously.  Where did you get that?”

“Why is it so important to know how I obtained it?”  He
flicked the treatise away from him as if it gave off an odor.

“It just is.”  Lizzie picked up the papers.  She leafed
through them until she found what she was looking for, then smiled in relief.

Lynwood, adept at recognizing the danger signs when it came
to his siblings, was instantly suspicious.  “Why are you smiling?” 

“You have an early copy.”

“There are more?” asked Lynwood, letting his composure slip
for the first time.

“I imagine by this time, there’ll be thousands more.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, as color leached from his
face.

“It’s in the news sheets.”

Lynwood rarely shouted.  He almost never lost control.  But
this time he did both.

“You’re telling me this was published?”

“Of course.  What good would it do to have it read by only
those who agreed with it?  You can’t change the world that way.”

Lynwood stormed past her and flung open the door. 

“Heskiss!  Being me the afternoon papers!”

A moment later, the long-time Lynwood House butler brought
in three newspapers.  Lynwood grabbed them. 

“Where’d you send it?” he demanded of Lizzie.

“Everywhere.  The Times refused to print it, being the
stodgy old twits they are, but the Examiner agreed to it.  And I believe the
Mayfair Express serialized it.  They were actually going to pay me.  But I knew
you certainly wouldn’t like that, so I turned down the money.  Do you think I
should’ve taken the blunt?  It might’ve been quite amusing.”

Lynwood flipped through the Examiner until he found what he
didn’t want to see.  Lizzie’s treatise.  And her name in bold letters.

The shock was profound.  And he was not a man easily
surprised. 

“You’ve gone too far this time,” he said, when he finally
found his voice.

“Oh come on, Liam.  I shall be fine.  I’m one-and-twenty and
I do have a brain in my head.”

“At times like this, I can doubt its existence,” he said,
putting aside the paper and looking at the sister he’d helped raise.  “This
will ruin you.   It’ll destroy your chance of making a good match.”

“You worry too much.  With my dowry, I could advocate giving
the vote to dogs and still make a decent enough match.”

As Lynwood looked at her, his anger receded and there was
real sadness in his eyes.

“No, poppet. You’re in trouble.  Serious trouble.  And I
don’t think you begin to know how much.”

Lizzie walked around the desk, then kissed her brother on
the cheek.  He could be an infuriating guardian, overbearing and annoying, but
she never doubted his love for her or the sacrifices he’d made from a young age
for the sake of the family.

“Thank you for worrying.  But I shall be fine.  You’ll see.”

Then Lizzie left the room, surprised she’d escaped the
punishment she’d felt sure Liam would dispense.

Lynwood watched her go, knowing she’d soon be punished more
than enough at the hands of the
ton
.  It was a terrible thing to know
you couldn’t always protect the ones you loved.  He just prayed she’d make it
through relatively unscathed.

*                    *                    *

She had the grace of a goddess, thought Marcus Redmond,
Marquis of Riverton, and not for the first time.  Lady Elizabeth Kellington,
Lizzie to her friends and family, of which he was truly neither, was a
goddess.  Taller than most women, she still only came up to his chin.  Black
hair, vibrant green eyes, and the ability to light up a room with her smile,
Lizzie Kellington was as close to perfect as any woman could be.  Well, she was
rather outspoken and tended to have some radical ideas, but Riverton had long
suspected those were simply the somewhat unpleasant byproducts of a mind that
was utterly brilliant for a woman.  And, to be honest, would stack up rather
nicely against a man’s.

Unfortunately, she was also the only sister of his best
friend.  Which meant she was strictly off limits. 

After coming out of Lynwood’s study, she’d passed by him,
stopping only long enough to exchange pleasantries.  She’d smelled of lemon and
freesia.  A lock of hair had fallen from its pin and she’d been perilously
close to having an eyelash drop into her right eye.  But he couldn’t warn her,
because she might’ve asked him to rescue the wayward lash.  And Riverton knew
he couldn’t risk any contact with her.  Because in his mind, there was no such
thing as innocent physical contact with Lizzie Kellington.        

So he’d kept his words to a minimum, even as he’d been
breathing in lemon and freesia and capturing all he saw in his mind’s eye.  One
day soon, she’d be married and gone from Kellington House and he’d torment
himself no further.  Although the thought of her given to another man was
certainly no comfort.

*               *               *

“I cannot properly countenance it,” said an astonished
Riverton moments later in Lynwood’s office, having just read Lizzie’s treatise
in the Examiner.  “The vote.  For women?”

“The vote.  Divorce.  Property rights.   The only thing
missing is a discussion of free love,” said Lynwood as he downed the rest of
his brandy.

Riverton sipped his brandy, trying hard to put the notion of
Lizzie’s possible views on free love out of his head.  And failing miserably. 
“You must admit, it’s quite well written.  She has a remarkable mind.”

Lynwood looked as if his closest friend had turned
Bedlamite.  “Remarkable mind?  She has ruined her future.  At the moment, I
wish she had the intelligence of porridge and the demeanor of one of those
docile misses the mamas are always shoving our way.  Those chits wouldn’t
create a disaster like this.  They wouldn’t have the faintest idea how.”

Riverton studied his drink.  “But if she were a docile miss
without a thought in her head, she wouldn’t be Lady Elizabeth.  Your sister has
a singular mind, an engaging personality, a joy for living.   While I question
her judgment in this case and disagree with her views, you cannot possibly wish
her to be anyone other than who she is.   A Lady Elizabeth without spirit would
be a great loss for us all.”

“You’re right,” said Lynwood.  “I would not wish her to be
other than herself.  But I fear for what will happen next.”

Riverton had no argument for that point because he knew the
course was never easy for anyone who strayed from society’s dictates.  Lady
Elizabeth Kellington was in serious trouble.  And she didn’t even know it.

*                    *                *

Lizzie was adjusting the angle of her new bonnet, when her
bed chamber door opened and Rosalind Carson walked in.  Rosalind was four and
twenty, with average height, average build and remarkably pretty eyes that were
too often obscured by spectacles.  They’d been best friends since Lizzie’s
come-out when Rosalind had helped her fight off a foxed lordling’s advances.

“I thought we were meeting at your house,” said Lizzie. 
“I’m sorry I’m late, but Lynwood insisted I listen to his lecture.”

“So he’s seen it?” asked an anxious Rosalind, as she took
Lizzie’s hands in hers.  “You didn’t tell me you were going to publish under
your own name.”

“But why wouldn’t I?”  Lizzie squeezed her friend’s hands,
then motioned to the settee.   “I worked quite hard on it.  And if my position
in society lends greater weight to the cause, why shouldn’t I use it?  Up to
this point, being a duke’s sister has made me a target for toadies and fortune
hunters.  It’s about time I got to use it for something good.  Do we have time
to go to Gunter’s?  I don’t want to be too late because we have the Tarlington
ball tonight and I can’t wait to wear my new gown.”

Rosalind worried her lower lip, before turning a beseeching
glance to Lizzie.  “I don’t think you should go to the ball.”

“Whyever not?”