Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles)

By Louise Franklin

Determined never to give a man power over her life Georgiana swears never to marry. But her mother has other plans and forces Georgiana to accept a marriage proposal. In exchange her mother will keep the dark secret Georgiana fears, if exposed, will destroy forever the lives of those she holds most dear.
Georgiana journeys to the stately manor of Ravenstone determined to fulfill her end of the bargain. Ravenstone is her new husband’s country estate, where he installs his new wife before returning to London to spend her money gambling. Determined to restore Ravenstone, and challenged by her new husband’s mounting debts, Georgiana finds an unexpected new revenue source when she discovers a smuggling ring on the estate. Suddenly she is catapulted into the intrigues of smugglers and spies that may threaten her life and shatter her heart. For here, Nicholas Markham, a young and equally determined man, shows her a passion so fierce and a love so absolute that Georgiana is torn between responsibility and desire...and between two vastly different and irreconcilable lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katharina Franck
• Release date: Feb 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310699320

Book preview

Ravenstone

Book 1 of the Ravenstone Chronicles

By Louise Franklin

Also by Louise Franklin

Raven’s Shadow, Book 2, The Ravenstone Chronicles

Published by Louise Franklin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014, Louise Franklin

Cover design by Vanessa Maynard

In Accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1975, the reproducing, scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and the theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the publisher. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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*****

To my little sister, Giesela,

who has no notion of loving people by halves.

*****

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.

― Oscar Wilde

*****

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Acknowledgements

1

She had prepared herself as best she could, but to murder her father was not an act for which any amount of preparation would ever be sufficient.

She knew why he had summoned her to the drawing room, but still she winced when he said the words that would set in motion her terrible deed.

You shall marry Sir Edward Fairchild.

I cannot, Georgiana Wyndham said evenly, her voice calm and well modulated. Her mother would have thought the tone most appropriate.

Sir William Wyndham rose from his chair. What fresh lunacy is this?

You cannot force me.

Sir William stood before her, keen to press his advantage of height and force her to look up at him. Instead, she kept her gaze on her gloved hands, neatly folded on her lap. She saw only his polished, Hessian boots.

Do not deceive yourself. I most certainly can, and will.

She remained silent. She would have preferred a dramatic gesture like storming out and slamming the door behind her, but her wheelchair with its wooden frame and large wheels did not allow for such theater.

I would rather leave this house than marry, she said and cringed at her father’s laughter.

Determined not to give into the fear, she lifted her chin and turned to gaze out the window. It was raining, a slow steady rain, drops of water running down the windowpane. Beyond, the garden was dark. She used to love spending hours in it as a child, lost in her own imaginary world. There she had sailed the seas, challenged brigands, and fought duels. There she had been invincible. Now, its darkness taunted her with her own defeat.

He is without funds, she argued.

That stands to reason. Why else would he have you? her father replied. She smiled at his cruelty. If she didn’t smile she was going to cry and she’d be damned if she would give away her dignity. It was the only thing left to her now.

He arrives in a fortnight, he said, moving toward the fire. You shall not obstruct me in this.

She knew it was hopeless to imagine that he would respect her wish. She was not allowed decisions. She was a female in a male world. Her place was to accept the choices made for her.

She studied him, trying to understand why he felt compelled to marry her off now. As the son of a baronet, he had married well. Her mother’s dowry had been sufficient for him to make some lucrative investments, and create a fortune that made him first amongst his peers.

For all his wealth, he dressed simply, a pair of light pantaloons and a black coat. His cravat was tied in the latest fashion but it was his only concession to vanity. His black hair had not thinned or gone gray, which gave him the appearance of a much younger man.

He stood next to the fireplace watching her with an expression she had learned at an early age meant he was contemplating some new cruelty. The first time she had seen this, she was seven and had been only vaguely aware of him as the man who was her father. She had seen him for short periods of time before being hurried away by a servant. That particular night her parents were hosting a ball, and she had escaped the nursery to watch the dancing. Hiding among the plants on a balcony, she watched women in their silks and satins swirl across the room, trailing men like laughter, the music hypnotizing.

Her mother stood below drinking a glass of champagne, beautiful in a blue silk gown she had had made especially for that night. She was watching someone across the room. Her father stood next to the doors to the garden. Beside him was a young girl, his hand on her elbow as he led her outside. He glanced back into the room, and then Georgiana saw him smile like that for the first time. She had not understood what his behavior had meant then, but she never forgot his expression as he looked back at her mother. It had frightened her then, as it frightened her now.

You do realize, dear Papa, that I am not likely to do as you wish.

She had never been able to resist her need to defy him.

His smile faded as he walked toward her. Her heart raced as he put his hands on either side of her chair, his face inches from hers. She held his gaze, trying to hide how fast she was breathing. She willed herself to take slow even breaths.

You are quite foolish, my dear daughter, to impose on my good nature for you have become an encumbrance to me. I have secured you a marriage, as is my duty. It was particularly hard, he said inching even closer, faced with a useless cripple with no grace to speak of and barely a pretty face to recommend her.

With one hand, he reached forward and removed the pins that held her chestnut hair in place. He brushed his hands gently through her hair before twisting one hand and grabbing hold tightly. Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to pull free. Excited by her defiance, he pressed his mouth to hers. She bit hard, tasting blood, and he pulled away with a scowl. He removed a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the trickle of blood from his lip, watching her all the while. She held his gaze, refusing to give into the fear that made her hands tremble.

The slap came fast and hard. Her chair fell over with the blow but she caught herself before her face hit the floor. The kick to her stomach was worse, and she curled in agony, gasping in pain.

She heard him walk away, then return, and she tensed for the next blow. Instead, he hunched down next to her and took a swallow of his brandy. He watched her, savoring the moment.

You keep forgetting the most fundamental truth, my sweet. You were born into this world a female and as such, you are property to do with as I wish. You are at the mercy of men and their whims. Better to embrace your lot with the sweet docile nature of womankind than to struggle. He poured the rest of the brandy over her head and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Georgiana turned onto her back and lay on the floor, watching the fire. She could hear voices in the hallway and footsteps. The door opened and she sighed at the smell of rose perfume and the soft flutter of silk skirts moving across the floor.

Upon my honor, Georgiana, why do you provoke him so? Lady Wyndham asked.

Her mother’s question no longer resonated as it once had. So worn with repetition, she gave the inquiry the same consideration she would if her mother had asked the time. She recognized the accusation for the folly it was, a woman’s attempt to exert control where none existed.

Can you help me up please, Mother?

Her mother righted her wheel chair and opened the door. A footman entered to pick the young mistress up and place her back in her chair.

How clumsy you are, dear, her mother said for the servant’s benefit.

It was a well-practiced routine and everybody knew his lines. His face expressionless, the servant politely asked if there was anything else required. Then he exited with haste.

Why must you always be so lacking in delicacy?

This was Georgiana’s cue to apologize and promise that she would try harder next time. Her mother would then play the comforting parent, giving advice about the proper way for a young lady to comport herself, about duty and good breeding. It always ended the same way. Her mother would smile, pat her daughter’s hand, and then return to her rooms. There she would stay for days sleeping until the physician came to bleed her. After which, she would be restored to good health and would resume her rounds of appointments. The recurring charade sickened Georgiana.

Why do you let him take such liberties with me? Georgiana asked. You are my mother. You are to protect me.

Lady Wyndham blinked as if confused. She turned away from Georgiana as if looking for a stage manager to correct the scene that was derailing. She stepped toward the door, but Georgiana rolled her chair in her path. Her mother recoiled as if pushed.

What is the meaning of this?

I need your help, Mother, she said slowly.

I will send for Nurse.

No, Mother, please, I beg of you. He means to marry me off now that I am no longer of use to him.

You have gone quite mad.

Please, Mother, she begged. You know what he will do to them.

You are indiscreet, Georgiana.

Indiscreet, Mother? she said, tears welling up despite her best efforts. "I am not indiscreet but in distress, and I fear for those I love. I have long held my silence in the name of propriety but he is a monster, Mama. He cannot continue.

You are an abomination. You repel me with your accusations and I shall tolerate them no more. You are demeaning both your father and me with these lies. I daresay your need for the dramatic has taken on grand proportions. You must comport yourself as befitting a young lady, for you are to be married soon. An excellent match your papa has managed to purchase for you, and I thank you to retain a good opinion of him. Now I am for bed. I wish you a good night. She moved quickly around Georgiana, making sure to stay out of reach, and exited the room as if the devil himself were following her.

Georgiana listened to the fire, the flames warming the cold room while the clock ticked slowly. She had known exactly what this night would bring, and she had not been wrong. She was alone, but she was used to it now. Good fortune had allowed her to prepare for it. He would have to die.

She touched her side tentatively and winced at the pain, but kept probing. He had not broken any bones this time.

Footsteps on the marble floor announced Nurse Gibson’s approach. Georgiana wiped away her tears and straightened her back to greet the nurse.

Dear me, miss, what is that smell? Have you taken to drink?

She didn’t answer. Nurse Gibson was well-meaning but Georgiana tired of the pretense.

Never mind, Nurse said and stepped behind the chair. She wheeled her out of the room toward the stairs where a footman waited to carry her upstairs. In her room, he placed her on the settee and exited to retrieve the chair.

Congratulations, miss, on your coming engagement, Nurse said as she helped her undress.

I shall not marry, she said holding up her arms, wondering how long the servants had known. Her dress slid from her body and she waited as Nurse put it aside. Her stays pinched and she sighed in relief as they were undone.

Won’t marry Sir Edward Fairchild? But he has a title, miss.

So he has.

He is still quite young and it’s quite a wonder he— Nurse stopped suddenly.

– a wonder he would consent to marry a crippled hag like myself? she asked, smiling.

Oh no, miss, I meant no disrespect, but the situation does seem so very good. He is a widower, and he already has an heir. All madam has to do is be agreeable. To be sure it is a wonder he is to remarry.

Being agreeable is not one of my strengths, and he marries again because he has lost his inheritance at cards and it seems he has a great need of money.

Now, tis a shame indeed, but so you can help each other then. Marry him so you can leave here, she whispered. "You can escape him, miss."

And what of Jane and Margaret? she asked in a whisper.

Her nurse looked at her mistress with pity, and Georgiana hated that more than anything else. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

Nurse lifted her from the settee and into the bath and Georgiana winced in pain.

Oh dear, I’ll get my basket, shall I?

She shook her head. Just help me wash my hair.

It won’t take but a minute.

No, she said, her voice harsh as her self-control dissolved into the hot bath water. She could feel the tears threatening to spill over again. Could you just leave me for a minute, please?

Nurse raised an eyebrow, but obeyed. Georgiana knew the dismissal rankled, but she had no generosity left to give if she was to pull herself together. Nurse Gibson was kind to her but kept her distance. Hers was a well-paid job she could not afford to lose. Georgiana could count on her nursing skills but other favors, like locking the bedroom door, had never been part of her duties.

Georgiana let the warm water soothe her aching muscles, and felt herself slowly relaxing. Her legs under the water were pale, the red scars that ran down both sides, a vivid contrast. She closed her eyes and wiped the tears that were running down her cheeks. She had to do something.

The fear that lived inside her dissolved into panic easily these days. She lay in the water, feeling it cool, trying not to think about what lay ahead. A knock on the door signaled Nurse Gibson’s return, and Georgiana inhaled deeply.

Soon she lay under the bed covers, drinking tea and listening to the fire. The room with its intricate plastered ceiling, French paintings, and velvet curtains spoke of money and elegance. She had to allow that her father had good taste. A life of privilege was what she had, and she ought to feel fortunate to be born to such grandeur. Yet she did not.

Laughter floated down the hall outside her room, followed by small footsteps, and she smiled. Her door flew open and two little girls raced across the room and jumped on her bed.

Georgy, Georgy, look what we found in the library. It’s Robinson Crusoe.

Can we read it? Please say yes.

The two faces looked at her expectantly, and she smiled at them.

They snuggled up one on each side. Georgiana dismissed the nursemaid who agreed to return later, and with a curtsy departed. Their room was a safe warm cocoon. She kissed Jane on her head, then Margaret.

What did you girls do today?

We found Muppets in the attic, Jane said.

Puppets, not Muppets, Margaret said, giggling.

Yes, puppets, will you help us fix them? There is a witch and princesses and another one who looks angry.

We can fix them tomorrow.

Even the angry one?

Especially the angry one, she said smiling. You girls smell delicious, like strawberries.

We are not stawberries, Jane giggled.

Not stawberries, she mimicked and tickled her.

No, Jane said and wiggled away, jabbing her with an elbow. Georgiana grimaced at the pain of her bruised ribs. It was an unwanted intrusion.

Margaret touched her arm, looking worried.

It is nothing. Georgiana smiled and tucked the child back under her arm. Let’s read.

It was her favorite part of the day. The girls sat quietly listening to the story as the fire burned down to the embers. An hour later, they were both asleep and Georgiana lay listening to them breathe. She could scarcely believe they were already four years old.

She gently pulled them closer, watching them as they slept, wishing she could sleep so soundly for even one night. She hadn’t slept well since the day they were born. Her need to protect them drove her even in her sleep, and now she was to marry. How was she to protect them if she left her father’s house?

A soft knock on the door announced the return of her maid, Betty, and a footman. They carried the sleeping girls gently back to their room next door. She listened to the sounds coming through the wall, waiting for the sound of the key turning to lock their door. A moment later, Betty returned to hand her a key. Georgiana threaded a silk ribbon through the key, and then hung it around her neck.

Betty gave a quick curtsy then left, shutting the door behind her.

Georgiana stared at the closed door a moment, then closing the book, she set it aside and waited. She dared not close her eyes for fear of falling asleep. She listened carefully to the noises of the house, waiting for them to settle down. She heard the housekeeper walking by on her last round, scolding a maid for forgetting to empty a chamber pot. Then one of the upper footmen passed in the opposite direction.

It was past midnight when she finally sat up slowly, and pulled the covers from her legs. She stared at the scars running down her legs. They would be a constant reminder of that day when Doctor Foster had confirmed to the family she would never walk again.

She pointed her toes and smiled, still unable to believe it possible. She had discovered a return of sensation a year ago, when she had had been woken by a cramp in her foot. For two years, she had had no sensation in her legs at all. The sudden return of feeling was a gift, even if that feeling was marred by pain.

She did a few stretches, then she moved to the side of the bed, and placing her feet on the floor, she stood up. After the first few months, she was able to walk slowly across the room, strengthening her muscles until she was able to walk with barely a limp.

It had been a year now and she could do much more. At night, she often explored the gardens, running barefoot on the grass. Her midnight walks had brought rumors of a ghost that haunted the gardens. No one suspected her, for she had no one in whom she could confide.

She was kept upstairs where no one but the servants could see her. Her mother made it quite clear that a cripple was useless to all. Georgiana was ignored to do as she pleased, and so her prison had turned into her sanctuary. She meant to keep it that way.

She moved across the room to lock the door then stopped in front of the mirror to stare at the pale image she had become. Her long brown hair curled over her white nightdress. The deep shadows under eyes looked like bruises. Maybe Nurse Gibson was right about being fortunate someone wanted to marry her at all. She had never met Sir Edward Fairchild and he might well be the answer to escaping her father. But she couldn’t leave Jane and Margaret here with him.

It had to be tonight, she knew.

She picked up a pair of scissors and holding her hair in a single clump, she cut it off. She trimmed the remainder as short as she dared. Then she moved to the bed and dragged from under it a suitcase. Taking out a pair of breeches, she pulled them on. They were a good fit. She tied over her breasts the strips of linen she had prepared, and then slipped a white shirt over her head. The shoes pinched her toes. Last, she combed the black paste into her hair.

She considered her image in the mirror. A boy stared back at her with large fearful eyes, his hair neatly combed. She had stolen the clothes from one of the stable boys, and it was a stable boy’s image that now stared back at her. Satisfied, she pulled the cap down on her forehead, grabbed the jacket, and moved toward the window. Suddenly, she stopped.

She had almost forgotten.

She turned back to the case on her bed, and reached for a small bundle. Carefully, she removed the cloth and examined the pistol that lay in her hand. It was no ordinary pistol, the white ivory handle ornately decorated with her father’s coat of arms. Measuring the powder, she poured it down the barrel and placed the patched ball on the crown of the muzzle. With the ramrod, she forced the ball down to the chamber, where it tamped against the powder.

Carefully she placed the stolen pistol in her pocket, trying not to think about the servant her father had arrested for stealing it. The man had raped a chambermaid. He had deserved arrest, she reminded herself. The maid had been dismissed once it was evident she was with child and she had come to Georgiana begging for help. Georgiana had helped her, giving her jewelry in exchange for bringing her the pistol she knew her father kept in his desk.

She quietly unlatched the window, and then taking a deep breath, she climbed out into the night in search of her father.

2

Atop the roof, she waited, listening. The house was a two-story yellow brick Georgian surrounded by a wooded garden on the north side of Russell Square, south of the lands where the Regent hoped to build his palace. Her father had the wall around the house and garden rebuilt the first time she had run away. The tall brick structure was an imposing obstacle and meant to keep both people out and her in. A dog barked in the distance. She could hear the horses in the stables in the carriage house. A carriage passed in the street below while the watch cried out the time. The usual sounds.

From her perch, she could see above the houses in all directions, despite the clouds that obscured the moon and stars. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she made her way along the roof to the lattice on the side of the house. She climbed down, pausing to look inside her father’s bedroom window on the second floor. His room was empty. She cursed, hoping she had not waited too long.

She climbed down to the ground, and then made her way around the side of the house, staying in the shadows. Outside the study window, she looked to see if he was still downstairs. A light inside illuminated his desk and an empty chair, and the fireplace in which no fire burnt. She was too late. He had already departed. She cursed her misfortune and contemplated giving up for the night, but the panic inside her would not allow for further delay.

She crept toward the garden wall and the great tree that grew beside it. She scaled the branches as she had done many times as a small girl. Only then, she had never dared use the tree to climb over the wall as she did now. Once on the other side, she stood for a moment waiting for the pain in her legs to subside. The jump from the top of the wall was still the worst, but she dared not use the gate, for her father had a guard stand there every night. He was not a trusting man, her father.

A light fog drifted down the darkened street, and she startled at a sudden movement across the road. A stray dog disappeared into an alley, and she inhaled deeply trying to calm her racing heart. She had followed her father before, always losing him in the maze of city streets as they approached the Thames. But he had always gone in the same direction, and it was that way she turned now.

He never took his own coach but hired a hackney at the south side of the square, which took him to Covent Garden. She did the same, hoping his habit had not changed this night. Once they arrived, she took a coin from her pocket, her hands shaking, and thanked the driver.

It’s the sickness you’ll find here, lad, better be careful, he advised.

She nodded and walked past Harlequin Court toward Wellington Street, careful to avoid the treacherous alleys that led to the Thames. The streets were crowded with men and women, the women offering services and the men shopping for appetites not met at home. Coaches and hackneys dropped off passengers and picked up others. Gentlemen strolled along in groups or alone, followed by girls selling themselves. A man in a top hat in front of Georgiana paused on the sidewalk to fondle a prostitute while his friends gave encouragement.

She sidestepped the men, avoiding eye contact and making sure she walked like a man, her stance open, her arms swinging and her head held high. She faked a confidence she did not feel.

She dodged the children begging in the street, while the prostitutes ignored her in her stable boy clothes. She spat on the sidewalk, and hoped her disguise would hold.

Here in the warrens and back alleys, she had lost sight of her father twice before. She had not dared stay long and always returned home. Tonight she was determined to discover where he went. She turned down King Street and then onto James Street, trying her best to act like she belonged, despite being scared out of her wits.

Now ’ere we ’ave sweet young one who’s to find ’imself some pleasure. What say you for a six pence, young master?

The old crone strolled forward, exposing her left breast, and smiled with missing teeth. The skin on her breast was scarred as if burned and her tit sagged to her belly. Georgiana turned to walk past but this one was more persistent, more desperate, and would not allow her to pass.

It’s young flesh I seek, Georgiana answered, speaking in a deep voice as she had practiced.

The smile disappeared from the old woman’s face, and she spat a gob at Georgiana’s feet, hitting her target.

O young, is it? My old flesh not go’ enough for the likes of you. She didn’t bother to cover herself, but stepped menacingly closer.

Georgiana stayed her ground, refusing to be intimidated. She drew from her pocket a coin and held it up. Where? she asked.

The old woman eyed the coin. Now, that all depends on how young me master likes his flesh.

Very, she answered.

The old woman took her eyes from the coin, and stepped back. Georgiana took another coin from her pocket.

Like that, is it? Well it’s not me place to judge or say ’tis evil you are about. The ’ouse you want is last on the left. May God take pity on your soul.

Georgiana walked quickly down the dark street toward the house mentioned, and tried to ignore the fear growing inside her. A hulking blackguard kept watch at the front door, so she headed for the alley around the back. The rear door to the house was locked, so she studied the wall. Finding her first hand hold, she pulled herself up, careful to support her weight for the next move. Slowly, she climbed a crumbling wall to a second floor balcony. She prayed the room she was crawling