The Devilish Trollop, page 1
The Devilish Trollop
Merry Farmer
THE DEVILISH TROLLOP
Copyright ©2019 by Merry Farmer
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This book 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 or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
ASIN: B07VQQ47QN
Paperback ISBN: 9781088888193
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Created with Vellum
For my ex-friend Felicity
It was good while it lasted
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Shropshire, England – Summer, 1816
Hadnall Heath was the most beautiful estate Miss Felicity Murdoch had ever seen. The grand house was as magnificent as a palace in her eyes. If everything her dear friend, Lady Caroline Herrington, had written to her that spring was true—and Felicity was certain Caro would never lie, even if she was a notorious novelist when she wasn’t fulfilling her duties as Rufus’s wife—the house contained over fifty bedrooms, four dining rooms, a dozen parlors of every description, a ballroom bigger than the modest home Felicity had grown up in, and not one, but two libraries.
“It is difficult to believe such grandeur is possible,” Felicity said absently to her chaperone, Mrs. Wallace, as she gazed out the window as their hired carriage made the approach.
“The grounds are nice,” Mrs. Wallace said, not quite able to soften her bullish voice or hide her middle-class accent. “Didn’t your Lady Herrington hire that famous Aegirian bloke, Count something, to redo the lot of it?”
“Count Fabian Camoni,” Felicity confirmed, glancing over her shoulder at the older woman with a slight frown.
She didn’t want a chaperone, but her father had heard that all well-heeled women attending house parties where match-making was part of the program had one. They were to keep young ladies in line and to advocate on their behalf for the most advantageous match. But her father had put almost no effort into finding the right chaperone for Felicity. He’d hired Mrs. Wallace based on the recommendation of one of his industrial friends, but without checking her references himself. Then again, the only thing that held any interest at all for John Murdoch were his mills and the money they made him. Felicity was merely his means to connect the family to aristocracy and legitimacy. She certainly wasn’t beloved in any way.
The thought was simply too morose for her to contemplate, so she turned back to the window. The carriage had just turned onto a gravel lane that led up to a courtyard that contained an elaborate terrace, which led to Hadnall Heath’s massive front door.
“I cannot wait to see my dear friends Eliza and Ophelia again,” she said with a sigh of longing. “Six months is far too long to be kept from one’s dearest companions.”
“Dearest companions, yes, hmm,” Mrs. Wallace said in a distracted voice.
She had the small purse Felicity’s father had given her out on her lap and was counting through the coins once more with a pleased grin. Felicity half hoped the woman would take the money and run, allowing her to enjoy the house party with her friends in peace.
Those hopes were dashed when Mrs. Wallace went on with, “Mind you, the whole point of being here is to marry a nob. I get an extra crown if I catch you a viscount, a whole pound if he’s an earl, and a blessed guinea if I nab you a marquess.”
Felicity turned back to Mrs. Wallace with narrowed eyes. “And what if you find me a duke?” she asked in a flat tone.
Mrs. Wallace snorted and waved the question away as if swatting a fly. “Your old pa don’t think that’s a possibility.”
Felicity huffed a breath, facing the window again as the carriage rolled to a stop. She couldn’t decide whether to be offended that her father didn’t think she was worthy of a duke or put out in general that he was spending his impressive fortune on incentives for Mrs. Wallace instead of financing the trip abroad that she so wanted to take.
The moment the carriage stopped fully, Felicity yanked the window down and reached for the handle to let herself out. The driver had barely hopped down to offer a hand by the time her feet hit the gravel. She didn’t stand around wasting time either. Caro stood on the middle terrace, her husband, Lord Rufus Herrington, at her side. Caro’s face lit up at the sight of Felicity tearing up the stairs to greet her with a hearty hug.
“Look at you,” Caro exclaimed, holding her at arm’s length after their embrace. “You look stunning. This odd summer hasn’t made a dent in your devilish smile.”
“I don’t care how unseasonably cold and wet it’s been,” Felicity said, her heart brimming over at last. “I’m here now, and nothing can dampen my spirits.”
Caro laughed, hugging Felicity again. “Tell that to my poor gardens. The incessant rain and frightening chill is wreaking havoc all over the countryside.”
“It will get better,” Felicity said, stepping back with a satisfied sigh. “Everything will be better now that we’re all together again.” She paused, biting her lip and glancing past Caro to the house. “Have Eliza and Ophelia arrived yet?”
“They have,” Caro told her with a broad smile. “Last I saw them, they were in the Spanish parlor, plotting one kind of mischief or another.”
“Thank heavens,” Felicity exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest in relief. “I’ve had a sad lack of mischief these last few months.”
She glanced back to the carriage, where the driver was helping Mrs. Wallace down. Both were having a hard time balancing the woman’s bulk as she twisted and hunched over her purse, as if she believed the driver would steal it right out of her hands.
Rufus must have seen Felicity’s wince. “You two go on ahead. I will stay behind to assist your chaperone—”
“Mrs. Wallace,” Felicity said, a groan in her voice.
“—Mrs. Wallace,” Rufus went on, “with your trunks.”
“Thank you, my darling,” Caro said to Rufus, giving him a sultry look, as though he would be thanked properly later. She then hooked her arm through Felicity’s and led her on into the house. “I have you in the Caribbean room for the duration of the party,” she said.
“Caribbean room?” Felicity’s brow lifted and she grinned in response to the mysterious smile Caro gave her.
“Yes,” Caro said. “It’s on the east wing, in a discreet corner. The carpet is thick in that hall and absorbs the sound of footsteps creeping around at night.”
“Oh, I see.” Felicity beamed, her heart feeling more at ease at last. Caro understood her well.
“Eliza and Ophelia have, of course, been given rooms on the same hall,” Caro went on.
“And our chaperones?”
Caro flickered one eyebrow. “I could not tuck them away in another wing or floor, but their rooms have rather thick doors, and their beds are extraordinarily comfortable. The staff also has orders to provide them with copious amounts of warm milk before bed every night.”
“Wonderful,” Felicity said, letting out a breath and relaxing in a way she hadn’t for months. “At least I shall have one last hurrah before disappearing into whatever advantageous marriage Mrs. Wallace manages to arrange for me.” She couldn’t help but sink into gloom once more.
“As to that,” Caro said. “Rufus may have been forced to invite some of his father’s more odious friends and their offspring to the house party, but he assures me that he has packed the house with interesting, lively, and sinfully attractive bachelors in need of wives as well.”
“That is all a woman could ask for,” Felicity replied, her smile returning as Caro escorted her into a cozy parlor decorated in shades of orange and gold.
“Felicity!”
The two women seated on a sofa near a large window, their heads together in conversation, jumped up at the sight of her. Felicity broke away from Caro to rush to them. The three of them crushed together in an embrace that was filled with giggles and squeals of joy.
“I’ll leave the three of you to be reacquainted,” Caro laughed from the doorway. “I have quite a few more guests to greet. Refreshments are being served in the grand parlor, if you’re feeling peckish.”
Felicity barely noticed her as she swept out of the room. “I’ve missed the two of you so much,” she said, hugging her friends close.
“And we’ve missed you,” Eliza said. She took a step back to sweep Felicity with a look from head to toe. “You’re looking quite well-turned-out. Is that Indian cotto
Felicity glanced down at the expensive gown her father had ordered for her and then to the equally costly gown Eliza wore. “You would know,” she laughed. “It seems as though your parents have dressed you up to please the same as my father has.”
Eliza made a sound that was entirely undignified for the daughter of an earl. “I’ve been given strict orders to return home engaged to an earl or higher or not to come home at all.”
“Me too,” Ophelia sighed. “Mama says that if I fail to find a husband this summer, she’s sending me off to York to live with her maiden sister. We are to be two spinsters growing old in obscurity.”
“Nonsense,” Felicity said, hooking her arm through Eliza’s on one side and Ophelia’s on the other and headed toward the hall. “It is simply inconceivable that the three of us will remain single by the end of this house party.”
“I hope so,” Ophelia said, though she looked deeply worried.
“I intend to find a husband one way or another,” Eliza said, pointing down a side hall as an indication of which way they should go. “Whether that husband suits my parents’ tastes or not is an entirely different matter.”
“But surely you must marry a man they approve of,” Ophelia said, her eyes going wide with alarm.
Eliza shrugged. “How would they stop me if I fall in love with a man who doesn’t meet their exacting standards?”
Felicity laughed. “You are fortunate in that you have that inheritance from your uncle that your parents can’t touch. I, on the other hand, will be forced to marry a title to further my father’s ambitions or he will cast me out on the street.”
“It’s barbaric,” Eliza huffed on her behalf. “No woman wants to be used as a piece in her father’s games.”
“And yet, here we are,” Ophelia sighed as they reached the grand parlor.
The parlor lived up to its name in more ways than one. It was massive and contained no fewer than five separate areas arranged with furniture to encourage groups of conversations. Those sofas and chairs were filled with some of the finest examples of English society that Felicity had ever seen. Caro had warned her that the guest list was extensive, thanks to men and women that Rufus’s parents had insisted be included in the party, but there were easily dozens of bachelors of all ages smiling and preening for the copious number of ladies, who flirted right back with them.
“Good Lord,” Felicity exclaimed quietly. “Are we at a house party or a livestock auction?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” Eliza said with a wry grin.
They moved deeper into the room, gravitating toward the far end so that they could observe the company.
“Who should we consider our primary competition?” Felicity asked, scanning the dozen or so young ladies who seemed to be in their element, displaying themselves for the gentlemen present.
“To be quite honest,” Eliza said, “I don’t see many of them as competition at all. At least not for the sort of men we will have our eyes on.”
“Oh?” Ophelia asked. “And which sort of men should we have our eyes on?” She, too, studied the crowd.
“Not the dandies,” Eliza said, nodding to a pair of gentlemen who looked as though they spent more time at the tailors than any woman. They were making conversation with a cluster of young ladies who looked as though they enjoyed being dressed as dolls and put on display. “Not the bounders either,” she went on, nodding to a group of men standing by one of the huge fireplaces at the other end of the room. Those men were somewhat older than many of the others and eyed the most richly-dressed women with looks of dissipated desperation.
Felicity hummed in agreement. “They may have titles, but I would be willing to wager they have the clap as well.”
Ophelia giggled suddenly and loudly, drawing attention from a group of matrons nearby. They were most likely chaperones to some of the other ladies and were already plotting which gentlemen to throw their charges at. They glanced to Ophelia, Felicity, and Eliza, sniffed, and appeared to decide they weren’t a threat to their charges.
Ophelia lost her smile and turned bright pink, but Felicity made a face at the old bags that was far beneath her already questionable station.
She was distracted a moment later as Ophelia said, “Oh look. Are those the Marlowe sisters?”
Felicity turned as Eliza did to study a trio of young ladies huddled together near one of the room’s smaller fireplaces. “They look terrified, poor things,” she said.
“As well they should,” Eliza said with a disapproving frown. “Lord Marlowe has made it known that he will marry them all off to the highest bidder.”
“Isn’t that why we are all here?” Felicity asked, arching one brow at the ladies, even though her instinct was to feel sorry for them.
“Yes,” Eliza went on, “but Lord Marlowe has already begun his search for sons-in-law amongst men his own age who share his “tastes”, shall we say.”
Felicity and Ophelia both made sounds of sympathetic disgust as they watched a man who must have been Lord Marlowe laughing lecherously with two other, paunchy, older men as the Marlowe sisters glanced warily at them.
“Oh no.” Felicity clapped a hand to her chest as she recognized one of those men. “Is that Lord Cunningham?”
“It is,” Eliza answered in a grave voice.
“That means—”
Felicity had no need to finish her sentence. They all spotted the horrible Lady Malvis Cunningham just a few yards away from her father. The peevish, spiteful woman had already proven a pill to Caro and their friend Josephine, now Lady Lichfield. Felicity held out no hope at all that she would somehow suddenly be agreeable at the house party.
“Caro did say Rufus’s parents insisted she invite a few bad eggs,” Eliza confirmed Felicity’s thoughts with a sigh. “We’ll simply have to avoid her.”
“If we can,” Ophelia said.
A moment of dismal silence passed before Felicity shook herself out of the slump. “We shouldn’t be worrying about her,” she said. “We should be surveying the male company and planning our futures.” She broke into a smile once more.
“There are quite a few eligible gentlemen,” Eliza said, sounding cheerier herself. “I have it on good authority that Caro invited five earls, three marquesses, half a dozen viscounts, and several other wealthy gentlemen without titles.”
“Like Mr. Adolphus Gibbon from the Bow Street Runners,” Ophelia said, nodding across the room to where the man that they had interacted with to help Caro and the others retrieve the stolen Chandramukhi Diamond stood. “And is that Mr. Saif Khan?” she asked.
“It is,” Felicity said, bursting into a smile. “Well done, Caro,” she laughed. When Ophelia glanced questioningly at her, Felicity went on with, “Inviting an Indian prince to a party like this is likely to turn a few heads.”
“He is very handsome,” Ophelia said, blushing up a storm.
Felicity opened her mouth to answer, but another gentleman caught her eye, one she didn’t know. He’d just walked into the room, on his own, and now stood mere inches inside the doorway, glancing around as if he didn’t know whether he’d entered a battle or a circus. He had dark hair and a strong jaw. He was tall and fit. The clothes he wore were finely tailored, but with her father’s background in textiles, Felicity could see at once that they weren’t new or overly expensive. In fact, the man had the appearance of a noble who had hit hard times, though she doubted many of the others in the room would notice it. And his eyes…. His eyes were a deep, luxurious brown—a fact which she noticed the moment they turned toward her, meeting hers and holding her captive.
Sullivan Darrow, Viscount Whitlock, had taken a few leaps of faith in his life, but none of them had been half as intimidating as accepting Rufus Herrington’s invitation to a house party at his family’s Shropshire estate. He stepped into the parlor that was as big as the ballroom in his family’s crumbling, Derbyshire estate and froze. As far as his eyes could see, there was nothing but class and wealth. Gentlemen who exuded confidence flirted with ladies in the latest, London fashions. The sheer volume of jewels on display around the necks and wrists of the ladies, even though it was barely noon, dazzled the eye. The quality leather of the gentlemen’s boots made him pray that he’d done a passable job of polishing his boots that morning. He couldn’t afford a trained valet to do it for him anymore and he wasn’t sure he was a competent replacement.
