London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection Read online

Prudence smiled softly and let herself kiss him again. She had been through such an ordeal, such a struggle, but Lord Stoneleigh had never once allowed her to battle alone. Without him, she would never have found the truth. How much she had to be grateful for, how much she owed him—and how much her heart loved him, for he truly was the best of men.

  “I love you,” she whispered, reluctantly untangling herself from Lord Stoneleigh’s embrace as she heard her mother’s footsteps approaching. “And I shall do so every day, for the rest of my life.”

  Josephine’s Truth

  London Temptations Book Three

  Josephine’s Truth

  Text Copyright © 2020 by Joyce Alec

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2020

  Publisher

  Love Light Faith, LLC

  400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825

  Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311

  Prologue

  “I am sorry, Lady Rutherford.”

  Josephine could barely lift her head. Grief was pouring into her, flooding her soul, her heart, her mind. It could not be. It simply could not be!

  “He is gone.”

  The doctor’s voice was rasping gently, his gnarled hand resting on her shoulder. “I did all that I could.”

  Josephine nodded blindly, tears welling in her eyes as she struggled to come to terms with the fact that her husband, her husband of only a few months, was gone.

  “I—I do not understand,” she whispered as the doctor came to sit down heavily in the chair opposite. “He was well. He was strong.”

  The doctor shook his head gravely. “I cannot tell you what has occurred,” he told her honestly. “He had suffered an apoplexy of some sort, but the specifics of it, I cannot say. The apoplexy left him weak, entirely devoid of strength, and after that, I am afraid it was only a matter of time.”

  Closing her eyes tightly and aware of the tears that ran down her cheeks, Josephine drew in a shuddering breath, trying to accept the fact that her husband was now no longer of this world. That she was, it seemed, now entirely alone.

  “This strange weakness,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “What brought it about?” Her eyes lifted to the doctor’s and she saw him turn away, his face a little pale. Her heart seemed to stop in her chest, and she leaned forward all the more, desperate to know what it was he was hiding from her.

  The doctor let out a long breath, evidently seeing that she was not about to let him escape from her questions.

  “It could have been something within himself that simply overtook him completely,” he said, spreading his hands. “And this, I think, is the most understandable explanation.”

  Wiping her eyes with what was now a very wet handkerchief, Josephine took in a shuddering breath. “And the other?” she asked, trying to find the courage to listen to his answer without shirking back from it. “What is the other, doctor?”

  The older man winced, his eyes shifting away from her. “It is not at all likely, Lady Rutherford, I am sure, but there is also the possibility that something was administered to your husband that brought about this strange illness.”

  A chill ran over her skin. “You mean,” she whispered, one hand clutching at her heart, “that there could have been a deliberate act by someone as yet unknown?”

  The doctor held up both hands, a look of warning in his eye. “That is only a suggestion, Lady Rutherford, and not one that I can consider truly viable,” he said, his words supposedly comforting to her. “From what I have seen and from my examination today, I believe that your husband died of something entirely within himself—an old illness, perhaps, that suddenly came to him again. You need not concern yourself with any other ideas.”

  This, Josephine realized, was meant to comfort her, meant to ensure that she did not think anything of his other remarks, yet the idea would not leave her. Tears began to run in rivulets down her cheeks again, making the doctor shake his head in apparent regret that he had been cajoled into speaking so.

  “I am very sorry, Lady Rutherford,” the doctor said, reaching across and patting Josephine’s hand for a moment. His fingers were cold on her skin and she shivered violently. The doctor, seeing this, rose to his feet and, making his way across the room, opened the door and spoke to the maid that was waiting there.

  “Your staff will take care of you now, Lady Rutherford,” he told her, making her feel as though she was too much of a burden for him to bear. “I shall leave you something to take in order to help you sleep, shall I?”

  Josephine murmured her assent, knowing all too well that the laudanum he would leave for her, whilst giving her a dreamless sleep, would make her head painful and a little fuzzy come the morning—but she did not care. She was overcome with pain, her heart aching so dreadfully that she felt as though she might collapse with the agony of it.

  “Again, I am dreadfully sorry,” the doctor murmured before he quit the room and left Josephine to the care of her servants. One maid came to make sure she was sitting comfortably, another brought a tray which held both delicate cakes and tea, whilst a third set down a small glass of whisky for her. Josephine wanted to thank them for their concern but found that she could not say a word, her throat closing as she thought of her dear husband, lying alone in his bedchamber, no longer able to rise from it as she had expected.

  “What am I to do now?” she whispered hopelessly. “What is it I am to do?”

  “My lady,” said one of her maids, bending down before Josephine and setting one hand gently on her arm. “You must take care of yourself, so that you have enough strength for what is to come.”

  Josephine blinked away her tears and looked into the young girl’s face. “What is there to come?” she asked hoarsely. “I can see nothing ahead but darkness.”

  The maid glanced at the other two, who both nodded encouragingly.

  “There is the funeral to arrange, my lady,” the maid said slowly. “Then the will to be read. And Lord Rutherford’s brother shall have to be informed of what has happened.”

  “Lord Timothy will take the title now, since he is next in line,” the second maid said quietly. “Perhaps, if he arrives soon, he will be able to do all the arrangements for the funeral.”

  It was an idea that Josephine wanted to cling to, but her head shook slowly as she recalled what her husband had said. “I believe Lord Timothy is abroad at present,” she said despairingly, wishing that she had been given the opportunity to meet him before now, but the Lord Timothy Telford had shown no interest in attending the wedding and had made his way to the continent once the engagement had been confirmed. “It will be some time before a letter reaches him and even longer before he can return.” She dropped her eyes to the floor. “I have no other choice but to make such arrangements myself, although how I shall have the strength to do so, I cannot imagine.”

  Tears began to flood down her cheeks once more and she felt one of the maids press a handkerchief into her hand. She had no one in the world now. There was nothing left for her here. This was no longer her home. Yes, for the moment she could linger, but what would be done for her thereafter? She could not imagine that Lord Rutherford had left her anything in particular, for their marriage had been of such a short duration, that she was certain he had not thought to make any particular changes to his will. In addition, his brother—one she had never met before but had heard her late husband speak of often—would be arriving to take over the house and the title. What would he do with her? She had heard of the kindness of men in such situations, but she feared that the new Lord Rutherford w
ould not be so. Terror gripped her heart, chasing away her sorrow for a few moments as she struggled desperately to catch her breath.

  “You have more strength than you know, my lady,” said the third maid, her hands clasped together under her chin as tears filled her eyes. “And we will do what we can to help you.” A single tear ran down her cheek as Josephine lifted her eyes to the girl, realizing at once that the staff would also feel the pain of the loss of their master. Lord Rutherford had been a good man and an excellent master, who had treated his staff with understanding and compassion. Some had been here for many, many years and would, she was sure, feel his loss very keenly.

  “Tell the staff they are to take the rest of the day to themselves, and that tomorrow, they need only do light duties,” Josephine whispered, pressing the handkerchief against one eye and then the other, trying to push back her tears so that she could speak with firmness and understanding as to how the staff now felt. A wan smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “So long as I am fed and the house is warm, I shall be contented enough.”

  The maids nodded, bobbing a quick curtsy before glancing at each other.

  “I shall need nothing more for the time being,” Josephine continued, looking at her lady’s maid, who was still crouched by her side. “Go and rest.”

  Her maid did not move. “You will be sitting here alone, my lady.”

  “And that is precisely what I wish,” Josephine answered quietly. “I shall ring if I need anything more.”

  The maid hesitated, then nodded slowly before getting to her feet. “I will come at once, should you have need of me.”

  Josephine nodded and managed the smallest of smiles, pressing her maid’s hand as she passed. The door closed behind them and, for the first time since she had heard the news of her husband’s death, Josephine was left entirely alone.

  Sobs began to shake her frame and Josephine allowed herself to give in to them, sobbing desperately into her handkerchief. She cried for her husband, for his passing, and for the bond that had been so quickly broken between them. She cried for herself, for what she had been left with and what fears now lay before her. And she cried with upset over her lack of understanding as to what had occurred and why. Lord Rutherford had gone to a house party, whilst she had remained at the estate, feeling too tired to attend. Her husband had returned but not in the same state as he had left. His eyes had been dull and heavy, his skin almost grey with a strange pallor. When he had come into the house, he had collapsed onto the staircase, unable to find the strength to climb them—and thus, his illness had begun. Within only a few days, he was gone.

  “Why?” Josephine whispered, covering her face with her hands as she fought against the swell of panic that rose in her chest. Something, she was sure, had taken place to rob her husband of his strength and his good health. She knew all too well that gentlemen drank a good deal of liquor at house parties and the like, but surely that alone could not account for his illness and subsequent death? Despite the doctor’s warnings, she had to consider the second of his suggestions. Surely, there could be no other feasible explanation.

  A strange stirring within her heart began to push aside her sorrow and force its way up through her pain—a determination, it seemed, to discover precisely what had occurred at the house party. A resolve to find out the truth and who, if anyone, was to blame. She would not settle for the doctor’s suggestion that it had been an apoplexy, for such a term was used solely for when a gentleman or lady lost all strength and ability to move. It did not tell her anything specific, did not give her any true reason for such a thing to have come upon him. Was she simply to accept that it came from his own self, without any reason whatsoever? Or was there more to discover?

  Lifting her chin, Josephine reached for the whisky and brought it to her lips, taking a small sip. The liquid burned like fire, making her gasp but sending a heat through her that seemed to steady her resolve all the more. There was, she was certain, more for her to understand and a truth to be revealed. Once her mourning period was at an end, once the situation with the house and the will was resolved, she would set her mind to discovering the truth—no matter what that truth brought with it.

  Even if it is discovered that he simply died from this apoplexy? That his weakness came from himself rather than from anyone or anything else?

  “Even so,” Josephine said aloud, feeling that sense of determination settle within her heart, mingling with her grief and sorrow to build its strength. Even if she came to the conclusion that her husband had, in fact, passed away from this strange illness, brought about by nothing other than a weakness within himself, then she would be contented with that, for she would then be certain that she had learned and discovered all she could. Whereas now, at present, she felt nothing more than confusion and doubt burning within her, unsettling her entirely and only adding to her sorrow.

  Lifting the glass of whisky to her lips, she took another sip and then closed her eyes. Life for her now would be very different. No longer a married woman, she was nothing more than a widow. A widow without any means to support herself, without any place to reside. Would the new Lord Rutherford be as kind and as generous as his brother? Or would he see her as nothing more than a burden that needed to be removed from him as quickly as could be?

  Josephine let out a slow breath, feeling grief begin to fully envelop her again. There was so much uncertainty, so much doubt, so much that she did not and could not know. Her future was no longer bright and contented, but rather dark and uncertain. Just what would become of her?

  1

  Five Years Later

  Josephine lifted her chin, looked all about her, and fixed a delicate smile to her face as she walked into the room. She had no doubt that a good many guests would turn to glance at her and might very well begin to whisper about her, but she did not particularly care. Just because she was a wealthy widow returned to London for what was now her second Season did not mean that she had any intention of seeking out another husband for herself. No, she had no need of such a thing, even though the beau monde most likely believed that her presence here in London was precisely for that reason and that reason only.

  “Good evening, Lady Rutherford.”

  Josephine turned quickly and then immediately smiled, greeting Lady Fortescue, whom she had met last Season.

  “Good evening, Lady Fortescue,” she said warmly as they both bobbed a quick curtsy. “How very good to see you again.”

  Lady Fortescue smiled, her eyes bright as evident happiness shone in her eyes. “I am so very glad to see you also,” she said, putting one hand to her heart. “I confess I thought myself to be quite without friends this Season.”

  Josephine laughed, shaking her head. “Now I know that you do not speak the truth, for you are certain to have a good many friends here in London, given that your husband is an earl.”

  “And yours was a marquess,” Lady Fortescue retorted with a small gleam in her eye. “Yet you do not choose to accept the many, many offers of friendship and the like that are offered you.”

  Josephine, who did not mind that Lady Fortescue had mentioned her late husband given that they had spoken at length about him the previous Season, allowed herself a somewhat begrudging smile. “You know me well, Lady Fortescue.”

  “I know that you choose your acquaintances carefully,” Lady Fortescue replied with a smile. “That is wise indeed and something I am determined to emulate.”

  This statement made Josephine laugh, and from the look in Lady Fortescue’s eye, it was clear she did not fully understand what brought Josephine such mirth.

  “Forgive me,” Josephine said, trying to bring her laughter under control. “I am not laughing at your remark, but rather at the suggestion you made earlier, where you stated that you feared you would be entirely unable to find any friends in London at all this Season.” Her eyes twinkled and, finally, she saw a small smile pull at her friend’s mouth. “You cannot imagine, surely, that I am the only lady within Lond
on worthy of your consideration.”

  Thankfully, Lady Fortescue began to laugh, her eyes bright as she looked back at Josephine. “I suppose I was being a little theatrical in my words,” she said with a grin. “But you cannot believe that the ton holds a good many ladies such as yourself, Lady Rutherford.” Her smile faded and Josephine frowned, wondering what it was that troubled her friend. “Those whom I have previously considered to be friends have, it seems, decided that it is more beneficial to them to take what I have said to them in private and make it known to all of London.”

  Seeing the pain in Lady Fortescue’s expression and the way that she dropped her gaze to the floor, Josephine took a step forward and settled a hand on her arm. “What is wrong, Lady Fortescue?” she asked, and Lady Fortescue gave a small shake of her head. “I have only just returned to London and have not heard anything that has taken place thus far. Pray, tell me you are not grievously injured in some way?”

  Lady Fortescue said nothing for some moments and then, after a long breath, lifted her head and tried to smile. “It is nothing of significance,” she said with a shrug. “It is only that I spoke foolish words about my fears as regards Lord Fortescue.” She tried to smile and make it appear as though there was nothing of importance in what she had just stated, but Josephine could tell from the way her friend dropped her gaze again that this was something of significance.

  “What has happened to your husband, Edith?” she asked, using Lady Fortescue’s first name as a sign that there was, as Lady Fortescue hoped, a friendship between them that could be relied upon. “You know that I would not do as you have described. I should never take anything you say and throw it to the ton. I know what a cruel monster it can turn out to be.”