The Damsel: A Villain Duology Sequel Read online

  They sent him off with a farewell dinner, inviting many neighbors and friends to celebrate the occasion. William had been home for it, of course. It would turn out to be the last time the Stanley family as they knew it would all be together this way again.

  Robert could remember exactly where he was and what he’d been doing on the day that death, once again, saw fit to visit the Stanley family.

  He’d just returned from a romp through the woods with the young girl who lived on the neighboring estate. A lovely little thing with fiery auburn hair and a rebellious streak. She had to be the prettiest well-born girl in the county, and earlier in the summer he had begun to notice the changes taking her from girl to woman. Robert had delighted in wooing her, indulging in secret kisses and furtive caresses out of view of their parents.

  After parting ways with her on the forked path leading to their respective houses, he’d whistled happily, his blood thrumming through his veins with excitement. He’d been unable to think of anything other than when he might sneak off to be with her again, his lips still tingling from her kisses.

  Approaching the house, Robert had found his parents waiting for him on the front steps, their expressions grave. He’d faltered on the path, heart leaping into his throat as he’d realized the baroness had been crying. Her nose and cheeks flushed red, shoulders shaking as she came forward, something clutched against her bosom. As she stumbled down the stairs, he realized it was a letter, the envelope and parchment crumpled in her shaking hands.

  Before he could even form the words to ask, he had known. He’d simply felt it, like someone had reached down into his throat and pried some essential thing loose. Something irreplaceable and precious.

  As it turned out, that thing had been Jonas—the brother who'd always been able to make him laugh, who had filled their home with so much joy, even when exasperating them to no end.

  “They say The Intrepid has gone down with all hands,” she whispered, her voice breaking off on a sob before she pitched forward and into his arms. “There isn’t … they don’t have … his body is still out there … Oh, God!”

  Robert had nearly buckled under the weight of the crushing grief —his own, as well as his mother’s. But, he’d held firm and clung to her, eyes stinging as he tried to make sense of this. But, it did not make sense. Jonas had been a force of nature, as brave and fearless as they came. It did not seem possible for him to cease existing in this world. And for there to be no body, no evidence of his demise … it was nonsensical. Glancing up at his father, he found that the baron looked old, his face weathered and drawn. His father was not a young man anymore, but the losses of Andrew and Jonas had only quickened the process. Like Robert, he seemed intent upon remaining stoic for the baroness, who wept as if some part of her had been ripped out, too.

  “Perhaps it is a misunderstanding,” he had managed, his voice hoarse from the sobs he contained. “Someone might be mistaken about what has happened.”

  His tone had turned pleading, as if the son in him needed her to tell him everything would be fine. He wanted her to comfort him for once, to tell him that of course Jonas could not possibly be dead.

  “Oh, I pray you are right, Robert. God, please don’t let it be true!”

  Time proved Robert wrong, as his father’s journey to London and a few queries turned up the truth. The Intrepid had run afoul of a storm and dragged its seamen into a watery grave. The splintered remains had been found by another Royal Navy vessel, and its crew had identified the lost ship by the lettering along a piece of its leftover hull.

  From that day forward, a dark cloud seemed to hang over the Stanley estate, as if Jonas had been the sun and there could be no light now that he was gone. William, who'd spent the summer in London with friends from Oxford, had returned home upon receiving the news. In the fall, he would have to return, and Robert was scheduled to leave for another term at Eton. His mother spoke often of keeping him at home and hiring a tutor.

  “I cannot bear to be without my little boy,” she would say while clinging to him, tears wetting her face.

  “He must have his education like the rest of them, Rosie,” the baron would argue.

  His mother would try to plead her case. A tutor would do to see him properly educated, and he would be at home, where nothing awful could happen to him. When she was not worried that he might go to Eton and never return, she fussed over him like never before.

  “Robert, do get out of those boots and put on dry stockings. You could catch a chill!”

  “Robert, do not eat so fast, love, you could choke to death!”

  “Robert, no running on the stairs! You will break your neck and I would never survive it. Is that what you want?”

  Each time she warned him of some new danger, guilt would assail him over having worried her.

  “I am sorry, Mother,” he would murmur, then tailor his behavior to offer her peace of mind.

  He never ran in the house, he always promptly warmed himself after coming in from the rain, and whenever he felt the urge to cough, he left the room so she could not hear him. Leaving for Eton made things easier. When he was not at home, he did not have to be reminded every day that Jonas and Andrew were dead. He could make friends and dedicate his time to his studies. Letters from home came filled with cautions from his mother, of course. She worried that he might not be eating enough, that he could not rest well sharing a room with three other boys, or that the classrooms were too drafty. Every time he wrote back, he would fill his letters with reassurances, doing his best to soothe her from afar. Yes, he had plenty to eat every day and had even grown quite a bit since the last time she’d seen him. He slept fine and liked the boys he roomed with. There was plenty of coal for their fires, so no, she did not have to worry he would freeze.

  Yet again, life arranged itself into some semblance of order. When he and William came home on holiday, they spent as much time together as possible—partly to escape their mother’s incessant worrying, but mostly because death had bonded them like never before. The first son, and the fourth who had now become the heir’s spare.

  “There are only two of us now,” William would say when overtaken by melancholy. “We must always stick together, Robert. No matter what. We cannot let petty squabbles come between us. Andrew would not want it, and neither would Jonas.”

  Were Andrew here, he might have pointed out how inevitable it was for brothers to fight. Jonas would have joked that William was being bossy—as usual. Feeling the deep chasm of two dead brothers between them, Robert had done neither of those things.

  He had merely nodded his agreement and murmured, “Yes, you are right.”

  The holiday before William’s final spring term, he had repeated the sentiment to Robert for the last time. They'd stood on the front steps of the house, their breaths turning white on the winter air. Inside, his mother played the pianoforte while a gathering of neighbors joined her and the baron in their favorite Christmas songs.

  “You’ll be off for university soon,” William had said, giving him a smile. “I suppose when you return, you might join me in London. It’s a ripping good time, you know.”

  Robert knew only what William had told him, having never lived anywhere except home and Eton. “I suppose. We shall be two young bachelors about Town, chasing after the debutantes. Though, you ought to be wed by then, yes?”

  William had chuckled at that. “God, I hope not.”

  Robert, who had discovered within himself a sense of romantic whimsy, had shrugged. “I do not know. Finding the right woman to wed might not be so bad. A love match … that’s what I would want.”

  His brother had nudged his shoulder and laughed all the harder. “Oh, Robert … you were born with stars in your eyes, just like Mother always says. I pity the debutantes of London once you’re old enough to be on the prowl. They will not stand a chance, not a single one of them!”

  He’d smiled at that, studying his brother from the corner of his eye. While everyone thought him t
he ‘pretty’ brother, William was tall, with a broad chest and shoulders, and merry eyes. He could never be called anything but handsome.

  “I hardly think they stand a chance around you, either.”

  William had frowned, dipping his head so he stared at his feet. “I have no interest in them."

  “In debutantes?”

  “In women,” he’d whispered, glancing over his shoulder as if to ensure no one was about to overhear. “I never have been. My tastes are … different.”

  Shock had overwhelmed him for a moment. He had assumed William must be sowing his oats in London, helping himself to the Covent Garden doxies like every other man they knew. But then he realized he’d never actually seen William pursue a woman for any reason. Outside the obligatory dances and mundane conversation, he’d never shown romantic interest in any woman.

  “Men?” he’d murmured, his eyes going wide.

  William gave a swift nod, but seemed to have a hard time meeting his eye. “You cannot tell Mother or Father.”

  “Of course not! Your secret is safe with me.”

  No matter how unorthodox it may seem, he could never see William as anything other than his brother—his best friend. They’d grown close following the deaths of Andrew and Jonas, and nothing could change that.

  “Is there someone you fancy?” he’d asked.

  He’d wanted William to know he didn’t disapprove or judge him for feelings beyond his control. If his brother could not speak of it with their parents, then Robert would be his listening ear.

  William had flushed and finally met his gaze. “There is, but … he doesn’t know. I’ve been too afraid to tell him.”

  “Oh, but you must tell him,” he’d urged. “Does he … have the same inclinations as you?”

  “I’m almost certain he does.”

  “Then you must—”

  “I’m Father’s heir, Robert,” William had interjected. “That will require a baroness, a son, I can't …”

  He’d brought a hand down on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “Love is more important than any of it.You should be with the person you want most. If there is a chance he feels the same way, you must take a chance. I want to see you happy, Will.”

  His brother had nudged him in the ribs with a sly smirk. “Is it that you want me to be happy … or that you want to inherit the barony?”

  “Perhaps I do,” he’d said with a chuckle.

  That had been the last time he had laughed with his brother. Within days of Christmas, he returned to them in a wooden box with a hole in his chest from a knife wound.

  Having left to spend what remained of his holiday in London with a few Oxford chums, he had become the victim of a brutal stabbing. One of the friends who had been with him in Town had accompanied William’s body back home. Standing in the drawing room with his hat in his hands, he’d explained to what was left of the Stanley family how their loved one had met his end.

  “We were leaving a gaming hell when we heard a scream from down a nearby alley. William did not think twice—you should know that about him. He was brave until the very last, running right toward the scream intending to help. It was a lady under attack by some bleeder after her jewels. William wrestled him off her, and screamed at us to get the lady to safety. Two of us took her off to hail a hack and make sure she was all right. By the time I returned, William had been stabbed, and … I am so sorry.”

  He hung his head and wept, while Robert choked on the tight knot of grief welling in his throat. For a moment, he wondered if this young man might be the one William had loved. The way he wept, as if mourning someone dear to him, Robert knew he had to be. It only made this all the more tragic, as he’d never know whether his brother had made his feelings known.

  He clung to his mother, who sat staring into the hearth as if she hadn’t heard a word. The baron buried his face in his hands to smother his own gut-wrenching sobs. The empty space that had opened within him after Andrew’s death and grew all the more with Jonas’, now seemed big enough to rip him in two.

  Robert held the baroness in his arms and rocked her as he might a child, feeling how she trembled from the strain of it all, hearing the muffled whimpers of the sobs she tried her best not to let out.

  William’s friend declined an invitation to stay the night, stating he had family nearby and would lodge with them until he was ready to return to university. He would be near at hand if they needed him, and of course would attend William’s funeral.

  The shock of it kept Robert quite numb in the hours following, his mind reeling as the implications of this sank in. He was now the remaining son of Lord and Lady Stanley—the baron’s sole heir.

  Wandering into the drawing room where William’s body had been placed for the time being, he felt the first sting of tears.

  “It isn’t supposed to be like this,” he rasped, gazing down at William’s corpse.

  Even in death, his brother was regal and handsome—broad shouldered, tall, with the sort of rugged features the ladies swooned over behind their fans. Robert would never hear him laugh again, never suffer William's teasing over his softer, romantic sensibilities.

  “I’m not supposed to be the heir. You are. And … and I am not supposed to be alone in this world. You should be here, damn it! You and Andrew, and Jonas …”

  He went down to his knees, a sob ripping through him like the unfurling of a great storm. It was as if he felt it all for the first time— all three deaths and the horror of them crushing down upon him at once.

  This was how the baroness found him, kneeling on the floor and sobbing so hard he could hardly breathe, his eyes clouded by a neverending stream of tears.

  She stood at his side, one hand stroking his golden curls as he leaned into her, clinging tight to her skirts. Her own, softer cries mingled with his own, her hand shaking as she stroked his hair.

  “Why has this happened? How … how have we lost them all?”

  He turned his gaze up to hers, seeking answers but finding none. Her eyes were dark and hard, all the warmth he usually found there snuffed out by grief.

  “I do not know why,” she said, her voice rough and tortured. “But, I am thankful we ever had them at all, when there was a time none of you existed. You see, even in the midst of my pain, God has seen fit to smile upon me.”

  His face contorted into something like disbelief as he swiped his sleeve over his damp face. “How can you say that? He took them from us, all of them!”

  She knelt beside him upon the floor, urging him to lean against her as he went on sniffling and trying to get himself under control. He had always been the one to comfort her, to bring her flowers and make her smile through her grief. But, just now he did not have the strength. So, this time, she held him and kissed his brow and did her best to reassure him in a way she never had.

  “I can say that because you are still here,” she murmured. “My dear, sweet boy. He made you special for a reason … because He knew I would need you when all was said and done. He might have taken Andrew, and Jonas, and William … and I may never understand why. His ways are mysterious to us. But as long as I have you, I can survive.” He wrapped an arm around her and held tight, unable to respond with words. She held him back, trembling as if afraid he might slip away from her any moment.

  “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. “All will be well as long as we are together.”

  Chapter 1

  LONDON, 1819

  The Honourable Mr. Robert Stanley stood beside his barouche, watching the other carriage speed down the dark road. As it drew farther away, his heart began to sink, dropping deeper into his middle with every mile that separated him from the woman inside. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat, he sighed. He barely registered the chill, or the wind mussing his hair. As he watched another man make off with the love of his life, all he felt was a deep, resounding grief.

  His fingers brushed against something cold and hard, so he took hold of it and pull
ed it free. An enormous sapphire in a gold setting— a family heirloom passed down by generations of Stanleys—sat in his palm. The sight of the ring meant for the woman he’d hoped would become his wife only made the sensation in his gut worse. Now, along with the heavy weight of his heart, a churning maelstrom had begun, making him feel as if he’d be torn apart from the inside.

  When he’d taken himself over to Fairchild House this morning, Robert had been aware of the risks. Five years ago—or even one year ago—he would have approached proposing to Lady Daphne Fairchild with far more optimism. She’d been his friend since they were children, and in adulthood they had become lovers of a sort. While seeking privacy in the stretch of woods separating her family estate from his, they’d indulged in their carnal urges—Robert teaching her the sort of pleasure her untouched body could enjoy, Daphne engaging him with a sort of curiosity and passion that had enraptured him. They’d kissed and touched while smothering the sounds of their rapture, but he had always pulled back for fear of losing his head and ruining her.

  Because, it had been the honorable thing to do and if there was one thing he’d always wanted, it was to live up to the title preceding his name. He was a gentleman, after all, and while he had never dreamed he might someday inherit the barony, he had always been aware of who his father was and what that meant. He'd also thought he stood in the perfect position to make Daphne his in truth someday, so had been content to bide his time.

  He’d been courtly and polite and understanding. He’d been honest about the depths of his affections at all times, knowing she’d never care for aloofness in a man. And when he thought he would die from needing to be inside her, he’d taken himself off to the first whore with red hair he could find. None of them could ever match her in beauty, but if he focused on the parts of them that were like shadows of her, it would prove enough to help him keep a handle on his urges when in her presence.

  It had brought him no end of guilt to lay with whores when his heart belonged to her. But, he’d have done anything to keep from ruining her before they’d been wed. It had felt like the right thing to do, taking the edge off his urges so he could keep himself in check whenever they were together. Once she was his wife, she’d be the only woman he’d want to touch ever again.