Her Secret Scandal: A Regency Romance (Secrets in London Book 1) Read online

  Yasmine Nash

  Her Secret Scandal

  A Regency Romance

  Copyright © 2020 by Yasmine Nash

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  To Sami.

  Thanks for having my back.

  Contents

  I. LONDON, SPRING 1802

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  II. LONDON, JANUARY 1803

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Exclusive Access

  About the Author

  Also by Yasmine Nash

  I

  London, Spring 1802

  Chapter 1

  Alexandra Morland stepped out of the carriage and glanced around at the bustling London streets around her. She had grown up in her family’s country estate and had never visited town before. She had always dreamed of coming to London, but now that she was here, she wished to be home with all her heart. The soot-blackened buildings were depressingly gloomy and there was an unmistakable odor of sewage in the air.

  The driver came around the side of the carriage holding her single trunk. “Which building is yours, miss. I’ll bring this inside for you?”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Alexandra said. “I can take that myself.” The driver seemed surprised, but he didn’t argue as Alexandra traded her fare for the trunk. Perhaps there was some signal about her that indicated she was no longer a high lady. Whatever the case, he merely took the money, tipped his hat, and drove off, leaving Alexandra on her own in a strange city.

  “Well, if you aren’t just a pretty peach,” came a comment from behind her. She spun around, mouth agape at the rude language, to find two “gentlemen” ogling her. “Need any help, miss?” The first speaker asked with a leer.

  His friend carried on. “You look fairly new in town. Perhaps we can help you out?” His creepy smile belied the kindness of his words.

  “That’s very kind of you, but no,” Alexa replied coolly. “It just so happens, I’m right where I need to be.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she turned her back on the men, picked up her trunk, and headed to the door of the nearest building. There, printed on a small sign near the door, read Mrs. Godersham’s Rooms for Respectable Ladies. As soon as Alexa had opened the door and stepped inside, the heavy door slammed shut behind her, blocking out the noise from the street to a bare hum. She winced. Perhaps it would have been better to knock.

  A servant stepped out from a nearby room with a frown on his round face. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked. Clearly, he was not used to young women barging in without knocking. His gaze strayed to the trunk still in Alexandra’s hands. “Here to inquire with Mrs. Godersham about a room, I presume?”

  “Yes,” Alexa said. “Alexandra Morland. I wrote her a letter a few days ago. I believe Mrs. Godersham should be expecting me.”

  No glimmer of recognition passed his face. “You may await the mistress in the drawing room. You can leave that—” his gaze strayed to the trunk still in Alexa’s hands “—here by the door. This way.” He led her to the door just to the left of the hallway, a comfortably furnished room filled with tasteful pieces. A few watercolors lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace, which, as the day was unseasonably warm, was not lit. Several books—mainly sermons, judging from the covers—sat on a shelf near the window.

  Alexa carefully took a seat on a green velvet settee and attempted to straighten her gowns. They had become abominably wrinkled in the carriage ride from Crosby. And her hair! She shuddered to think what a mess it must be, but there was no way for her to fix it now. It was a few minutes before Mrs. Godersham entered the room and Alexandra occupied herself by gazing at the street’s busy comings and goings through the window. She was feeling unaccountably nervous.

  According to her cousin, Mrs. Godersham was the proprietress of the most respectable boarding house in Cheapside. Mrs. Godersham would be sure to protect Alexa’s reputation—or at least, what little of it remained. Looking at Mrs. Godersham’s stiff, perfectly poised form when the older woman finally entered the room, Alexa thought perhaps her cousin had undersold her. This woman looked as though she had never had an improper thought once in her life. Alexa again rued her unkempt state.

  “Miss Morland, I presume?” Mrs. Godersham asked in crisp tones.

  Alexa rose and curtsied. “How do you do?”

  Mrs. Godersham settled herself on a couch opposite Alexa. “I received your letter, so I’ve prepared a room for you upstairs. But I must admit, Miss Morland, I wasn’t expecting to find you traveling on your own. And at such a young age! You can’t be more than 18, I think?”

  “I’ll be one and twenty within a month, ma’am,” Alexa said truthfully. She was on the shorter side, which often caused strangers to underestimate her age. The woman’s dissatisfied countenance led Alexandra to decide a small fib might be in order though. “My cousin’s servant accompanied me here from Crosby, but he was needed at the estate, so he returned home with the carriage after depositing me at your establishment. It’s clearly a most respectable home,” she added for good measure. A little ego stoking couldn’t hurt.

  Mrs. Godersham sniffed a little. “Well your cousin has already paid for your board for the next six months. And you were raised a young lady of good family, so I expect you’re familiar with the rules I’ll be laying out for you: All visitors must be received here in the drawing room. No one, gentleman or lady, may go further than this room unless they are a boarder in this house. You are to wake and be dressed for breakfast by 9 o’clock every morning. Dinner is served promptly at 3. Tea is every evening at 7. If you have a social engagement of any kind, I expect to be informed. And all my girls are to be back inside these four walls before dark.” Mrs. Godersham recited all of this in a single breath. “You are not to attend evening parties or balls unless I am chaperoning. I try to make a point of attending the theater or public dance every other month or so as a courtesy, but I am not here to be at your beck and call whenever you wish to attend an engagement. We keep no ladies’ maids here. You are expected to dress yourself every morning. We have a cook, a butler, and a few scullery maids, but they all have many other duties and don’t have time to tend to you. There are no exceptions. Is that understood, Miss Morland?” Mrs. Godersham was staring at her impatiently, as though inconvenienced by her very presence.

  Alexa took a moment
to let this diatribe of rules sink in. She had no desire to attend any dances—and she certainly didn’t have the money to buy a new wardrobe anyway—so she was perfectly happy to accede to the strictures.

  After a few more minutes of discussion, Mrs. Godersham deposited Alexa in her new room, with an admonishment to prepare herself to take dinner in an hour. The bed was small, but outfitted with a cozy and, more importantly, clean feather comforter. A washbasin and mirror were by the door, and a writing desk was crammed on the side of the bed near the narrow window.

  Alexandra braced herself before glancing in the mirror. All in all, not bad, considering she had traveled overnight and all morning. Her hair was a fright though, and she thought wistfully of Walsh, her old maid who used to dress her hair, before shaking her head to rid the memory from her mind. Walsh was still in Crosby. Alexa needed to get used to taking care of herself now. She dressed her hair the best she could, although she was so unpracticed it looked little better than it had before she had fixed it. There was some cold water in a pitcher near the basin, which she used to splash on her face and wash away the road’s dust. A full bath would have to wait, it seemed. She hadn’t gotten around to asking Mrs. Godersham about that.

  All that was left was for Alexandra to unpack her trunk. Her wardrobe was far depleted from what it had used to be. Gone was the colorful rainbow of gowns for every occasion she had loved so much. She had had room to pack only the basics: A few chemises, a spare petticoat, two morning gowns, two evening gowns, a single ball gown, and a spencer for when the weather turned cool. And the traveling outfit she wore. The rainbow of color had been replaced with serviceable white and brown cotton.

  Aside from the articles of clothing, her personal effects were scarce. A packet of letters. A novel that had belonged to her mother. A few other odds and ends. That was all that was left of her life in Crosby. That was all that was left of her family.

  Alexandra had always been olive-skinned compared to her fairer cousins, Mariah and Edmund. Their blond hair and fashionably pale complexions were always a point of jealousy when they came to visit. No matter how careful Alexa was about using her parasol and avoiding the sun, her skin remained stubbornly tan. And her brown curly hair never lay perfectly coiffed the way Mariah’s fine blond strands did. Her maid had always had to fight with her hair to get it to conform to the styles of the day.

  The children of her father’s younger brother, Mariah and Edmund lived near Bristol where their father was a clergyman. The cousins had visited Peverton Park, Alexa’s home, every summer, as long as she could remember. Growing up, Mariah and Edmund had not been poor, but their situation in life certainly hadn’t been as comfortable as Alexandra’s. That was never more apparent than on the rare occasions when she and her father had visited her uncle.

  As the eldest child in his family, Alexa’s father had been the heir and landowner for Peverton Park in the village of Crosby, the finest property for miles around. Her father had passed a few years ago. As Richard Morland’s only child, Alexa was heiress to his estate, with a fortune of 50,000 pounds upon her marriage or when she turned 25 a few years from now.

  At least, she had been an heiress. Before the truth came out. Before Alexa’s life was upended.

  A few months ago, Alexa’s mother had become ill with consumption. Edmund and Mariah came to assist Alexa with the household while her mother was ill. No expense was spared in her treatment. The best physicians were sent for from London. There was even talk of retiring to Bath or Brighton where the waters could do her some good. But it wasn’t to be. Poor, petite Anne Morland’s small frame was unable to withstand the ravages of the disease.

  Shortly before she succumbed to the illness, Anne Morland regained consciousness enough to request the presence of her daughter at her bedside. There, she admitted the truth about Alexa she had hidden all her life: not the child of Richard Morland after all, Alexa was the natural daughter born of an illicit assignation between her mother and a traveling Spanish dignitary. Richard, nor anyone else, had ever known the truth.

  Hearing the news was such a shock, Alexa could scarcely believe it. She nearly attributed the tale to the fevered workings of her mother’s illness. But Anne insisted upon her story, producing correspondence from her lover which proved an affair had taken place. And after all, Alexa had never resembled her father. Her mother, too, had milk pale skin. The truth had been in front of her all this time and Alexa had simply refused to see it. Before she had time to process this new information, her mother passed, living Alexa to deal with the consequences. She was grieving for and furious with her mother all at once.

  Unfortunately, Alexandra was not the only one who had discovered she was a natural daughter. She soon learned other ears had been listening when her mother told the truth about her heritage.

  Chapter 2

  Henry Northam turned a page on the book he was reading, then paused to make a tidy note on a paper. His dark hair fell into his eyes and Henry brushed it aside absentmindedly, absorbed in his studies.

  At 26, Henry harbored a secret suspicion that he was something of a disappointment to his parents. Unlike his younger brother George—an unrepentant fop who spent hours dressing so he could get his cravat tied just right. But George was fashionable and had a talent for making a large acquaintance with the leading men and women of the day, so their parents approved. After all, those were activities befitting a man of their station in life. On the other hand, his parents simply couldn’t comprehend what possessed Henry to want to pursue a career, of all things.

  Of the two Northam brothers, Henry was the more handsome, but his unstudied appearance and George’s fastidious attention to style often disguised that fact. Henry’s most fashionable friend was Charles Camden, a rich man who spent most days carousing with women and playing at cards. And even he was probably more respectable in the Northams’ eyes than Henry.

  They couldn’t grasp why Henry would want to seek out a profession when he didn’t have to. He was heir to a comfortable estate and already possessed a sizable fortune—one that would increase even more at the passing of his parents. Gentlemen were supposed to engage in leisure, not work. Which Henry didn’t mind, occasionally. But he longed to do more with his talents. Even Charles, who had been his friend since they’d studied at Oxford together, would regularly attempt to discourage Henry so they could go off shooting or riding together instead. “For someone with 5,000 pounds a year, you sure spend a lot of time and effort on unnecessary pursuits,” Charles had remarked on more than one occasion.

  The library was usually Henry’s sanctuary in his London home, but now his father and George entered, apparently looking for him. “At the books again, Henry?” Sir Elliot Northam asked his eldest son as soon as he’d come into the room. Even though he was in his mid-fifties, Sir Elliot was still a remarkably handsome man. Although not as fashionable as his younger son, Sir Elliot wasn’t embarrassed to admit he took pride in his appearance. His figure was still trim, not wide like most men of his age. “If you find the law interesting, by all means, study the subject as a pastime. However, there’s no need to make a profession out of it.” His father said profession like it was a dirty word. “Gentlemen of proper breeding and good fortune do not whore themselves out as barristers when they’ve no need to do so. One would think you could find better things to occupy your time in London. Go to the club, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Or better yet: When was the last time you went to the tailor?” George asked him, peering forward with a frown. “I haven’t seen anyone wear sleeves like that for two seasons. It’s no wonder you haven’t found a wife yet.”

  Henry coughed. He was used to the attacks on his sense of style, but the latter argument was new. And although George didn’t know it, this hit a little too close to the mark for his comfort. Henry had thought himself in love once, had even been on the point of engagement, but the lady had found his desire for occupation just as unbefitting of his station as Sir Elliot had, and that had been
the end of the attachment. It was for the best. He had been highly deceived in her affection for him though, and it had made him wary of becoming involved with another woman any time soon.

  Henry dissembled. “Am I already in danger of becoming a confirmed bachelor? I wasn’t aware. And it’s not as though you’ve been courting anyone to my knowledge, have you, George?”

  “I am only two and twenty.” His brother studiously examined the cuffs of his tailcoat. “What do you think? I am of the opinion that they come down too long over my hands, but Jeffries assured me the Duke of Carebridge had the cuffs of his coat tailored just so.”

  Henry was not quite ready to let his father’s earlier dismissive comments pass. “Father, surely you can see the value in learning? Consider the responsibilities you bear toward your tenants and your land? Is it not the duty of a gentleman to learn and care for things such as this so you can see them prosper?”

  Sir Elliot laughed. “How you amuse me, Henry. Why do you think I employ a steward? Poor Wallace would be left with nothing to do if I were to take over, as you’re suggesting.”

  Henry tried again. “But surely you’re honor bound—?”

  Sir Elliot interrupted. “I’m bound to the land insomuch as I must ensure it’s well cared for. But I do not undertake the details of the work myself. By your logic, you would also have me bake my own bread and wash my own floors.”

  “You mistake my meaning, sir.”

  Sir Elliot raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t espouse any further disagreement on the subject. Instead, he said, “Your brother has brought up the subject of young ladies. The Frosts have invited us this evening. They have a lovely young daughter, a Miss Madeline, whom you might enjoy getting to know. I hear she’s a beauty and quite gifted at singing and watercolors. Most accomplished.”

  Henry grinned. “Interesting how young ladies always seem to be beautiful and accomplished, isn’t it?”