The Forsaken Love of a Lord

Forsaken Love of a Lord

by Kristin Vayden

published by Blue Tulip Publishing

www.bluetulippub.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

FORSAKEN LOVE OF A LORD

Copyright © 2014 KRISTIN VAYDEN

ISBN: 978-1-942246-07-7

Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design

For my Mama.

Thank you for every hug, every kiss, every sleepless night you spent praying for me.

Thank you
for your love for my children,

for the selfless way you dive into
laundry when you come and visit

(saving us all!),

and for loving the chaos that can take over when you have five grandchildren all wanting you at once.

You’re amazing and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t thank Jesus that he gave you to me as my mom. Love you!

PROLOGUE

O
LIVIA
P
IERCE
HELD HER
breath as she lightly tiptoed around the corner, inching closer to where her parents spoke in hushed tones. Keeping out of sight, she listened carefully to their whispered conversation, hoping for a clue.

The past few weeks since her older half-sister’s death had been full of mourning and intrigue; something was afoot.

Something that
wasn’t
good.

Of course, she had mourned her sister’s death — as much as one could mourn a half-sister who had made her life miserable. If there was one thing for certain, in death there was peace.

A pang of guilt pinched her chest as she thought it, but it didn’t hinder the truth. Peace reigned in her life now, aside from the mystery that surrounded the untimely death. It was odd. When someone died, the first question that came to mind was
How?
And with her departed sister Marybelle, that was the very question no one asked or answered.

Except for Olivia. She had asked that very question many times.

And received no answer.

Which was why she had pretended to be asleep, only to wait long enough to sneak down the stairs and, hopefully, overhear the truth. Regardless of the lack of sisterly affection she’d held, she still wanted to know what had taken Maybelle’s life… and, if she were truly honest, what would happen now with Edward, Lord Langley, her late sister’s husband.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the immediately vivid memories of the man who had unknowingly won her loyalty as a young child. Tall, with startlingly green eyes and an easy smile, Olivia had often wondered why someone as wonderful as Lord Langley had chosen to marry
Marybelle
the
Awful
.

Love had to be blind.

Her father’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Regina, we have no choice. How do you not understand this? We’ll be ruined! If you cannot think past yourself, at least think of Olivia. Would you take it away from her? If we leave quietly, he will not press the issue. We can return—“

“When, Preston? When can we return? When this black stain on our good name is forgotten? You
know
the long memory of the
ton
. No matter what we do, there will be whispers. There will be talk, and it will affect her ability to make a match. If we stay and face the allegations—“

“The truth, you mean? Allegations.” Her father spat the word, even in the hushed tones they used, distain dripped from every syllable. “A fine word for it. I’m sure the
ton
won’t be so kind.”

“How dare you! That is your daughter—“

“No, that was your daughter.”

Silence.

Olivia held her breath, waiting. Never had she heard her father disown Marybelle before.

“Regardless—“

“I will not have
my
daughter’s reputation smeared because of an act of folly that she had no part in, let alone understand. My word stands. We leave. He promised—“

“And you believe him? What weight does his word carry now? He is nothing to us!” Her mother shouted in a barely restrained whisper.

“He has more honor than Marybelle ever did. The fact that he’s giving us a choice… when he could go to the authorities—“

“He has no proof—“

“He has his word. That’s all it will take. The whisper of a scandal, and we’d be ruined. You know this.”

Olivia heard her mother’s deep sigh. “Then we have no choice. We’ll retire to the country. We’ll stay in the Sussex estate till she turns eighteen—“

“Twenty. He specifically said twenty.” Her father cut in.

“Why? What does it matter if she’s eighteen or twenty?”

“If my instincts are correct, he’s… well, hoping that—“

“That we won’t return? That we won’t give her a season? What?” Her mother asked in an exasperated tone. Her irritation evident.

“He’s hoping we will find her someone local, in Sussex, and he’ll never have to see us. After all, a twenty year old would be in her second or even third season…”

“And on the shelf,” her mother finished.

Olivia’s heart soared! Was this truly the wretched issue? She had half a mind to march in there and tell them to quit their arguing over such a trivial matter! All this? Over her? She chuckled to herself. She had always loved her time in Sussex where the air was fresh; she could ride for hours — at break-neck speed — and read till dinnertime. No having to constantly change dresses, no gossiping, no foul stench or sooty skyline, just a wide horizon and a bit of refreshing rain here and there.

“If we leave, he’ll keep this all to himself?” her mother asked, and Olivia leaned in to hear her father’s answer, hoping he’d give more information on what exactly they were hoping to keep a secret.

“Yes. But if or when we return to London—“

“When Olivia is twenty,” her mother spat.

“Indeed, then we are to not expect his attention in any way. He warned me to never address him. A cut direct would be the result.”

“Which would start talk—“

“And ruin Olivia’s chances.”

“Miserable bast—“

“Regina!”

“Forgive me. I’m just so angry.” Her mother began to cry.

“I know. I am as well. Marybelle betrayed us all. Let us be thankful we have a chance to keep what remains of our family intact, shall we?” her father replied softly in his ever-practical manner.

“Very well. I’ll instruct the servants to pack us first thing in the morning.”

Olivia lightly tiptoed back to her room and slid into the blankets on her bed. Well, she had discovered part of the mystery. Half of her was relieved that they’d be leaving London; the other half was burning with curiosity. Especially since she was still unsure as to the intrigue surrounding Marybelle… and Lord Langley.

However, the joy at leaving London and the cloud of whispers behind overwhelmed the curiosity. Perhaps someday she’d know. Till then, she’d simply be thankful.

CHAPTER ONE

Four Years Later

E
DWARD
A
SHLEY, THE
V
ISCOUNT
Langley, swirled his brandy and stared into the glowing fire that was burning low in his darkened study. He knew this day would come; he’d felt it in his gut even as he had said the words four — though it felt more like forty — years earlier to his deceased wife’s father.

Stepfather actually, if one was being particular.

And Edward
was
one to be particular, which was why he still called himself ten kinds of fool for falling for such a treacherous woman. How had he deluded himself to thinking he loved Marybelle? That she loved him? Ha!
That
was truly the rub. Marybelle love someone else other than herself? Impossible.

Yet, hadn’t he thought that love made the impossible, possible? Yes, he had. Back when he was young, naïve, and foolish.

But no more.

No, he had learned his lesson and paid for another person’s sins, over and over. Everything he had loved about Marybelle had been a lie — an elaborate game. One she had won till the night it had all come back to seek its bloody vengeance. That night, more than one kind of poetic justice had been served. It was too bad it was far too late to offer any redemption to his jaded heart.

Or perhaps it was a blessing.

If one cannot love, then one cannot hurt.

Rather they are the lifeless, a breathing shell, one he knew he had become. But the pain was less, the self-loathing diminished in the balm of time… but he’d never heal.

He didn’t want to.

Notwithstanding, the Pierce family was back in London, Marybelle’s young sister in tow. The once young girl was now twenty. Surely they were hoping to give her a season. He scoffed at the idea.
Marriage mart, love
—
all words that held a bitter taste in his mouth like over steeped tea that had grown cold. Miserable.

He detested cold tea, part of his particular nature.

Well, he’d keep his part of the bargain as well. He’d not say a word to the
ton
about the truth of that night he’d found Marybelle.

He’d not say what had been lost.

He’d not whisper a word of what had been found.

He’d turn and walk away the moment they walked into view, because everything they represented, he wanted to forget.

And that was the very thing he was unable to ever do.

“I take it you’ve heard the news, then?”

Edward startled slightly at the sound of his friend’s voice. With an irritated glare, he turned to watch as Curtis Sheppard entered the room.

“I take it you’ve forgotten how to knock again,” Edward shot back.

“My, my we’re surly tonight. I’ll take your glower as a yes to my question.” His friend strode in with easy steps, a devil-may-care-grin on his face.

Edward felt the uncharacteristic urge to beat it off him.

“You know… with all the venom coming from your expression, one might get the impression that they weren’t welcome,” Curtis replied offhandedly as he helped himself to a crystal glass of brandy and sauntered over to a chair.

“Then I’d have to change my original impression,” Edward replied, a slight grin bending his lips.

“Of…?” Curtis asked as he set the crystal glass of brandy down softly.

“Your intelligence. I think you’re finally catching on.”

“You wound me, old man. I know for a fact that I’m about the only one that bothers to stop by and at least attempt to cheer you up. Lord knows, you’ve scared everyone else away.”

“They were quicker to get the hint.”

“They were cowards,” Curtis shot back, his eyebrows raised, daring him to refute his claim.

Edward glanced down at the Aubusson carpet, studying it but not seeing it.

Damn the man, he had a point. But Curtis always did. He was one of the only friends that continued to endure Edward’s surly nature. Always cheerful, it was annoying as hell, but he broke up the monotony. He was one of the only people in the world who knew the truth, and Edward trusted him to keep it. That type of loyalty was rare as hen’s teeth. For that, Curtis had his loyalty as well, though Edward had, through the years, forgotten how to display any other emotion other than anger… or remorse.

Edward’s gaze lifted as he watched Curtis approach him. “Yes?”

Curtis’ eyes were narrowed slightly, and he took a position just to the side of Edward and began to study the ground. “Just wondering what you found so damn interesting about the carpet that’s been in this study since you were in short pants.”

Edward shoved his friend good-naturedly, a grin breaking through.

“And here I had thought you’d lost the ability to smile. My hope in your black soul is restored.” Curtis shrugged and sipped his brandy.

“I’d not place so much faith in me.”

“I’ll be sure to underestimate,” Curtis shot back and returned to his chair. “So, back to my original reason for gracing you with my company—“

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Edward cut in, spearing his friend with a glare.

“I’m sure you’d rather rot. However, that doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be seeing them at some point or another. What is your plan? After all, you’re Edward Ashley, Viscount Langley.” He raised his eyebrows. “You plan your life down to what you’ll dream about.”

“Revenge.”

“Bloody business. Best served cold, eh? You’re above that. I’ll not let you delude yourself.”

“What—“

“I know enough. Leave it. It will only blacken your heart more. Besides, if you ruin the family, you’ll be going back on
your
word… which we both know will not happen. As much of an old stick you’ve become, you’re not dishonorable.”