The Fall into Ruin, page 1
The Fall into Ruin
A Daughters of Disgrace Historical Romance
Bronwyn Stuart
The Fall into Ruin
Copyright© 2021 Bronwyn Stuart
EPUB Edition
The Tule Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Publication by Tule Publishing 2021
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-953647-27-6
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Author’s Note
The Daughters of Disgrace series
About the Author
Dedication
Only you can live your best life.
Don’t wait another moment for it to start…
Chapter One
It seemed a perfectly innocent night when Rose Clairmont discovered the truly shocking nature of London’s inhabitants and how quickly one could fall from grace. If one was at a place of grace to start with that is.
The sweet smell of spring lay heavy in the air, damp and intoxicating. She couldn’t help but breathe it all in as she waited in the dark behind a dense shrub in her parents’ garden. Nights like these weren’t meant for nefarious activities. It should have been pitch-black and stormy; the skirts of her ridiculous gown should have blown all about and perhaps rain would dampen her hair to cling, wet and cold to her cheeks.
Instead, the warm evening made for an even warmer ballroom crush. Despite the fact her very overdue come-out shouldn’t have even been at the bottom of the ton’s entertainments that night, her mother knew how to throw a party and it seemed all of London had turned out to sample the champagne, delicate pastries and fashionable sweet cakes.
The gown Rose had been stuffed into was suffocating and heavy, with layers and layers of white skirts trimmed with pale yellow ribbons and yards of puffy lace. Her mother’s attempts at hiding her youngest daughter’s ungainly figure resulted in an evening gown that very closely resembled the dramatically high meringue atop the lemon tarts on the refreshment table. She had heard mumbles of delight and groans of rapture over those tarts. Only groans of a painful nature and titters about the Earl of Clairmont’s poor, fat daughter had reached her ears even though she looked like one of those sweet dessert treats.
Society was, for the most part, an arsehole, she decided, not in the least bit ladylike in her mind.
But Rose did certainly appear to have sampled all of the sweet treats life had to offer. She felt so incredibly ridiculous. She felt hindered and closed-in. The only reason she had acquiesced to the ball at all was because her best friend was in trouble and had asked her to go to London to meet a secret contact. To pass along a note of the utmost importance.
All very exciting and very dangerous. Her heart soared.
Rose’s parents pressuring her to come to the capital where they spent most of the year had actually been well timed. Her brothers and sisters were there as well as most of the household staff. So many bodies under the one roof guaranteed she was ignored here as well. Rose’s figure, along with her inability to play the pianoforte or carry a tune, made her father wince each time he laid eyes upon her, which meant she had been able to remain at the estate in Dover with a handful of faithful retainers for years. After all, when one had four much older siblings, one could take pride in them and forget the youngest existed at all. She had thought she’d been forgotten entirely until that first summons came from her mother. By the time the third arrived, along with a threat from her father, she and her friend had come up with a plan of action but one of them had to travel to London to deliver the blasted note.
She wished she had stayed forgotten as she tried for the hundredth time to press down the layers of skirts so they didn’t appear so full. Her partner in crime had insisted the danger would be too high for a lady and that he should be the one to make the journey. But as a mere stable lad, he would be missed from the Ashmoor estate and the large village in between. Michael could hardly travel with her. He would be turned out without thought if her father or the Duke of Ashmoor suspected they were more than lady and servant. Far too many questions would be asked. Many more lies would need to be told.
Rose almost snorted. She was hardly a lady anyway. Not on the inside. Not even on the outside despite the gown and the party.
The breaking of a twig nearby and the crunch of gravel gave her hope that her part in the charade was almost upon her but then a door opened on the terrace above her hiding place. Light fell on the shrubs and flowers before her. The lilting sounds of a waltz met her ears, followed by the slamming of the door and then the quiet descended once again. But only for a moment.
She continued to hold her breath as heavy footfalls sounded a furious pacing. A curse was muttered only a short distance from her head but she couldn’t duck down any further, nor could she exit the area without being noticed. A sigh, another oath, more footsteps as the stranger seemed to head back towards the ballroom.
Rose wasn’t as terrified of being seen as she was of missing the contact she was to pass the letter to. Michael had told her the man was a member of the ton, a man not to ever be fully trusted, a man he sought to help them from the trouble that had found them back in Dover.
Breathing as quietly as she could, Rose peered into the darkness beyond the gravel path but whoever was there had been frightened away by the newcomer on the terrace above. Blast it all. She’d had only one chance and now it was gone. How could she go home to Hell’s Gate and explain to Michael that she had failed him? That she had also failed her people and practically opened the door for a wolf to stride on in without resistance. There was nothing else for it, she would have to go after the contact and run him to ground. Michael had trusted her and she was letting him down.
Climbing from beneath where the terrace jutted out from the main building, Rose had taken only one determined step when all at once her world came crashing down around her.
Literally.
Figuratively.
Painfully.
*
Anthony Germaine yowled in agony as he half hit the ground and half landed on something soft. He reached out for purchase, to stop from falling face first into the gravel even as he felt the bone in his foot crunch and give way beneath him.
The next sound to rent the still air was a tearing of fabric followed by feminine shrieks both from under and from above. He closed his eyes against the pain and rolled onto his back on the damp ground.
“Damn it all to hell,” he howled, unable to hold it in any longer.
Light reached his closed lids and at the sounds of the masses emerging onto the terrace where he’d sought refuge, he opened his eyes and groaned again.
Lady Ulverston stared down at him in horror, her brows high and her fan dangling from fingers held in front of her open mouth. Only, she didn’t really stare at him, more right above him.
Anthony tilted his head back, careless of his perfectly arranged hair, of his expensive tailored suit and highly shined boots. The sight that met his narrowed gaze made him want to howl again. All he could see were legs and skirts. Two slender legs encased in white hose disappearing beneath a mountain of pale, frothy skirts.
Like a turtle on her back, the unfortunate matron he’d knocked over in his haste to escape the ballroom, attempted to regain her feet but failed miserably. A blistering curse emerged from the pile of silks and ribbons.
Actual minutes passed before a few gentlemen ran down the stairs to assist the matron back to the standing position she’d been in before he’d so inelegantly crashed into her. All the assembled gentry seemed to be in a state of shock. But then the whispers began, turning into a torrent of fast-moving gossip intermingled with barely smothered laughter.
Anthony couldn’t move. Pain gripped him so even breathing became difficult. When the crowd fell silent with a collective gasp,
She turned away from their growing audience but not quickly enough.
How would he talk his way out of this one? He had snuck into the ball to confront the Earl of Clairmont regarding a position with the Bow Street Runners. A position he had been continually rejected for even though he had the right skill set for the job. The earl had threatened to have him tossed out before telling him what he really thought of him.
“I’m going to be completely honest with you now so that you might leave me the hell alone,” he’d said.
Anthony had gulped, his cheeks burning with anger, with despair. “Please do.”
“You may have saved the prince’s life. You may even have the best set of investigative skills England has ever known, but you will never get this position while I am in charge of the Runners. I don’t trust you. I don’t like you. Your father is a murderous pirate and your sister a wild hoyden, barely a woman and never a lady.”
Anthony had opened his mouth to dispute the charges as they were but found there wasn’t much to say to a man who, like so many before him, had already made his mind up about the son of a pirate first, a baron’s daughter second.
The earl wasn’t done. “I have been charged with the great honour of organising these men, of restoring some amount of law and dignity back to this city by apprehending criminals and seeing they hang for their crimes. You, sir, amount to a criminal. Your unfortunate start to life has tarred you with the same brush as every other villain in this city, and I will not besmirch the institution I am trying to build by naming you a Runner. Not today. Not ever.”
His dreams of rising above his birth, of making a difference, had been shattered by those cruel words. He was on his way out of the ballroom when he’d noticed the earl’s two eldest sons shadowing him. He’d bumped into a woman, which had sent her stumbling into a circle of yet more bejewelled viragos, all shooting glares at him. The commoner. The klutz. He’d heard their whispers.
Anthony had fled out onto the terrace and vaulted over the balustrade to escape what was surely going to be a beating from the brothers and a flaying from the granddames. He’d hide for a moment and then be on his way.
He hadn’t counted on anyone being below.
He hadn’t had enough time to think about it one way or another.
Who the bloody hell dithered in the garden at a ball, amongst the rosebushes of all places?
Anthony came to the wrong conclusions at the exact time the assembled guests did. They were partially hidden from anyone wandering the path and to make matters so much worse, the poor girl looked thoroughly ravished.
He was doomed.
Chapter Two
An odd wailing reached Rose as if from a great distance away. Her ears rang, her head ached and her chin felt the size of a child’s ball toy. Her hands hurt from the effort to hold her dress together over her chest where it had been torn when the oaf had fallen on her. She and he both knew it had been an accident. He’d fallen over the balustrade of the terrace at the exact moment she’d emerged from her hiding place. He’d tried to stay on his feet but his hand had shot out and gripped the first thing in its path, which happened to be her hideous gown. Unfortunately for her, she was very well endowed and now every inch of her bosom threatened to spill forth.
Not one gentleman offered her a coat or a lady her shawl. Did anyone even breathe? She willed someone to break the oppressive silence and save her. But no. Even the wailing had ceased.
“What the hell?” Finally, someone spoke above a gossiping whisper. Her father. He pushed through the crowd and she felt a spark of relief. Her father would save her.
“Rose Elmira Clairmont, what have you done?”
A sob threatened to escape her, which was ridiculous because she wasn’t a watering pot. She certainly wasn’t prone to sobbing. But she was very definitely in trouble. The last time her father had used all of her names in that tone she’d been ten years old with a penchant for hiding slimy frogs in chamber pots.
“Papa, there was an accident. Please let me explain.”
Her father turned away from her without even looking her in the eye. His attention lay on the groaning man who had ruined everything. “Germaine? What the hell is going on here?”
“I…I fell… She was in the wrong place,” he tried to tell the earl.
For a moment Rose almost felt sorry for the man. He was clearly in a lot of pain.
Lady Ulverston, Rose’s godmother and her mother’s oldest friend and mentor, harrumphed and then interrupted. “I think it is obvious what was going on, Henry. The poor girl has been sheltered for far too long and had her eye turned by the first beau to walk her way.”
Her father turned an impossible shade of purple while the crowd muttered and nodded as if it were the only explanation.
Rose surged forward to appeal to her father. “It isn’t like that at all. I don’t even know this man. I was taking a breath of air—”
“All the way down there?” Lady Ulverston enquired, cutting her off.
Rose threw her a glare but ignored her words and addressed her father again. Why wasn’t he listening to her? “It was warm inside; he fell on me. This isn’t what it looks like.”
Lady Ulverston tsked with her tongue. “It never is, m’dear; it never is.”
Why wasn’t she helping? Why did she make matters worse?
Her father motioned to her two brothers to pick up the injured man. “Perhaps we should take these discussions inside?”
The man suddenly became animated and tried to shake off her brothers’ hands. “I’ll leave of my own accord. Just give me a moment.”
Her father knelt before the stranger and spoke quietly in his ear but Rose was able to make out the words. “If you don’t come inside now, I’m going to call you out and put a bullet in you at dawn. Your choice, bastard.”
Rose’s gasp was loud enough to draw both men’s attention but she didn’t care. Just because she had lived in Dover practically on her own for years, didn’t mean she didn’t know where this situation was about to lead. She stamped her foot with growing frustration and then had to readjust her tenuous grip on her gown. “This was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. Let him go on his way and let us be done with it.”
No one seemed to be able to hear her words at all despite this particular tone of her voice working on almost everyone back at Hell’s Gate. Their audience returned to the ballroom with an excited hum in their conversations, ready to begin the spread of gossip the second their coaches could be called, perhaps even before that.
Anger finally began to make way through the cloud of confusion, but Rose bit down on it and instead watched as the stranger sat up on the dewy grass. He sent her a look that said he was sorry. Or perhaps he was sorry for himself to have fallen on her and not someone prettier or richer. She was no great heiress and right then, she must have looked an absolute fright.
He surprised her when he shrugged out of his evening coat and offered it to her. He was the only one there who had thought about her discomfort so far. She mumbled her thanks as she took it and turned her back to shrug it on without further shame. To her horror, it barely covered her chest and only just hid the ruined gown. Tears filled her eyes but she drew several deep breaths and willed them away. Stay strong, she told herself.
“Rose, go upstairs and change your gown while I deal with this…this…piece of pond scum.”
Her father couldn’t seriously think she wasn’t going to be present while they discussed her future, could he? For the last month she had appeared biddable, silent and perhaps a little slow to her family so they would forget her again and let her go back to the estate to fade into the background of their lives. How was she to make her point and keep up the charade?
