Darkest Death Read online

  Darkest Valentine

  Book 2, Darkest series

  By Leona Bushman

  Leona Bushman

  Darkest Valentine

  Copyright 2019 Leona Bushman

  Darkest Series, book 2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are used fictionally, or are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to real places or people are purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please use an accepted lending program, or purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, borrow it through an accepted lending program, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author and her team.

  Author’s note: Many locales and places are real from the time period, but many are made up. Hampsteads is one such place. It is a club of my own creation. Enjoy your story.

  Leona Bushman

  Acknowledgements:

  To Samantha Holt, who set these wheels in motion to reality.

  With profuse thanks to my friend and editor, Ishabelle Tory. You helped me make this book all it could be. With profuse thanks also to another friend and editor, D. F. Krieger for putting another set of eyes on this book. All errors left are because of personal issues at the time of this publishing. Thank you both!

  To Victoria Miller, whose cover art is magnificent, as always.

  For my Muse. This one’s for you. Love you.

  Prologue

  Lady Sarah

  London, 1836

  Sarah Joy Hargrove, newly made Countess of York at sixteen, held Hermione’s hand on one side and grabbed Lillian’s hand on the other, trying to find comfort and a way to hold onto control. The three of them stood, staring down into the dark hole which now housed her parents, her inner turmoil bubbling up into tears streaming down her face. With strength of will, she stood steadfast. Mayhap she waited by the graveside too long, thus giving an appearance of impropriety, yet, she did not turn around, did not leave. She held no wish for anyone to see her pain, nor cared as to what others thought at that moment.

  Her parents were dead. Gone. What anyone thought could go straight to the depths of Hades.

  The rain fell over the veil clouding her vision even more. Still, Sarah stood over the grave, tears falling and dropping down over the casket as if to baptize her parents with her love. She did not know what she would do.

  Already, men vied for her hand. She did not want to be married at sixteen, and she felt it to be quite unseemly during the mourning of her parents. There were rules against these things, which, maybe because of her age, they all seemed to be trying to circumvent. And if one of them had seemed to actually give a fig about her heartache personally, she may have found them brave for rebelling against the rules. Instead, it hardened her broken heart against the lot of them. However, her best friends, Lillian and Hermione, standing with her and holding a hand gave both protection and comfort.

  Silently, they waited while the friends of the family and other mourners passed by. Many people she recognized, and many more whom she did not, tromped by in a parade of silk and wool and jackets and parasols as well as dingy, worn tweeds and holey gloves. Father’s service in the military had garnered him friends from all walks of life, and Mother’s charitable activities had been vast. The proof of the effect of her parents’ passing lay in the wide variety of people at the graveside. Fewer had attended the church service in the ancient nave of All Hollows by the Tower.

  It had been mainly nobility and extended family per her request. She’d tried to make it only family, but the clergyman had overruled her because of propriety and something about her age. She’d given in because she did not want to make any more of a fuss, though she had remained steadfast on the small number allowed. However, here, at the cemetery, that number had swelled, and people from all walks of life, including men in their military dress still paid homage. As long as only her two friends could keep by her, she would stay strong. If anyone else spoke another word to her of her parents’ greatness, she might crumble and break, which in light of the very public venue, would mortify her young mind.

  Her heart ached, wanting nothing but her parents to come back. All these well meaning people did not help. She wanted her mother’s arms around her. Instead, she stared down at the wooden caskets lying side by side, the best money could buy, not moving, not making a sound despite the sobs rising up within her.

  An accident.

  They tried to tell her it was an accident, but she knew better. As a late child for her parents, they were older than a lot of her peers’ parents. Her father had served as a young man in the Napoleon Wars. He hadn’t talked about it much, but she knew that he still worked for the crown at the time of his death.

  Sarah bit down hard on her lip, pushing back more tears as her grandmother passed and put her arm around her in an uncharacteristically open show of affection. Her mother and grandmother had been close, working together on many charities.

  “Sarah dear, I will be over tomorrow once everything is settled. We will get through this together, my dear. I promise.”

  Her grandmother’s soft words of comfort gave her a piece of the future that she did not believe she would find. Also, it reminded her that she wasn’t the only one hurting. Sarah squeezed her grandmother and gently said, “Thank you, Grandmama. I would like that. Grandmama? I—” Sarah couldn’t continue. She hurt so badly and couldn’t find the right words to express her appreciation for everything Grandmama did for her, for them. It was her example of caring which led to her family being as close as they were.

  “I know, dear,” Grandmama said, her voice raw with unshed tears, which glistened in her eyes.

  Sarah watched her leave, clutching at her coat lapels in a nervous habit she seemed to have developed since her parents’ death. She frowned. It would not do to have such a glaring tell. Some would definitely hurt her with it, try to ply her with false sympathies if they saw how troubled she really was. She carefully put her hand by her side, fist clenched as she worked on recovering her composure.

  Lillian, whose hand she let go of to meet her grandmother’s embrace, stood back and said, “Look, there’s Hermione’s brother. Lord Archer—or rather the Earl of Cumberland,” Lillian corrected since they were in public, causing Sarah to give a short, watery laugh.

  Her friends really were the best. Then Lord Archie appeared. His lanky good looks caused her heart to flutter as it was wont to do in recent times. Goodness knows she had to act the demure miss around him lately as her wayward emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Here and now, though, she took great comfort in his presence, and more at her friends’ ability to get her to buck up without the platitudes which had alternately bored and infuriated her since the death of her parents. “Lord Archer,” she said with some definite overtones aimed at Lillian once he stepped closer. “Good of you to come.”

  “Your father was a good man and will be sorely missed by many, including myself.”

  “You knew him well?” she said with more than a little shock.

  “Yes,” Lord Archer said. “Yes, I knew him well. I worked in the same offices as him before he retired from the field work. He also shadowed some of the same clubs as I did at the time. He was a good mentor, loyal to the crown, even when Queen Victoria came into power. He understood that she was as strong, if not stronger, than her father.”

  Sarah looked at L
ord Archer with new interest. She narrowed her eyes at him for a split second before turning away. Such a public space was not the appropriate time or place to ask him if he knew of her father’s secret life. Plus, she did not know how to ask without giving it away if he was not a part of that life.

  She held out her hand to him, and he took and raised it to his lips. Her whole being heated, and she blushed.

  Then he again told her, “I am so sorry for your loss. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Tell Hermione to let me know, and I will start fixing whatever it is right away. I am at your service. Whatever you need at any time. I’m serious,” he said when Sarah started to interrupt.

  Sarah peered at him intently for a moment before saying, “Very well. I will if I really need you.”

  Hermione’s laugh came from the side. “Archie, you’re barely twenty-one. How do you know anything, and how can you help her?”

  Sarah gave her friend a meaningful glare. Though, Hermione was right in wondering, and Sarah had never really asked him

  “I have been working since I was sixteen,” Lord Archer replied. “And I began young at my request. Father was none too pleased, but when I followed him, he agreed to let me start working.”

  “Father works with you, too,” Hermione said and gasped. Quite dramatically in Sarah’s estimation. Her friend liked to live life fully.

  “Thank you for your offer of help. I would like to hear more about your work,” Lady Sarah said, trying to appease them both. But Hermione hated the way she was treated because of her gender, and often, it laid on her brother to help smooth the breech between Hermione and their parents.

  “Why am I the last to hear anything,” Hermione demanded. “Our father tells me nothing. No one tells me what is going on.”

  Sarah saw Lord Archer dip his head in embarrassment before answering, “I know, Hermione. They are both very old-fashioned. They apparently believe a woman’s place is to support her husband and his estate. You do not need to know this information in order to run a competent household. But here and now is not the time or place for this conversation. If you are still upset about it, we can discuss this later at your leisure when we are both at home.”

  Sarah felt a chill ran down her spine at his commanding tone. A shiver of something new and exciting she had not thought about before. “I am sure Father would appreciate it that you were here showing your respects. I appreciate it,” she said, her voice dropping to such soft tones, she could barely recognize herself.

  “We will speak later,” Lord Archer said, and he walked away with that confident swagger most young men of his ilk possessed. Sarah stared after him in a much different manner.

  “For truth, Countess, he does have a nice swagger.”

  “You saw me?” Sarah asked with some mortification.

  “That is most unseemly at a funeral,” Lillian said, laughter in her voice. Then she dropped her words to a whisper. “You are caught. Don’t even deny it. Besides, he is most comely. And I, for one, am glad that you are not so distraught as to be blind to such a sublime specimen of manhood.”

  Sarah blushed deeply to have been caught staring after her childhood friend. “Sorry. You are right. I am tired of being sad and lonely, and I am mortified at all the people here who do not care about my parents, or me, or Grandmama. At least he cared.”

  Lillian gave her a deep look at sympathy before squashing her in a deep hug. “I’m so sorry, my dearest friend, dearest of all friends. You and Hermione have been a godsend against my family. Now let me help you. I will convince Father to let you stay at the townhouse for this night, and then maybe he will let Janice come with me, and we can stay at your house for a few days and figure things out.”

  Sarah squeezed Lillian tightly to her. “Yes, my dearest friend. I do not want to be alone right now. Hermione, you must see if your parents will allow you to stay.”

  “My parents may drag their feet on it, but I will make sure that I can come, and Archie will help if need be. We can all have chaperones. And besides, the season has not started yet. Not really.”

  “I noticed they’ve been keeping you home more of late. Is it in preparation of the season?” Lady Lillian asked. “I know mine are constantly lecturing me on preparing to meet the queen. How to do this and that. I am going to try to skip the season this year. Wait one more year for my come out. I do not wish to be married. It is a singularly restrictive state for women.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes! It is insane. However, if going with you bothers my father, I will just tell him the Marquess of Oxford is making noises about offering for me, and he will step away. I know you’ve already had your audience before the queen, but mine is coming up, and I am nervous. I will tell Father that I need this to distract me, or I might throw up on the queen’s feet. That will mortify him. Mother will make sure I am allowed to after that.” Lillian and Sarah laughed with Hermione as her mother really would just go into that and do anything to keep Hermione from embarrassing them.

  Lady Sarah sighed deeply. She really did not know how she was going to get along without her parents. Lillian’s father was rather old fashioned with a bit of a mean streak, her mother sweet but always deferring to her father. In recent times, the Earl of Lamberth—Lady Lillian’s father—exuded pompousness with the best of them, becoming the very personification of the snobby nobleman that the upper class was known for. She personally thought it was the influence of that awful brother of his.

  Hermione’s parents were way too particular and stuffy for her tastes about what they allowed them to do, though she loved them dearly. Sarah’s own parents had been loving and kind and open with her friends, and now how can she get on without them? Tears threatened again, but then she heard Lillian’s brother in the background.

  “Lillian, we must go now, or I will tell Father you are disobeying again. Then I will pinch your allowance.”

  Lillian stepped up beside Sarah as Robert’s voice reached them. Robert was a mean little terror, and Sarah would like nothing better than to slap him in a good old-fashioned way. Or better yet, run him through with the sword the way her father had taught her.

  Knowing how well she could use a sword (and wouldn’t half of polite society be positively scandalized with how much she knew?) pumped up her courage. She gave Robert a smile which did not reach her eyes. Robert struck her as evil, and it would not do to allow him to treat her so abominably, and Lillian being there to see he could be stood up to so much the better.

  Robert hesitated for a second when he saw her smile, no doubt his self-preservation sense kicking in belatedly. Still, he bullied Lillian into leaving Sarah’s side to go to their father. Sarah waited with Hermione a few minutes to see if Lillian managed to talk to her father about them going to the Lamberth’s for the evening.

  “Hermione, I have just now decided that we will be going to Lady Lillian’s. I will make sure of it if I have to beg for it myself. The Earl of Lamberth would not reject a direct request from a countess. Even one only sixteen years old.”

  Hermione nodded her agreement and said, “I will check Father and Mother to make sure they allow me stay as we planned. They’re much stricter than your parents were. I worry.” Not for the first time, Lady Sarah and her friends would be able to follow the dictates of society on the surface while finding ways to fly against them. Besides, Lady Sarah was completely against the Marquess of Oxford and his interest in Hermione, considering his obsession with wealth and beauty and titles. He’d be searching for the daughter of a duke. She needed to get to the bottom of why before her friend was hurt.

  Fortunately, Lillian was able to convince her father for Sarah and Hermione to stay over and then go to Sarah’s the next night.

  “Anything to help,” the Countess of Lamberth said.

  Now to figure out the rest of her life without her parents.

  ***

  He watched her from the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to himself. If Sarah were a man, he’d be more suspici
ous of what information she might possess. It was still his plan to find out just how much she might know.

  No one could learn about the arrangements he’d made to have them killed, making Lord Downing believe it was his own idea. He had to make sure if Sarah suspected that her father’s accident was not really an accident. The Earl of York had long been a thorn in his side, one which he plucked out as one might a weed in the garden.

  And her mother? He long suspected that the Countess of York had assisted her husband, a secret agent deeper than even he could verify. Verily, it was not perchance that they were together when he arranged for the carriage ride from hell.

  As long as Sarah stayed out of his way, he could afford to allow her to live, and in fact, use his connection to her parents to keep tabs on her. He curled his lip in disgust. Even pursue her if necessary once she was older. He watched how closely she stood with Lillian and the other chit. Lord Archer’s sister… Ah yes, he nodded to himself. Hermione, that was her name. He would use the friends to keep an eye on her.

  He just needed a way in to get to the earl and control him. Earl of Lambert, Lillian’s father, goody two shoes holier than thou who wasn’t worthy of being his lowliest vassal in his court. While he was vulnerable, he would undermine his funds and investments, and make the ingrate desperate to agree to his wishes as needed, and that there was no way out.

  Or he would end up like Sarah’s parents.

  He slipped the u-handle of his umbrella over his wrist as he walked smartly toward the grave, his lips thinned and pressed together. A detestable tradition, this visitation at the funeral home and the grave, one he hoped to avoid. But too many had sought out this method to say goodbye, and now needs demanded that he appear to follow in the traditions, even though he could not stand seeing them dead.

  He adjusted his top hat and pulled down his vest before proceeding with his distasteful task. The chit was hardly out of the schoolroom. He could barely stand women of all ranks. Idiotic and pedantic with their airs of importance. The next in line to the throne was also a woman. Things had fallen apart. The Countess of York, the previous countess, had not given up the evidence. And until he knew where it was or who had it, he had to tread carefully. He would have to push to Plan B. Using Lord Downing—again, the pompous fool.