A Lady's Honor

Book 1: Everton Domestic Society

by A.S. Fenichel

Genres: Historical Fiction; Women's Fiction; Regency Romance

Synopsis

A Regency romance that proves not every match is made at the marriage mart—a sparkling series debut from the author of the Forever Brides books.
 
After a disastrous, short-lived engagement and years of caring for her ailing grandmother, Phoebe Hallsmith is resigned to spinsterhood. But if she must be unmarried, far better to be of use than languishing at home, disappointing her parents. As an employee of the Everton Domestic Society of London, Phoebe accepts a position at the country home of an old friend and discovers an estate—and a lord of the manor—in a state of complete chaos. 
 
Losing himself in the bottle has done nothing to ease Markus Flammel’s grief over losing his wife. Not even his toddler daughter can bring him back from the brink. Now this fiery, strong-minded redhead has taken over his home, firing and hiring servants at will and arousing unexpected desire. As not one, but two, suitors suddenly vie for Phoebe’s hand, can Markus move past loss and fight for a future with the woman who has transformed his world?
 
“If you love historical romance with a strong-willed heroine, this is a must-read! Fenichel’s outdone herself with a lush romantic story with honest, emotional depth, high stakes and humorous dialogue. I can’t wait for the next one in the series.”—N. N. Light’s Book Heaven
 
“Much like the other books that I have read by A. S. Fenichel, the romance is complex yet lovely. I would recommend this book also for readers who love HEAs and overcoming large obstacles.”—JoJo’s Modern Life

Release date: April 3, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 304

Sample

Prologue

Phoebe breathed in the warm, cherry pipe tobacco that scented the Everton Domestic Society’s offices. Lord Rupert Everton only smoked in his private lounge, but the homey smell wafted through the building. From the moment she’d set foot in the aging townhouse, she’d been more at home than in any of her family’s estates. Fresh flowers filled the vases on the entry table and at the bottom of the handrail.

Tired from a long assignment, she took care to silence her practical shoes on the scarred wooden floors. A Persian carpet ran the length of the steps. If she could get there unheard, she would be sure to make it to the solitude of her private room above-stairs. Waking dreams of flopping down on her own bed had kept her awake these last few weeks. Not that she ever slept well, but lately it had grown worse.

Dark wood adorned the walls with little to mask any sound. The door to her right opened and Phoebe gasped. Lady Jane’s voice drifted out. “You have nothing to worry about, Lady Castlereagh. I will send someone to Rosefield in a few days.”

“I have no doubt,” replied Margaret Flammel, in a stern voice. The Countess of Castlereagh stepped into the front hall. Petite but formidable, she patted her dark blond hair into place and turned toward the front door. She locked gazes with Phoebe and stopped.

With an inward sigh, Phoebe dropped into a curtsy. “How do you do, Countess?”

“Lady Phoebe Hallsmith? I had heard you had embarrassed your mother and gone into service. I did not realize it was here at Everton’s. Not quite as bad as becoming some nanny, but not exactly what your family would have expected from you. I heard that brother of yours disowned you.” Her green eyes flashed with accusation.

For a year, she had managed to avoid people who would say directly what all of the ton was thinking. It was a miracle she had managed it so long. Phoebe forced a smile. “I go by Miss Hallsmith now. It is nice to see you, my lady. I hope your daughter, Dorothea, is well.”

“Married, as I’m sure you know. Not well married, but happily, for whatever that is worth.” Lady Castlereagh pulled a handkerchief out of her waistband and dabbed her cheek.

“I imagine it is worth quite a lot to Dorothea.”

Lady Jane Everton cleared her throat and stepped next to Lady Castlereagh. Jane towered over the countess. Her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, she always brought calm to every situation. Her gray skirt and light blue blouse were pressed to perfection and gave her a severe, staid appearance. “Miss Hallsmith has just returned from her second assignment this year. Both were very successful. You may have heard, she assisted with the Mayfield girl for her debut season.”

With a nod, Lady Castlereagh said, “Velvet Mayfield is a shy wallflower. I imagine you had your work cut out for you, Miss Hallsmith.”

The typical labeling done by society stoked Phoebe’s ire. Velvet was a wallflower. Phoebe was a spinster. Where would it end? It wouldn’t. People like the countess would always pin labels on people of whom they disapproved. “You will be happy to hear that Miss Mayfield is soon to be Mrs. Harrington Wormfield.”

Though Lady Castlereagh’s shocked expression only lasted a moment, it was more gratifying than Phoebe could have imagined.

Lady Castlreagh said, “You must be very good at your job if you got that one married off.”

She restrained the joy bubbling inside her over Velvet’s impending marriage. There was no response that would be kind to Velvet. Phoebe turned to Lady Jane. “I am happy to be back, my lady. I will be ready for my next assignment in a day or two.”

Looking her up and down, Lady Castlereagh circled Phoebe like a cat about to devour a mouse. “Lady Jane, I think Miss Hallsmith might do very nicely for my contract with Everton’s. She has breeding, even if she has wasted it. I have always known her to be a resourceful girl, even though her temper is legendary. She knows my son and was friends with his deceased wife. She would not need to be educated about the situation. She grew up near Rosefield and probably has heard all the rumors already. It would keep the situation close rather than exposing our family to a stranger.”

All of England knew the rumors. There was little need to be coy. Markus Flammel had taken to the bottle after his beloved wife, Emma, died in childbirth. It was two years since her death. Phoebe had hoped Markus would come to his senses, but if his mother was seeking help from the Everton Domestic Society, things must be quite bad.

Lady Jane frowned. “We do not usually let our ladies assist friends as it can be a conflict of interest, Countess.”

“I hope I will not have to insist.” Lady Castlereagh lifted her chin, tucked her handkerchief back in her waistband and stepped toward the door. “I expect to hear from you in the next day or two with details of Miss Hallsmith’s arrival at Rosefield.”

The butler, Gray, opened the front door, his wisps of white hair catching the breeze. Once the door closed behind Lady Castlereagh, Gray bowed to Lady Jane and left the front hall.

Jane shook her head. “Are you up to a chat about this assignment, Miss Hallsmith, or do you need a rest?”

Phoebe said, “It is probably best for us to speak first. I will never rest with this on my mind.”

Gesturing toward the office doorway, Jane invited Phoebe inside. The place of business was softer than the entry hall. A muted blue rug and matching drapery warmed the cold wood. Cream and sky-blue upholstery made the overstuffed furniture comfortable. Every table held a vase with fresh-cut flowers. The scent mingled with masculine cherry tobacco. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and the wind sang against the side of the house. Once they were seated, Jane folded her hands atop of the desk and sighed. “What do you know about Markus Flammel?”

Her heart hurt thinking about him. She crossed her ankles and put her hands in her lap where she looked down at them. “Quite a lot. The countess is right about that. I was good friends with his wife, Emma. She was a wonderful girl and they were very much in love. I was still in Scotland when Emma died. She had written to me every week up until then telling me how happy they were about the coming birth of their first child. A few weeks later my mother wrote telling me that Emma had died and the child, Elizabeth, had lived. Mother wrote quite often after that with gossip about Markus and his drinking. I understand from my brother Miles that Markus has not maintained his home.”

Jane leaned back in her chair and let out another sigh. “That is more or less what the countess said. It would also seem that Lord Castlereagh’s antics have finally caught up to him. The family could be in trouble if Markus does not come to his senses. For now, his sister’s husband, Thomas Wheel, is holding things together.”

“That is kind of him.” Phoebe didn’t want to say more about the relationship between Lord Castlereagh and his son-in-law, Thomas. Talking about Markus was part of the business but anything more about the family constituted gossiping. Thomas had many reasons to harm the earl and if he was helping him, it was for the sake of his wife and his old friend Markus. Miles had written to Phoebe just before she returned from Scotland with an account of a duel between the two men where Thomas was nearly killed.

“Yes,” Jane said. “It would seem Mr. Wheel is an extraordinary man. Mrs. Wheel is a lucky woman despite what her mother might think.”

“I am sure if Mr. Wheel were titled, Lady Castlereagh would have another opinion. However, my brother was very close with both Markus Flammel and Thomas Wheel at Eton. They are both fine men. If Markus has fallen this far, he needs help and the fact that his mother came to you must mean she is quite desperate.”

“Agreed. Will you take the assignment, Miss Hallsmith? I know you were counting on some time off, but it would be difficult to sway the countess from her demands.” Jane pulled a pen and paper from the drawer to her left. “This is the contract Lady Castlereagh signed. If you agree, I will put your name on it.”

Phoebe hoped she didn’t look as weary as she felt. “I will require a few days to rest, but I feel I must help Markus and Elizabeth for Emma’s sake. She was a good friend to me. I called on Markus a year ago, after my grandmother passed. I had just returned to England. Markus was not at home and the housekeeper did not know when he would return. I will need a chaperon.”

“Yes. I think Lady Honoria Chervil is the only Everton dowager available at the moment.” Jane frowned, but there was amusement in her gray eyes.

“I know some ladies complain about her eccentricities, but she makes me laugh.” Even the thought of Lady Chervil gave Phoebe a chuckle. She was irreverent, flamboyant, and energetic. Maybe just the thing Markus Flammel, the viscount of Devonrose and his estate, Rosefield, needed.

Jane nodded. “I will put you both down for the Flammel assignment and order a carriage for Friday. Will that give you enough time to recover?”

Four days with nothing to do but rest. It sounded like heaven. “Perfect. I will be ready to go. If you would not mind, I think it would be best if I brought Arwen with me again. It is best to have a lady’s maid when living with the ton.”

“Of course. Lady Chervil will no doubt bring Margery with her. Just make sure you keep to the rules of the companion. None of the Everton Ladies or their staff are to be a burden to the clients.”

“I will stick to the companion’s rules.” She patted the side of her bag where the booklet resided.

“By letting you go I am already breaking from the rules. It will be difficult for you not to become personally involved with the client when you already know him and are sympathetic to his situation.” Jane shook her head and jotted Phoebe’s name on the contract.

It was personal. There was no getting around it. Still, Phoebe was determined to be the best Everton lady to hold a companion and keep to the rules. “Rule twenty may be bent, but it is not broken, Lady Jane. I will remain unaffected and do what is necessary to resolve the situation.”

“I have complete faith in you, Miss Hallsmith.”

Chapter 1

No. 6

Upon arrival, an Everton lady will seek the head of household and announce her presence and purpose.

—The Everton Companion

Rules of Conduct

Years in Scotland caring for Grand had kept Phoebe from Rosefield and her best friend, Emma. Along the front of the grand estate, Emma’s beloved rose bushes were overgrown and the facade loomed with sorrow and loss. Hesitating on the first step, she brushed aside her imaginings about the stones mourning Emma’s death.

There were no words that could comfort Markus Flammel. What would she say?

A wayward branch from the rose bush lay in her path.

Rubbing the chill of October from her arms, she took a breath, clasped her bag with her Everton lady’s companion inside and pulled her shoulders back. She had faced her grandmother’s recovery and eventually her death; she could face this too.

She climbed the ten steps to the door and pushed aside her anxiety.

“This place is a bit unkempt, Phoebe.” Honoria Chervil pranced up the steps beside her.

“Yes. That’s part of why we are here, my lady.” Phoebe grabbed the brass ring and knocked.

“We are arriving very early for paying a call. Perhaps we should have waited for the carriage to be repaired and come later with our belongings.”

The hired hack rumbled back up the drive away from Rosefield. There would be no speedy escape.

Drawing a long breath, Phoebe pulled her shoulders back and her chin up. She was ready for whatever might come. “No. This is not a social call, Honoria. I did not wish to get a late start and it will take hours to have the wheel fixed at the inn. This will be better and the rest will follow this afternoon.”

Glass shattered inside. Yelling and screaming and wood crashing sounded through the door.

“What on earth?” There was nothing worse than standing on the steps while screams and crashes filtered out. Phoebe pushed the door open.

As if her presence froze the scene, five pair of eyes stared at her in the threshold.

Two maids were on their knees surrounded by glass, faded flowers, and water. The round table lay in pieces behind them.

Mrs. Donnelly’s bonnet was askew, her hair stuck out in all directions, and her chubby cheeks were as red as the overgrown roses in front of the house. The housekeeper scooped up a screaming toddler who was inches from getting into the dangerous glass.

Watson, the butler, stood like a statue staring at her with his hands in the air.

“What in the name of heaven is going on in here?” Phoebe never imagined her arrival would look anything like this.

Watson lowered his hands, smoothed his graying hair and approached. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us at an inopportune moment, my lady. The master has just arrived and we are preparing.”

A maid sniffed as tears ran down her face and she used a rag to pull shards into a pile.

“Preparing for what?” Honoria asked.

“What on earth could be prepared by what I am witnessing?” Phoebe might have been out of line in questioning the staff of Rosefield before she’d even made her purpose known to Markus, but something was terribly wrong here.

Phoebe’s mother had written about Emma’s daughter, Elizabeth, being raised mostly by servants, but this was ridiculous. Elizabeth continued to wail as if being beaten with a stick and Mrs. Donnelly shushed her to no avail. Elizabeth grabbed a handful of Mrs. Donnelly’s hair and they both shrieked until Phoebe’s ears hurt.

“You might try back at another time, Miss Hallsmith.” Sweat dripped down the side of Watson’s long face.

Phoebe had a hundred questions, but would get no answers with the servants. What started as worry grew into annoyance, and she had to swallow down her emotions to remain calm. She turned to Mrs. Donnelly. “Madam, give me that child before she does you real harm.”

Never had a woman of such girth moved with such speed. She foisted Elizabeth into Phoebe’s arms. “It’s not Little Elizabeth’s fault, Miss. She misses her father and he—”

“That will do, Mrs. Donnelly.” Watson’s scolding tone stopped any further explanation and started the maid crying again.

Phoebe propped Elizabeth on her hip. “You are far too small to be causing so much chaos. I cannot imagine what your sweet momma is thinking looking down on you. Now I expect you to act like a little lady.”

Just like her father, Elizabeth had large green eyes, and they were wide open staring at Phoebe. A black smudge marred her left cheek and some kind of jelly stuck all around her rosy lips and pert little nose.

“She doesn’t speak, my lady, though we try to teach her,” Mrs. Donnelly said.

At two years old, Elizabeth should have some vocabulary. Phoebe’s heart clenched. She should have come sooner. Of course, that hadn’t been an option, but it did not soothe her guilt. “Well, we need no words for the moment. I’m sure when Miss Elizabeth has something important to say, she will do so. I do not go by a title any longer. Miss Hallsmith will do.”

Elizabeth relaxed and her little body conformed to Phoebe’s side as if they were two parts of a whole.

“You know, your mother and I were very good friends, Elizabeth. I think that you and I will be as well, but you must behave with more manners. Shall we go see your father?”

A wide smile showed off several teeth and brought a lovely pink to her sweet cheeks.

Watson stepped forward but kept enough distance as to not fall into Elizabeth’s reach. “That’s what started all of this, Miss. I’m afraid his lordship does not wish to see…anyone.”

A low growl issued from deep in Elizabeth’s chest.

Taking another step back, Watson paled.

“Ladies do not growl, Elizabeth. Where is his lordship?” Phoebe had spent years reining in her temper and learning to act like a lady even when she wanted to tear someone’s hair out. It was becoming obvious that she would need to use all she had learned to get through the next few moments.

“In the study, but as I said, Miss Hallsmith, he does not wish to be disturbed.” Watson held out his arms blocking her way.

Lifting Elizabeth higher on her hip, Phoebe turned toward the study. “I could not possibly care less about what his lordship wants. Lady Chervil, will you please wait here and explain our purpose?”

Honoria’s chest puffed out as she lifted her shoulders and double chin. “I will be happy to, Miss Hallsmith.”

Phoebe strode past Watson to the door and pushed through.

The enormous desk that Emma had purchased as a wedding gift for Markus took up most of the room. Phoebe’s heart broke at the memory of how proud her friend had been of the custom-made gift. She had thought the sun rose with her husband, and the two had been the perfect couple. Wood, though dusty, paneled three walls while one boasted three large bookcases separated by two benches. A musty odor, from disuse and lack of cleaning, tickled Phoebe’s nose.

Markus faced the cloudy window overlooking the side garden. “I do not wish to be disturbed. Go away.”

The petulance of his tone only raised Phoebe’s ire. Behavior of that sort should be disregarded, even if on the inside she seethed. Placing Elizabeth on the floor, Phoebe said, “That is too bad, my lord, as you have company who will not be turned aside. I am here on business.”

His chair scraped across the wood floor as he stood and turned. He narrowed green eyes, shadowed with dark rings and sunken into pale skin, and he swayed. The strong, handsome man Emma had loved and married was no longer present in Markus Flammel.

Elizabeth froze.

Phoebe propped her fists on her hips and met his gaze.

“Phoebe Hallsmith?”

She dropped her hands and fell into a polite curtsy. “My lord.”

“What are you doing here? Emma is gone.”

His raised voice brought a whimper from poor Elizabeth who shrunk back and hid her face in Phoebe’s skirt.

Turning, Phoebe called out the study door. “Mrs. Donnelly?”

Still frazzled and tattered, the housekeeper poked her head in the door. “Miss?”

“Please take Miss Elizabeth to the kitchen and see if Cook has a nice biscuit for her. Then see that her hands and face are washed before you bring her back here to visit with her father.”

Mrs. Donnelly’s face went white and she stiffened. “Little Elizabeth does not care for face washing.”

“Do not tell me you are afraid of that child, Madam. I will not hear of it. Miss Elizabeth will be happy for the cookie and act the proper lady when it is time to wash. Isn’t that right?” She gave Elizabeth a pointed look.

Red-faced, Elizabeth stared at Phoebe with her mouth open. Never taking her gaze away, she toddled over to Mrs. Donnelly and took her hand.

Once they left, Markus ran his fingers through his overlong hair. “How did you do that?”

Phoebe wanted to feel sympathy for him but she couldn’t keep her annoyance in check. “What on earth is wrong with you? How can you talk about Emma that way in front of your daughter? I am well aware of the loss of my dear friend, so your attempt to hurt me was wasted. Why is your house in chaos? Why are Emma’s roses along the front entrance overgrown? Why is your staff terrified of a small child? Where have you been that they are shocked at your arrival? I demand answers.”

“You demand? Who are you to demand anything? Where were you when Emma lay in her coffin and they covered her up with dirt? You have no rights here.” He collapsed into his chair.

Guilt swelled inside Phoebe, and she sat across from him. “I was in Scotland with my grandmother. She was ill and I could not leave her. I received a letter from my mother about Emma’s passing, and you may believe me when I tell you I was quite devastated. However, there was nothing I could do for her as she was and is in God’s hands.” Pulling herself together, she added, “I have been sent here by the Everton Domestic Society at the behest of your mother.”

“I do not care why you are here. Get out of my house. You only serve as a reminder of her.”

Where was the Markus of old? The man who Emma had gushed over. Markus would stop in and enjoy tea and conversation with the ladies. “Answer my questions. Then maybe I will leave you in peace.”

He lifted a bottle of liquor out of his desk drawer, banged it onto the surface, removed the top, and took a long pull.

Phoebe had never seen this side of Markus. Running might have been the smart thing to do, but she held her place and swallowed her fear. He had always been calm and polite. Everything admirable had gone with her friend and the child suffered for it. Something had to be done. “Have you taken to the bottle as well as neglected your responsibilities, my lord? I always imagined you were smarter than your father.”

Markus’s face colored a horrible shade of purple, and he hurled the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall in a starburst of glimmering shards. Brandy ran down the wall in rivulets and the stench of alcohol swamped the room.

If she left now, she could escape whatever wrath she had unleashed inside of him, but where would that leave poor Elizabeth? “Are you quite through or are there other objects you’d like to destroy? Maybe you will hack up that desk Emma bought you next?”

The air went out of him and he slumped onto his folded arms atop the desk. His shoulders rose and fell several times before he sat up. “I have not been home because everything here reminds me of her and I am not strong enough. As to your other questions…” He shrugged. “I fired the gardener and the child has put a strain on the household. Did you say my mother sent you?”

Many things she should have said, but his eyes shone from too much brandy and practical matters needed addressing first. “I work for Everton Domestic Society. Your mother contracted for someone to help you with Rosefield.”

“Help me? How can you help me? No one can help.” He put his forehead on his arms.

Nothing was ever easy. She needed a dozen questions answered, but one or two would have to do while he was in this state. “Why is there no nanny?”

“I may have fired one or two.” He leaned his head back against the leather and closed his eyes.

“What about your mother? Has she not come to help with the staff?”

The green of his eyes was as intense as his daughter’s. He scoffed. “I tossed her from the house the last time I was home. I think she said something about never darkening my door again. Just as well.”

The situation was coming into view, and the remedy would not be an easy one. “I see. Lady Chervil and I each have a lady’s maid. We will need rooms made up. I expect your staff can handle that small task. Our carriage needed repairs so we hired a hack this morning. The Everton Domestic Society’s carriage with our bags and maids will arrive later today. They will need to be brought in. I will explain to your staff my needs and expectations.”

He stood, and pressing his knuckles to the wood, leaned forward. If the desk had not been so big, his looming might have been threatening, but as it was, he was too far away to leave her awed.

“You cannot live here. I am an unmarried man,” he said, voice cracking.

It wrenched her heart. “Everton’s is aware of your situation. That is why Lady Chervil is here as my chaperon. She is speaking with Watson now.”

Raising his voice, he pointed at Phoebe. “I do not want her or you here. I do not need you here.”

“Your rage does not scare me, my lord, so you might as well save it for someone else. You could tell me you will hire a reputable nanny and allow her to sort out your house. You might tell me you have met a fine woman and plan to remarry. You could step up and be the man Emma married and take care of your own house. If you can look me in the eye and guarantee me these things will happen, I will walk out that door and report to my superiors that all is well here and leave you in peace.”

He sank back into his chair. “I will not be responsible for you or Lady Chervil.”

“No. I imagine you are not even responsible for yourself these days. One more thing, my lord. When Mrs. Donnelly arrives back here in a few moments with your daughter in tow, you are to put aside whatever sorrows you have and pay her the attention she deserves. Do I make myself clear?” If she was overstepping her boundaries, she didn’t care. He had suffered, but so had Elizabeth and at his hand. There was no time like the present to start a change.

“She looks too much like Emma.” Pain etched lines around his eyes and mouth.

Sympathy shared the space with her disgust. He was in pain but his behavior could not be ignored. “And quite a lot like you too, Markus. She is a smart child and she needs you.”

Tugging at his badly tied cravat, he pulled it loose. “You have been here not twenty minutes. How do you know she’s smart?”

Phoebe sat on the edge of . . .