“Well, Lucien. Is she the woman I hired you to find?” Andrew Debbington asked, his thin lips curling into a sneer.

Lucien nodded, maintaining a stony facade, refusing to let the rigid mask slip. “Yes. Lucy Greyson. She has Rutherford’s facial features, and she hasn’t changed much since childhood.” He gazed down at the small portraiture he held between his fingers. It depicted a girl of around seven or eight with distant, forlorn eyes. He would never forget those eyes.

“I suppose I’ll no longer be needing your services, then,” Debbington replied, a grin slithering into place. “You’ll receive your compensation after I marry the chit.”

Lucien felt the blood drain from his face, and his eyes widened only a fraction, before he nonchalantly inquired, “You intend to marry her? Isn’t she illegitimate?”

Debbington raised an eyebrow, “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I intend to escort her to the king’s ball. She’ll fall for my charm, and we’ll be married within the month. My coffers are depleted and I need a new source of income. Rutherford’s brat, no matter her legitimacy or gender, is receiving all of his wealth, as stipulated by his will. So we will marry, and you, of course, wouldn’t tell a soul about this little conversation, or you will find yourself without the much-needed 10,000 pounds I’m paying you.”

Lucien nodded his acquiescence and removed himself from the room. He took a hackney to his two-story townhouse and walked through the front door, muttering to himself, “I’d never planned to get married.”

“To whom may I send my congratulations?” Lucien’s butler, Curruthers, questioned with the glimmer of a smile hiding beneath his stoic features.

Lucien looked in shock to his butler, but his expression quickly changed to one of delight. “Curruthers, would you care to meet me in the study?” he asked.

Curruthers inclined his head in affirmation. “Of course, my lord. And I’ll send Roger in to bring you some brandy.”

“Make that two, my friend. You’ll need some, as well, before we’re finished,” Lucien called over his shoulder with a grin.

Curruthers entered the study and took a seat beside Lucien. “So who is this woman who has stolen my masters’ heart?” he asked.

Lucien shook his head and replied, “Not my heart. My honor. Her name is Mrs. Lucy Greyson. She’s a widow who owns a bakery, and the illegitimate daughter and only child of Lord Horace Rutherford. She is to receive all of his estates and wealth.”

“Well, that’s wonderful, my lord!” Curruthers interrupted. “I know how hard you’ve been working to replenish the funds, but marrying her will just speed up the process.”

Lucien laughed bitterly and replied, “You’ve not let me finish. I’m not marrying her for her money. But that is what Lord Debbington intends to do. He learned about Mrs. Greyson from his dying father, whose last wish was that his dear friend Rutherford’s daughter would be found and receive her inheritance. Debbington hired me to find her, and I did. But I didn’t know he was going to marry her. I know him well. He belongs to my club. He’s a cheat and cards and cruel with women. Mrs. Greyson is a decent woman. So I’m going to get to her first, and marry her before Debbington can.”

All happiness drained from the butler’s face and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, sir,” he began. “What are you waiting for? If Debbington is half as cruel as you say he is, he’ll already have set his plan in motion. I suggest you begin wooing the woman immediately.”

An hour later, Lucien nonchalantly sauntered into the bakery, an aloof grin plastered on his face. “Are those cookies ready?” he asked Lucy who found it impossible to hide her surprise.

“I thought I scared you away earlier,” she said, trying to keep her voice even while she haughtily raised an eyebrow.

Lucien put a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, “My lady, do you think me such a coward that a few words could scare me away from a beautiful woman?”

Lucy felt the heat seeping into her cheeks as they flushed red, but she managed to maintain enough composure to ask, “My Lord. What is the meaning behind your flattery?”

Lucien’s throaty chuckle reverberated through the room, causing Lucy’s heart to beat erratically. “I have no hidden agenda. I was merely captivated and bespelled this morning. I was compelled to return ask to escort you to the king’s ball.”

The blood drained from Lucy’s face. She didn’t know how to dance, and she would surely make a fool of herself in front of this dangerous and enchanting nobleman. “I – I – I don’t have anyone to look after my children,” she stammered.

“Don’t be silly, child,” Claire called from the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips. “I’ll look after the little ones. It’s about time you start enjoying yourself.”

“Then it’s settled,” Lucien said winking. “I’ll be here for you around eight.” And as quickly as he arrived he was gone, leaving Lucy to worry about how she would ever survive that night.

The following morning Lucien received a summons to the Debbington estate. He strolled into the lavish manor, completely at ease, and was sent to await Lord Debbington in the study.

“What do you think you’re about?” Debbington growled as he stomped into the room ten minutes later.

“What are you referring to?” Lucien responded with a smirk.

“You know exactly what I’m referring to. Greyson and her money will be mine. I don’t know what you were thinking asking her to the ball, but I will charm her away from you. And after we’re married, I’ll see to it that you’re never heard from again!” Andrew shouted, his usually aesthetically pleasing features twisting and distorting into a monster-like countenance.

Lucien sighed petulantly, “So I suppose that means I won’t be receiving my 10,000 pounds? I really rather needed that money. I guess that means I’ll just have to marry Mrs. Greyson myself.”

Debbington turned red with anger. “Get. Out.” he managed to force between his gritted teeth. Lucien just laughed as he walked away. This was proving to be an interesting week.

Lucy Greyson pulled her hair back tightly and greeted the still darkness of the very early morning with a smile. It had been exactly one year since her husband David had died, and she was finally able to put aside her mourning habit. Her smile faltered as she reflected on the past eleven years of her life. But those distressing thoughts were brushed aside with the shrill cry of a hungry toddler.

“Hello, my darling little boy,” she murmured into her son’s hair as she lifted him from his cradle. The little boy sighed in contentment as he rested his chubby fingers against his mother’s chest, fascinated with the gentle, rhythmic pulsing of her heart.

The serene picture was broken with the loud clamoring of two little girls rushing into the room. “Mama! Hannah pulled my hair!” Elizabeth cried, her lower lip jutting out into a childish pout. Her eyes welled with sticky tears.

“No I did not!” Hannah exclaimed, trying to look innocent, but the knowing smirk plastered on her face said otherwise. Lucy raised her eyebrow at the young girl, who sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe I did. Sorry Lizzy,” she relented momentarily.

“Are your chores finished?” Lucy asked abruptly and sternly, inwardly grinning at her girls’ downcast eyes, knowing that they hadn’t even been awake long enough to begin.

“Well, no,” the girls muttered in unison and stalked from the room to start the chores they had hoped to abandon that morning.

Lucy sighed and turned a tired smile to her little boy, welling with hope and pride for his future. But the buds of her wishful thinking were trampled as the sound of the heavy wooden knocker pounding against the door reverberated through the house. Lucy put the toddler back in his crib and walked downstairs to await the caller. She certainly wasn’t rich, but she still had the luxury of a fully staffed house – a luxury that wouldn’t last very long if the bakery’s sales continued to drop.

The elderly woman walked into the room, her head held high, but her steps unsteady and timid. Lucy turned to greet her caller. “Mrs. Greyson!” she exclaimed, her eyes brightening with genuine joy at the woman’s presence.

Claire Greyson’s aged blue eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips unraveled into a smile. “My dear, Lucy. I came as soon as I could; it’s just so hard to get these old bones moving. I’m here now, though, and I’ll help with the children while you run the bakery. It must be so hard for you now that our David is gone, but don’t worry dear, I’m here now.”

Lucy allowed her lips to curl, allowed herself to smile, but shadows filled her eyes at the mention of David’s name. Things were difficult now that he was gone, but they had been unbearable when he was alive. She turned away from her mother-in-law and called over her shoulder as she left the room, “It’s getting late, and I have to open the bakery. Please look after the children.”

Lucy walked into the bakery and was greeted by her rather harried looking cook. “Ma’am, I just finished the customary twelve loaves, but I’ve run out of supplies for the cookies! And if the customers don’t get their cookies, they’ll be so very angry at me.” The plump, middle-aged woman wrung her wrists in her nervous fury. Her cobalt eyes were wide with anxiety and her mousy gray hair was in a mild state of disarray.

Lucy smiled patiently and took the woman’s shaking hands between her own. “Don’t fret, Winnie. I’ll open the store now and begin setting up. I’ll see to any customers while you purchase the supplies. If anyone wants cookies, they’ll just have to wait.” Winnie grinned, relieved and assured. She took the banknotes that Lucy offered and hurried to the store.

“Wait for those marvelous cookies?” a gruff voice questioned from a shadowed corner as the door shut behind the apprehensive cook.

Lucy felt the blood drain from her face as she turned to view the source of the voice. She inhaled deeply, trying to settle her quaking nerves and said in a perfectly even, unwavering tone, “Sir, I would ask you to please remove yourself from the shadows. If you’re here for money, I regret to inform you that we have very little, but if you’re determined to take it, please do it quickly before my cook returns and suffers an attack on her nerves. She’s the only thing keeping my business afloat, and I really can’t afford to lose her because of a scoundrel like yourself.”

In the dimness of the early morning light, Lucy could hardly make out the shadowy form steadily making its way toward her. Lucy’s pulse leaped at the base of her throat and her breath quickened in a panicked fury.

“I am merely here to taste your famous cookies,” the stranger said, his voice a low, haunting rasp tinged with the smile he wore.

Lucy narrowed her eyes suspiciously and questioned, “How did you get in here? And why were you hiding in the corner?”

“Simple questions with simple answers,” he stated as he stepped into the light. His black hair was unfashionably long, cascading in gentle waves over his ears. And his eyes – the bluest of sapphires – were piercing as he pinned Lucy under an intense gaze that she couldn’t tear her eyes away from. Her heart continued to beat erratically, but she couldn’t be sure that it was mere danger she felt. “But, before I answer them, let me first introduce myself. Lord Lucien Masters at your service. Now, as to your first question – I merely walked inside through the unlocked door. You really should be more careful about locking it; any blackguard could waltz right in here and take all of your valuables. And to the second question – I fear the answer is much more shameful. I fear I’ve found myself in a financial bind and was hoping to charm your cook into letting me have a free taste of your cookies.”

“Well, sir, as you can see, there are no cookies, nor will there be for quite some time, so unless you plan on purchasing some bread, I must ask you to leave,” Lucy said and began to turn from the man.

Lucien glided forward, and standing dangerously close, he put his arm out and stopped Lucy’s retreat. “But my dear Mrs. Greyson. That is your name, isn’t it? I fear you’re forgetting one thing. I am your social better, and because of this, you may not ask me to leave.”

Lucy’s eyes widened and she gasped, “How did you know my name?”

Lucien chuckled and replied, “It’s not exactly secretive information. You own a bakery. I was searching for one. The Hertwicks pointed me in your direction.”

Lucy blushed. “Of course,” she replied. “How silly of me.” She glanced up and her eyes met Lucien’s. The intensity was still there, but hidden deep in those fathomless orbs was a weariness that Lucy wouldn’t have guessed about him. He was not the cocky aristocrat she had pegged him for.

Lucien broke into an assured smile, as if he had sensed Lucy’s insight. “I suppose if I won’t be tasting any cookies, I should depart. Thank you, Mrs. Greyson. It has been a pleasure.” Lucy thought his voice was tinted with mockery, but before she could form a response, Lucien had disappeared through the front door. A tiny smile sprang unwillingly to her lips. He had been one interesting character. It was a shame their paths would probably never meet again.

Welcome to Chapter Three. I hope you enjoy. All comments are welcomed and appreciated

Lady Margaret Siegan – the dowager duchess of Southampton, and Queen Charlotte sat in the dowager’s drawing room, calmly sipping tea. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows and flitted around the room, haphazardly illuminating its contents. Margaret and Charlotte regarded each other with guarded, yet friendly smiles. They politely conversed about the weather and gossiped about the town’s inhabitants, but behind that facade, simmered a rivalry that no outsider could see.

“I have heard that Lady Hertwick is to make her debut at your ball,” Margaret remarked, her gray-tinted eyebrow shooting up, ever so slightly, into a barely discernible arch.

A sly smirk slid onto the queen’s lips as she replied, “Oh yes, the poor dear. I shall be acting as her chaperon. I have such big plans for the girl!” Her crystal blue eyes narrowed menacingly at the older woman, daring her to make a snide remark.

“Indeed,” Margaret replied. “Young Victor is of an age now, is he not? Oh, but so is my Levi’s boy. They’re quite similar aren’t they? Why I would imagine that they would be the best of friends! Why is it, do you think, that they aren’t?”

Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up, obviously surprised at the dowager’s blatant insinuations. But her regal demeanor never faltered. She cleared her throat briefly, stalling to gather her thoughts, “Why they’ve hardly spent much time in each other’s presence. I’m sure once they go off to school together, they will become much more than mere acquaintances.”

The clock in the hallway sounded the time. Three o’clock. Charlotte stood suddenly and said, “I’m sorry, Margaret. I had not realized how late it was. The king will be expecting me.”

Margaret stood and curtsied to the queen, “Of course, my lady. But speaking of King Victor, when can we expect another little one in the royal brood? It’s been so long since the prince was born. Your subjects are eagerly awaiting another child.”

Charlotte smiled tightly. She suddenly felt very tired, as if life had just become too much for her. She wondered if Victor had gone through with her challenge. Praying that he did, she replied, “We’re hoping to make an announcement soon.” She bowed her head in respect to the older woman and quickly removed herself from the room.

Margaret sighed as Charlotte left. Her heart ached for poor Victor. Charlotte was so transparent, and she quite obviously had no love for the king. Margaret had noticed that all of Charlotte’s smiles were forced, giving away the fact that she hated her station in life, hated her husband, and certainly didn’t want any more of his children. She remembered the former royal couple and how much they had loved each other, how the king had worked so hard to build an extravagant kingdom – all for his queen. Margaret had been a child when Simon arrived, but she recalled living in straw huts, surrounded only by dirt, water, and guilt for crimes they had never committed. She shook her head to clear it of the haunting memories and returned to her day’s plans.

Levi Siegan, Duke of Hartshire, was widely regarded as the most disreputable rake in Ambrose Valley. He was a charming man, with laughing chocolate eyes and a ready smile. He had once led a very safe, sheltered life that was greatly approved of by the rest of
the ton. But his wonderful life had fallen to pieces with the birth of his son, and the consequential death of his beloved wife.

So now he sat, a broken man, across from the beautiful and diverting Cherilyss Gray. She smiled at him – the wondrous smile of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. His eyes roved over her, alighting on her most intriguing body parts. Her dandelion hair. Her full, succulent, ruby lips. Her tiny waist and thick thighs. She had few flaws, and the ones she did possess, he chose to ignore. Fine wrinkles marred an otherwise perfect complexion, giving testimony to her age, but this just assured Levi that she was precisely the type of company he needed to keep. He had no patience with the innocent, simpering debutantes who were hardly out of the school room, not to mention younger than his only son. He shuddered at the thought of taking a mere child to his bed. He had loved once before – a pure angelic young girl. And all it had brought him was heartache.

“My lord,” Cherilyss said, interrupting Levi’s brooding. “I asked if you intend to call or fold.”

Levi looked down at his cards. Rubbish. He folded them onto the table with a sigh, and flashed one of his easy grins at Cherilyss.

“I believe you have me beat,” he said with a yawn. “I tire of this game. Maybe we could find some entertainment elsewhere.” His words held a world of meaning, and he watched in delight as a smile washed over Cherry’s features.

“Indeed we could, and I have just the idea,” she murmured seductively and beckoned for Levi to follow her. Only a month had passed since her arrival in this prospering kingdom. She had barely escaped death at the hands of her drunkard husband and had gladly taken the position of prostitute in Mr. Joseph Hall’s gaming hell. It wasn’t that she enjoyed catering to these rich and usually rotund noble buffoons, but it certainly was less dangerous than returning home and being beaten to death. Plus, the profession had its perks. And Levi Siegan was definitely one of those perks. If things had just been a little bit different, she was sure she could have given her heart to him.

Eli Siegan was a shy and timid boy. He was clumsy and awkward, and possessed not even one ounce of social grace. Which was why he suddenly decided to strike up an acquaintance with the prince. Prince Victor was everything Eli was not. He was confident and assured, charming and graceful, tall and rugged. He emitted an aura of power. Prince Victor was the model of what a noble boy should be.

As the morning sunlight trickled over the horizon and into the young man’s room, he rose with a yawn and summoned his footman.

He waited by the door, his fingers twitching nervously, his feet tapping impatiently. “Deliver this to the prince,” Eli said the moment the footman approached. He shoved a piece of parchment into the servant’s hands and retreated into his room, slumping to the floor in a fitful heap. He sighed, pleased that the note he had scrawled the previous night would finally be delivered, but worried that the prince would ignore his summons. Victor was royalty, after all.

The morning scrambled by, and the intense afternoon sun took its place in the sky. Eli paced through his home, ignoring his grandmother’s strange looks. He became distracted by the loud gong emitted by the grandfather clock every hour. He sighed in annoyance, waiting to hear that disruptive clang sound three times.

“What are you doing?” Margaret exclaimed, clearly frustrated with the boy.

“Nothing, nothing,” Eli muttered, the agitation seeping into his half-whispered utterance. Margaret gulped down the fear rising slowly in her throat. It seemed as if Eli were going mad. She opened her mouth, as if to make him see logic and reason, but the clock in the hall finally sounded three times. Eli’s eyes lit up in glee and just the hint of maniacal obsession. “I must be off,” he said, his tone deep and formal. After stiffly bowing to his elder, Eli scuttled from the room.

The sultry summer air bore slight traces of the brisk autumn to come. Eli rode his stallion, Juniper, at reckless speeds, clamoring over hilly terrain and through the abundant forests until he reached his destination. Upon arrival, he dismounted and surveyed the ruins of a previous civilization. Jagged walls of stone jutted from the earth and shattered marble tile littered the floor. Fragments of torn tapestries still hung in some of the windows, the tendrils whispering into the wind like ghosts of their former lifetime. Eli’s chest swelled with the glorious intake of moisture-filled air. He perched himself upon what was, in previous times, a wall and waited for the prince.

“Just what were you thinking when you asked me to meet you at this heap?” Victor asked, his tone haughty and mocking. He walked casually toward the other boy, his stride long and confident.

Eli’s brow furrowed and a deep frown was etched upon his face. “This place isn’t a heap!” he cried. “It’s beautiful and ghostly!”

Victor chuckled and clapped Eli on the back. Leaning in, he said in a low voice, as if telling a secret, “It’s a pile of rubble.” His chuckles mounted to peals of laughter when he saw Eli’s ears redden with fury. He took a few deep, almost comic, breaths and allowed his mouth to fall once again into a straight line. But his eyes still held traces of a mischievous mirth.

The two boys sat, awkward and silent, neither ready to reconcile their differences. Eli suddenly stood and proudly tilted his chin. “I see that it was a mistake to ask you here,” he said, pretending to be cold and indifferent. But beneath that nearly transparent facade, the boy’s eyes shifted worriedly and his fingers twisted nervously around each other.

Victor rolled his eyes and sighed. “Oh Eli,” he said, his voice nothing more than a bored drawl. “I sincerely apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you, especially not over something so ridiculous as these old ruins. Now man, what did you drag me here for?”

Eli’s barely maintained grudge slipped and he smiled shyly as he said, “I need to be more like you. I need to be charming and handsome, so I can snag myself a pretty noblewoman as a bride. Granny keeps warning me that I’m going to end up with the ugly kitchen maid as my only hope for a wife if I don’t get out there and practice my flirtations.”

Victor laughed and nudged Eli in the ribs, “I’m sorry, my boy. But you will never be handsome!” His light, joking tone caused even shy, timid Eli to grin. “This will be easy,” Victor continued. “We’ll meet here daily for the next twelve days, until the ball. I’ll teach you everything I know! You can test your newly-learned skills on Lady Hertwick. She’s to debut and won’t know any better than to step right into your trap! And you won’t have to worry about me as competition, because I’ll be chasing the more seasoned ladies. Oh yes, Eli. We’re going to be great friends!”

The Hertwick Family

“I have no wish to remarry,” Garret Hertwick, Marquess of Avonshire, commented to his father Zachariah, Duke of Sartwich, in the elder’s study. Garret’s eyes shifted around the room, taking in the intricately carved bookcases and finely upholstered furniture. It had been his childhood home before he married and moved to an estate that he had inherited from his aunt Clara. Now he was back, living with his father, the pain of his wife’s death too much to bear.

Zachariah sighed in annoyance. This younger generation was far too headstrong. “I understand that you loved your wife, but you need to provide a mother for your children and you must have another son. If Matthew becomes ill and dies, you’ll lose our estates to some distant relative,” the older gentleman said. Even though his words were harsh, he truly felt for his son. Zachariah remembered how he had felt when his Eva had died. He had been distraught by the loss of his lifetime companion. But at the time of her death, their children were already grown and married. They were no longer dependent on a mother’s guiding hand, as Garret’s children now were.

Garret mulled over the valid points his father had made. His children deserved a mother, especially Virginia. She was about to make her debut in Society and needed someone to guide her. Garret nodded brusquely and said, “I will hire a governess for now and will consider marriage later.” Zachariah inclined his head in silent consent and removed himself from the room. Garret immediately sat down at his father’s desk and began to write a correspondence making inquiries about acquiring a suitable governess.

Virginia was the last to learn that she was to make her debut at the Royal Ball. The small family sat around the large oak table, silently consuming dinner. The last dish had been served and all of the servants had left the room. Garret turned to his daughter and said in a strict, controlling voice, “You are to make your debut into society at this year’s royal ball. A governess will be arriving and she will help you to prepare. My sources have informed me that she is very skilled at just this sort of thing, but she had less than a fortnight to prepare you, so I presume that she will receive no problems from you.”

Virginia nodded in understanding and excused herself from the table. She did not feel ready to be presented for marriage, but she knew that she could never disgrace her family by becoming a spinster. She retreated to her room where she prayed for the strength to be a proper daughter and learn what it would mean to be a proper wife. The night was long and restless, but eventually Virginia fell into a fitful slumber.

The governess arrived much later that night, when all but the servants were asleep. She was welcomed into the home by a haughty butler with a portly frame and a hidden mirth simmering beneath his cold exterior. He directed her to her bedroom, which she was surprised to see was in the main part of the house. For a brief moment, she thought the servants had decided to play a terrible trick on her, until she walked into her room and saw in the dim glow of candlelight that it was sparsely furnished.

She sighed with relief as her eyes lit upon each piece of old, worn furniture, but she grew even more relieved when she saw that the room had its own fireplace. She squealed with delight, quickly lit the fire, and crawled into bed, where despite all of her worries about her new job, she fell asleep immediately.

She awoke with the soft rays of sunlight falling languorously on the floorboards, heralding dawn’s approach. Quickly she washed and donned her nicest dress. It was a pretty red and green plaid dress that had once belonged to her mother. She scurried down the stairs, where she was informed that the Marquess wished to see her in the drawing room. She gulped and her hands fluttered nervously as she approached her employer. “My lord,” she greeted timidly, sinking into a deep curtsy.

Shock registered on Garret’s face as he gazed at the beautiful creature before him. She may have been a mere governess, but he wondered how she hadn’t been snatched up yet. Dowry or no dowry, this woman was a stunning catch. Quickly trying to hide his obvious attraction, he flashed her a charmingly aloof smile and said in his haughtiest tone, “Miss Delilah Bertino, the governess, I presume?”

She nodded with cool composure, even as she tried to calm her thrumming pulse. She considered to stare down at the exceedingly handsome man before her, taking his proferred challenge and staring him directly in the eyes.

Garret immediately was thrown off guard. He felt as though she could see straight to his soul. And the disdainful look she was bestowing upon him just now told him that she didn’t like what she saw. Garret rose unexpectedly and strolled from the room, calling over his shoulder that Miss Bertino was to meet Lady Hertwick in the sitting room in one hour.

Delilah sighed as she sank against the welcoming embrace of the settee. She could tell that this was going to be a long and turbulent two weeks.

Delilah sat before a dwindling fire in the sitting room. She had arrived as was instructed of her and had been waiting for nearly half an hour. She sighed mentally ticking off the moments as they slipped by, growing more impatient by the moment. She knew that it was like the nobility to arrive fashionably late, but such a large amount of time had elapsed, that Delilah realized that this young girl must be trying to put her in her place. Her temper snapped and she rose from the chair, eager to find Virginia Hertwick and tell her just what she thought of spoiled little rich girls.

Virginia was sitting in the nursery with her brother Matthew. He was playing with the wooden figurines in the toy chest, pretending he was a great and might horseman. She smiled tenderly at the little boy, sensing the great man he would one day become. She was trying to write a letter to her mother’s sister in Paris, begging the woman to come collect her. If she went to Paris, she wouldn’t have to marry the first eligible bachelor who asked for her hand. She would have time to consider her options and decide whether or not she even wanted to marry at all. She felt a sting of shame at the thought of disgracing her family, but she could just never imagine being an insipid, obedient wife to a man she didn’t love.

“I hope you have a very good reason for averting your meeting with me,” Delilah Bertino practically growled from her stance in the doorway. She stepped lightly across the room and regarded her charge with a stern look of disapproval.

“I don’t care if you are my governess. I am trying to write a letter and wish for some privacy,” Virginia said, holding her chin high as she met Delilah’s gaze. She almost faltered when she saw the rage brimming in the icy blue eyes glaring at her, but she quickly blinked and turned back to her parchment. Delilah stood with her back turned away from the girl, waiting deliberately for her to finish her letter.

“Let’s go,” she said, and guided Virginia into the sitting room with an iron clench on her elbow. “Your lessons are long overdue.”

Virginia glared at her governess and retorted, “My lessons? You’re the one trying to get my papa to marry you! I saw the way you stared at him in the drawing room!”

Delilah laughed as she sat down on the couch in the sitting room. The fire had been extinguished and the room was cool and foreboding. But Delilah felt high in spirits when she realized her young charge just thought she was trying to take the place of her mama. “My dear,” she began. “Whatever you thought you saw in there, you were wrong. Your father is a very attractive man, but his station is far above mine. Besides all that, how could I ever think about replacing your mama when I want so much for us to be good friends?”

Virginia began to relax in Delilah’s presence and soon they were chatting merrily about all of the gorgeous dresses that would be made for her by the local seamstresses and precisely how she planned to wear her hair. Virginia smiled as she thought about the beautiful ladies she always saw strolling about in the parks. Maybe this debuting thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Years passed by and Simon grew old and frail while his kingdom prospered. Everything went to his only son Victor, who was recently married to Charlotte Hammond. On Simon’s death bed, Victor promised to ensure the kingdom’s survival and to preserve all of Simon’s hard work.

More years crept by. A son was born. And an icy void grew between the new king and queen.

Charlotte Ambrose stared at herself in the mirror, applying a small amount of rouge. She was plotting. Her son had just turned fifteen and he still had not courted any of the noble young women. It was custom to arrange marriages at birth, but Charlotte didn’t want to risk sullying the family name with ugly genes. She decided to wait until the young ladies of the ton were old enough to distinguish their beauty. Soon she would hold a ball, and Prince Victor’s fate would be sealed.

Meanwhile, King Victor was pondering. He was wondering why his wife refused to love him. He was wondering how his parents’ amiable and warm best friends could spawn such a cold, insipid woman. He knew that it should have been expected; she was nobility, after all. But once, he would like to make love to the woman and hear her shriek with pleasure. He grumbled to himself and decided to seek her company. Maybe he would be able to spark a flame of interest in her porcelain demeanor.

“Charlotte, my dear. Come join me in my room. There are matters we need to discuss,” Victor said, peeking his head into his wife’s room.

Charlotte stared at him blankly and said, “My lord, my head pains me. I would like to take a nap.

Victor’s eyes sparked with anger, “I would like to speak to my wife.”

Charlotte sighed and rolled her eyes petulantly before quickly regaining her composure. “We are speaking, my lord,” she said politely.

Victor practically growled at her, “I want another child! And you, my dear,” he sneered, “will bear this child for me. Now!”

Charlotte gasped, clutching at her breast, “I fear I can not oblige you. My head pains me. My figure would be ruined. It was quite hard losing the weight after Victor. And I could die during childbirth. I fear my health is failing, my lord.”

Victor’s brows curled over his dark, shadowed eyes. His fury was tangible. “I don’t care,” he said, his voice soft and calm. “I don’t care about a silly headache. I don’t care about your figure. And your health is fine. I want a child, and we’re going to make one now. And stop calling me “My lord.” My name is Victor.”

Charlotte was running out of excuses. She decided to drop the helpless woman act. “Fine,” she said in a crisp, professional voice. “I’ll be quite clear, Victor. You want another child. I want to remain your wife. But in name only. I don’t want to have anymore children. I don’t love you, Victor. I’ve never loved you and I never will. We don’t need anymore children.”

Victor was crushed to hear his wife say she didn’t love him. He had know since their marriage day, but it was much worse hearing her say it. He thought for a moment, accepted her honesty, but realized that he still had to address the matter of another child. “What if Victor dies?” he blurted out. “The kingdom will fall to pieces. Everything my father had worked for would be ruined.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. She knew Victor was right. But she didn’t want to be the one to bear his child. “I have a proposal,” she said. “A Gentleman’s Club has recently opened, and I have heard tale that there are four female entertainers. Find a willing woman, plant your seed, and tell her than any child that results in the union will be raised legitimately. Once she sees signs of her pregnancy, you can move her to a home closer to the palace. It will appear to all outside eyes that she will be just a mistress. No one needs to know it isn’t mine.”

Victor grew even more outraged by this proposal. “You’re telling me to bed a whore if I want another child! You are one stupid woman. As my wife, you have certain duties to perform. And you will perform them, whether you want to or not. I am the king. You will not disobey me. I have been patient enough.”

Charlotte’s lips twisted into an uncompromising, harsh smile. “But you didn’t hear the other side of the deal, my lord,” she said. “If you leave my bed alone, I will allow our darling son to marry for love. I have been planning to arrange a marriage between him and Lady Hertwick. But if you find another woman willing to give you a child, I will allow Victor to marry whomever he sees fit, regardless of her current station in life.”

Victor swallowed an angry response. He didn’t want his son to suffer through a miserable marriage, void of love and happiness. He was a good boy. He deserved a good woman who would love and care for him. “Fine,” Victor spat out and immediately removed himself from Charlotte’s presence, before he changed his mind.

“I’m holding a ball in a fortnight,” Charlotte announced to her family over breakfast the next morning. “It’s to celebrate Victor’s ascension into manhood and to introduce him to some of the eligible young women debuting this Season. In fact, Lady Hertwick will be making her debut. Poor girl was all ready to come out last year, but you know, she had to observe the mourning period after her mother died so suddenly.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed at his wife. He knew what she was doing. She may leave their son’s final decision regarding his marriage to him, but she would do everything she could to influence that decision. And she was chattering incessantly, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. Victor ignored his wife and excused himself from the table.

He retreated to his bedchamber. He was torn between love and hatred for his wife and couldn’t decide his next course of action. He was determined to seduce her. But what if he failed? He needed another child. He would have to visit the Gentleman’s Club. He groaned as he lurched himself from bed. It was still fairly early. The owner would have very few patrons. Victor dressed in his shabbiest garb and sent his servant to ready the carriage.

Victor quietly walked into the building, trying to seem inconspicuous. There were more people there than he had expected. He glanced around and took a seat by the poker tables, where the four entertainers were engaged. He studied them, trying to decide which one to approach.

There was a blonde. She was very pretty, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious that she was much older than she first appeared to be. Dark kohl rimmed her eyes and red powder had been applied to her lips. Rouge was applied heavily to her cheeks, trying to mask the lines and wrinkles etched there. She smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. She was tired and jaded, but beautiful and obviously successful in her current position. She wore a short, finely tailored garment – obviously meant for a prostitute, but it was luxurious and well made. The blonde was pretty and appeared to be well off, but she was just too old for Victor’s taste.

There was a brunette. She was analytical and calculating, pondering deeply over every move she made. She scanned the other players’ faces, searching for any sign of deception. She was quite good at poker, and she seemed to be rather intelligent. But she was considerably plain, with a long, straight nose, thin, beady eyes, and a wide mouth. She was a bright woman, but not the ravishing beauty Victor sought in a partner.

There was a raven haired beauty. She looked soft and voluptuous, with large almond-shaped eyes and perfectly bowed red lips. She was exotic, and she walked with a sway to her hips that claimed she knew how beautiful she was. She sat at a table, and Victor could feel the intimidation emanating from the other women. Victor thought that she might be the one, until he saw her glancing repeatedly into a glass of water, trying to catch her reflection. She was as vain as his wife and would probably be too worried about ruining her figure to want his child. Victor sighed, beginning to feel hopeless. He didn’t want to have to settle on a woman he didn’t want. That’s when the last of the entertainers caught his eye.

Her russet hair was pulled back tightly and masked by a crimson hat that sat atop her head. She had soft features and a round, friendly face. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman, but Victor found her appearance to be irresistible. He saw her look at the cards in her hands and frown for the whole table to see. Her emotions were displayed like a banner. She was terrible at poker, but she would be the perfect match for him.

Victor strolled over to the poker table and sat down beside her, asking to join their next hand. She snuck a glance at him, beneath half-closed lids. She could instantly tell that he came from money, and she wondered why he was choosing to sit beside her. Men like him usually went for Ariana, the exotic raven-haired beauty. She smiled at him, hoping to keep his interest. The more money she made, the greater chance she had at one day escaping.

Hours passed, and Victor smiled and flirted his way into his pretty prostitute’s heart. As the evening set in, Victor realized just how long he had been playing cards and excused himself from the table. He looked down at his prostitute hesitantly and realized he hadn’t even garnered her name. He bent down and whispered into her ear, “I would be immensely pleased if you were to meet me upstairs.” She looked up at him in surprise and watched him walk away.

Excusing herself from the table, she scrambled after him. He waited for her at the top of the stairs and offering her a charming smile, said, “My lady, I have quite a strange proposition for you and a secret you must promise to keep. If you do this for me, I will see that you are rewarded greatly. But before you agree to anything, I would like to know your name.”

She stared at him blankly and weighed her options. She could refuse, receive nothing, but also not have to experience any of this rich man’s sick tendencies. Or she could comply, be paid generously, and possibly have the worst night of her life. She sighed. The money would be worth it. “My name is Hope,” she said, “And I would be happy to do whatever you wish of me.”

Victor chuckled and said, “Ah yes, you will be my ray of Hope. You may not believe me, but I am about to tell you a very strange and true tale, and you cannot tell a soul. I am King Victor Ambrose.” He paused and cleared his throat before continuing.

“I have one son, the prince, and despite his good health, I worry he may die and leave me without an heir. My wife is a beautiful and cold woman, and I’m suffering through a loveless marriage. She had refused me in her bed and has instructed me that if I found another willing woman to bear my child, she would allow my eldest son to choose the woman he wishes to marry. If you agree to give me a child that I can raise legitimately, my eldest son will be able to marry for love.”

Hope stared at him, wide-eyed and amazed. She didn’t exactly believe him, but she was willing to do whatever it took to get out of this line of business. She smiled at Victor and said, “I don’t know if I should believe your story, but it doesn’t matter. I will gladly have your child, if you can settle me in my own home, with enough of an allowance to live comfortably on.”

Victor grinned and kissed Hope on the mouth, desire shooting through his body. “That wish can easily be granted,” he said, and allowed Hope to lead him to her bedchamber.

He set her down on her bed and slowly divested her of her garments. He ran his fingers along her smooth skin and allowed himself to get lost in her. And even when their passions were spent, Victor remained in her arms throughout the night.

He awoke early and kissed the top of Hope’s head. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at hi, but immediately frowned and sat up in bed when she realized his intentions. Victor cleared his throat nervously and said, “I will be leaving a small payment now. Contact me when you know whether or not you are pregnant, and we will discuss at that point what will happen next.” Victor strolled from the room with the haughty exterior of a king, leaving Hope on her bed, staring sadly after him.

Victor returned to the palace and continued his daily routine as the days trickled by. Charlotte was busy preparing for the ball, and Victor oversaw some of her preparations, most importantly, the guest list. He wanted to be sure that every young woman around his son’s age was invited, including the poorest of his people.

This is the prologue to my Royal Kingdom Challenge. It shows how Ambrose Valley Kingdom came to be. I hope you all enjoy, and as always, I appreciate all comments, including criticism.

Simon Ambrose hung his head in defeat. He was tired of fighting. He closed his eyes, accepting the darkness that overtook him.

The blistering heat of the sun melted into his pores and woke him from his pleasant state of nothingness. Simon lifted his head and immediately regretted it. He groaned as agonizing pain shot through his skull. His mind felt like a foggy mess, full of dangling cobwebs and a layer of dust. With an air of defeat he let his head crash back against the ground, sending tiny grains of sand flying into the air, each speck contrasting with the endless blue sky. Another wave of pain shot through him, but he tried to ignore it. Instead he concentrated on the comforting lull of water crashing violently against the sand. Simon smiled a little bit as he realized that he was on a beach.

After a few moments, he struggled again to sit up and groaned as a pain shot through his ribs. However, he reached a sitting position and immediately paled as the recollection of the past few months scrambled through his scattered thoughts.

“Hello?” a voice questioned from behind him. He turned his head slowly and saw a beautiful, but very dirty young woman.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

“The mainlanders call us the Land of Society’s Rejects, but I don’t really think it’s accurate,” she said, her words trailing off as she approached Simon. He grunted, indicating that he heard her. It seemed like a fitting name.

“But what are you doing here?” the girl began. “You look like part of that awful aristocracy.”

Simon raised an eyebrow at the young woman, wondering how she could think such a thing when he was obviously just as dirty as she was, but ignored her question. “Where do I eat?” he asked, and the woman laughed.

“You *were* part of the aristocracy. I bet you were a disreputable rake. You scandalized a woman and left her and she was with child and her -”

“Stop your babbling, you insolent woman. You know nothing about me! I’ll manage on my own,” Simon growled. He felt himself go a little bit numb inside as he thought about what she said. It had hit a little too close to home and sent his mind veering in a direction that he had wished to forget.

“Wait. Follow me and I’ll introduce you to our people. They’ll have some food to placate you,” she said, stopping the train wreck that had been occurring in Simon’s mind. He was instantly brought back to the present.
Simon scoffed arrogantly, “You and your criminal friends certainly are not my people.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You ignorant fool. You don’t know what this place is, do you?” she spat at him and stormed off into the emerald forest behind her.

Simon realized that if he didn’t follow her, he probably wouldn’t survive. He knew little about the wilderness, only what he had learned on the annual hunt with his father, and despite his excellent swordsmanship, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fend for himself against a bunch of barbarians. He shuddered at the thought of having to spend time with the blackguards on this island, but it was the best idea he had at the present. Simon ran and caught up to the woman. He didn’t apologize or attempt to make up for his behavior. He merely walked beside her, and she didn’t try to run away.

“It would be nice if you were to introduce yourself,” she said softly, internally reprimanding herself for being the one to initialize conversation.

Simon thought about how to answer that question for awhile and finally replied with a bow, “Simon Ambrose. And my I have the pleasure of attaining your name, m’lady?”

She was shocked at his sudden charm, and without thinking, blurted out, “Amelia Radleigh.” She was silent for a moment before her green eyes lit up and she exclaimed, “Did you say your name is Ambrose? As in King Ambrose?”

Simon chuckled bitterly, “He’s my father.”

Simon was quiet after his announcement, going over in his mind the events that led up to his current position. He remembered the brutal beating he had received on the ship, falling into a dark void. He remembered the smirk on his younger brother’s face as he was shackled by the guards. He remembered his mother’s forlorn eyes and his father’s grim determination.

“I didn’t do it, Your Highness,” he told his father, knowing he wouldn’t believe him.

“Simon, you know what must be done. I can’t have our blood being scandalized. She claimed it was your child. She said she begged you to marry her and make the child legitimate, and in your fury you killed him. Whether this is true or not does not matter. Her family is very powerful. Your brother, Reginald will become king. You will, of course, be exiled.”

Reginald’s lips curled up into a small, animalistic smile as he muttered under his breath, “Checkmate.”

Simon glared at his brother as he was thrown into chains and led from the room. He heard his mother sobbing as a door closed behind him. He was seething inside, every inch of him demanding revenge. He had never even met that woman, and there certainly wasn’t a child.

“Lookie what we ‘ave here. Mistah High and Mighty ain’t nothing but one o’ us lowly scums. We’re gonna ‘ave us some fun on the ship, ain’t we, Princey?” one of the guards heckled as he sharply elbowed Simon’s ribs. “Yessah, we’re gonna ‘ave some fun.”

The months spent on the ship were long and grueling. Simon was frequently whipped for performing inadequately in his duties. He lived on bread and water. His hair grew long and dirty. But not once did he complain. He accepted his fate for what it was.

As the ship approached land, one of the guards began to whip Simon, who refused to show his pain. The guard, angry at Simon for not reacting, picked up a wooden beam and smashed it down on the back of Simon’s head.

The darkness seeped in, engulfing Simon in blissful unconsciousness.

“Oh, Prince Simon!” Amelia exclaimed and curtsied excitedly, breaking Simon from his miserable reverie. “Have you come to save us?”

“No,” Simon replied shortly, his patience thin.

Amelia’s demeanor wilted. “Then why are you here?”

Simon glared at Amelia. How dare she address him so informally, acting like she knew him. He was a prince, the rightful heir to England’s throne. And this common strumpet was talking to him as if they were best friends. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair in agitation. It wasn’t really her fault she didn’t know how to behave. She was only a commoner, after all. “I was framed,” he said after an extended silence.

Amelia giggled. Simon scowled. Amelia laughed harder. “Of course you were framed,” she said. “We’ve all been framed. They didn’t have enough evidence to hang or imprison us. So we were all sent here.”

Simon was shocked and furious that his father would create such a land. He didn’t say another word to Amelia during the remainder of their walk to the inhabited part of the island.

“Well, this is home,”Amelia said. “It isn’t much, but it’s livable.”

“This is horrible,” Simon said, aghast. “These living conditions are horrible. They’re just straw shacks!”

Amelia’s brows knotted together in anger, “We can’t help it! There isn’t any other way!”

Simon turned his head to look at her. “I’ll build us a kingdom. We’ll have real homes. I have some friends on the mainland. They’ll understand the situation. They’ll help us build our own kingdom.”

Amelia laughed. “I thought you weren’t here to save us?”

Simon smile wearily back at her and said, “I guess I’ve changed my mind. Besides, I’ll be living her too, and these conditions certainly aren’t fit for a former prince.”

Amelia giggle at him, catching the lighter tone in his voice.

And so the years passed. The kingdom began to thrive. The people’s pasts were forgotten as they bartered with other lands. Amelia and Simon wed and shortly after gave birth to a healthy son named, Victor. And around the same time, to Simon’s best friend, a beautiful little girl was born named Charlotte. Years later, when the kingdom was much more prosperous, Charlotte and Victor would be wed.