A Fallen Woman

By Kate Harper

When Nash Guthrie offered for Rachel Sheridan, he had no doubt she would accept him. He was young, personable and rich and was considered the catch of the Season. So her rejection cut deep, so much so that he abandoned England, taking himself off to the Continent to lick his wounds and recover. What starts off as a month long break to forget the love of his life, extends into three years. But he can't stay away forever. He needs to come home.
Life has not worked out as Rachel Sheridan thought it would. Her first Season in London saw her hailed as the Incomparable, a creature who had everything and must always shine. But then she runs away with a scoundrel and, instead of the glorious life she had once anticipated, she is a fallen woman, a creature shunned by the very people who had put her up on a pedestal.
Then Rachel's sister Charlotte falls in love with Nash's best friend Adam and past and future collide. Nash gave his heart to Rachel once and swore he would never love in such a way again.
But then he saw his fallen woman and everything changed...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Harper
• Release date: May 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311586391

Kate Harper

Kate Harper is a designer in Berkeley, California who is inspired by the intersection of art and technology. She is active in the new media, art licensing and DIY arts communities in the San Francisco Bay area.

Book preview

A Fallen Woman

Kate Harper

Prelude

If there was one thing the Earl of Worsley was determined never to do, it was to ask Rachel to marry him… again.

He had done it once, fronting up to the imposing white house on Grosvenor Square and had made Lord Sheridan the happiest man in London when he asked for his eldest child’s hand in marriage. And he had every reason to be confident that his suit would be welcome. At the age of twenty, Nash Guthrie, heir to the Earl of Worsley, was next in line to one of the largest estates in England with a yearly income of over fifty thousand pounds. Not only that, but he was tall, healthy, in possession of a full head of hair and all of his own – very impressive – teeth. He had been told, with varying degrees of sincerity that he was a very good-looking young man, of excellent intelligence and no small wit.

It was amazing what fifty thousand pounds a year could do for one’s popularity.

Still, it was not all nonsense and he had alighted at the house of his beloved with high hopes. Nervous, for what man wasn’t when it came to asking a woman to marry him? But confident, for all of that.

What had started out well, did not end quite so well, however.

After his successful interview with her father, he had been allowed to see Rachel alone. In all the years that passed between, he could still see her in his mind’s eye on that day; she had been a picture, dazzlingly lovely in the sunlight that had been slanting through one of the high windows of the conservatory, slender figure dressed in a soft primrose gown, golden hair a cascade of ringlets around her slender shoulders.

Rachel Sheridan; the Incomparable.

Nash had gone down on bended knee and placed his hand over his heart as he professed his undying devotion. Now; forever and whatever lay between… all the way to eternity and back again. His love would outlast time itself.

Not bad for a lad of twenty, the words that had tumbled from his mouth. And he had meant every word, all of them straight from his foolish green heart.

Retrospectively, the look of dawning horror on her face should have given him a hint that things were not going as he had hoped they would. That he had assumed they would. No, dammit, that he had been assured they would!

He was (to be) the 9th Earl of Worsley and every eligible woman in London would have given her eyeteeth to be his countess.

Except Rachel Sheridan; a celestial beauty with a heart that did not, apparently, belong to him.

She had not been unkind. When he had analysed her rejection later, examining the nuances behind her words, each subtle syllable, each carefully phrased response, he had known she had tried very hard to deflate him gently. Not that it helped, especially not when his face had been buried in a glass of claret (or anything else that happened to be alcoholic). No, he’d concluded; it had not been unkindness that had so devastated him, but that indefinable air of sympathy, as if hurting him had somehow hurt her. He was glad about that, about whatever pain she had felt although he’d known it was just a poor reflection of what he was feeling.

Damn Rachel; It had never been sympathy he had wanted from the girl, never that. Sympathy was the very devil itself.

He had listened to her explain, voice low and musical, how she could never marry him. Not now. Not ever. She was very sorry, of course. Nash was the best of men and she wished him every happiness in his future life; but she was not the woman for him.

It might be supposed that her mother and father might have intervened on his behalf, for they’d certainly had no objection to their eldest child marrying a future earl. T’was a consummation most devoutly to be wished for, in fact.

Like Nash, the future 9th Earl of Worsley, they did not get their wish.

He had been crushed.

Calf love is a callow love, all consuming and utterly crushing if not returned and Nash, accordingly, had been crushed. He had retired from the house on Grosvenor Square in broken-hearted defeat and the very next day he had booked passage to the Continent. He wanted to get away from everything, to never have to look at the same things he looked at when he had loved Rachel Sheridan and hoped that she had loved him in return.

He needed to look at fresh things, new and colorful and amusing things. And so he went to Europe.

And an extraordinary thing had happened to him there.

Away from the humiliation and misery and his own, dreary memories, he had begun to have adventures. And love affairs. Quite a few love affairs, if the truth be told. Initially it was to help blur and bury the memory of Rachel but after a time it had turned into something more. He discovered he was actually rather good at making love to women. And, as with so many things in life, the more he practiced the better he became until he developed something of a reputation. In Barcelona he was a welcome sight; in Tuscany and Florence, in Munich and the deliciously warm climes of the Mediterranean… wherever he went, Nash discovered fresh delights that distanced him even more from the sad, green boy he had once been. Over a period of time (and this had absolutely nothing to do with being the future 9th Earl of Worsley and having rather a lot of money) he discovered that he was a hit.

The callow lad vanished, along with his silly dreams of romance. Nash learned what women really wanted. There was no trick to it. All they wanted was… attention. To be listened to. And for their bodies to be wooed, taken to new heights, made to sing the sweet, secret songs that were a mystery to most men. Nash roamed the world and as he wandered he felt himself grow lighter; freer – as if he were sloughing off the past and moving towards a better future – a better him.

When the time came for Nash to finally return to England permanently, he faced the prospect with equanimity. He was his own man now, subtly changed in a thousand different ways.

As his father teetered on that shadowy brink between life and death, finally falling into the darkness of forever – at long last, Nash became what he had always been destined to be.

The 9th Earl of Worsley.

A man who had briefly gone off course in his life, but was now firmly back on track once again.

No woman would ever do that to him again; especially not Rachel Sheridan.

Love was a myth and he was free.

Chapter One

‘Are you all right Rachel? You seem a little quiet today.’

Rachel smiled at her sister, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘I am perfectly well. And so are you, in that dress. You look utterly lovely, Charlotte.’

Charlotte Sheridan turned her eyes back to the full-length mirror and considered her reflection for a long moment. Then she nodded thoughtfully, which made her sister smile all the more. That was Charlotte through and through. Thoughtful. Composed. Elegant. Considered. Despite the fact that she was to be married the day after the next, she appeared to be as cool as a cucumber, even as she buzzed with subdued excitement at the prospect of seeing her beloved again. Her wedding dress, cream sarcenet over a silver tissue slip worn beneath was truly beautiful, trimmed with French lace and seed pearls. She would wear the Sheridan diamonds, naturally. They were very impressive; brilliant rose cut diamonds set in filigree gold with matching teardrop earrings. There was also a fine coronet of diamonds and pearls to be placed in her chestnut hair.

The coronet had been a gift from her intended’s mother, who seemed to be delighted with her son’s choice of bride, which had been an unspoken relief to the Sheridan’s en masse. It could easily have been otherwise.

Rachel, who was on her knees checking the length of the dress for the last time (just in case her sister had shot up or shrank in the past three days – one could not be too careful) looked up at Charlotte and arched a teasing eyebrow. ‘Happy, dearest?’

Charlotte smiled, a secret smile that belonged to a woman in love. ‘So very happy. It is really quite ridiculous how happy I am.’ Rachel grinned appreciatively, before bending to her task again, so did not see the cloud that chased across her sister’s face. Charlotte looked down her sister’s golden head from atop the low stool she was standing on. ‘And what about you?’

Rachel looked up, startled by the question. ‘Me?’

‘Yes. Are you happy, Rachel?’

‘I certainly am,’ she gave a cheeky grin. ‘You’re marrying a man with a house in France. Imagine the holidays!’

Charlotte laughed. ‘Only you – and Liza, of course – would think of such a thing! But you know, we shall have some marvelous times there now that that wretched war is finally over. Only imagine Liza when she sets eyes on the grounds. Adam says that there are acres and acres of vineyards and orchards. We shall lose the little wretch for days at a time.’

Rachel gave a small gurgle of laughter. The youngest of the Sheridan sisters – who some would say was rather a scandalous afterthought on the part of her parents, having arrived some ten years after the arrival of Charlotte – was something of a tearaway. Shamelessly indulged by her parents and her siblings, especially her sisters, Elizabeth Sheridan had yet to acknowledge the fact that she was a young lady and spent her days at the Sheridan estate in Northumberland giving her governess the slip to go off and do more interesting activities than needlework and music. She liked to ride, climb and run, more or less in that order. Her boisterous sister was of considerable comfort to Rachel, who had spent over three years virtually cloistered in her home, socializing rarely and then usually only with people she considered trusted friends of long standing. She had learned quickly enough, in the years following her fall from grace, who it was she could really call a friend. Quite a few people had distanced themselves from the Sheridans, and from Rachel in particular after she had abruptly withdrawn from London Society. When she had finally felt able to face the world again, she had been only mildly surprised to discover that she was no longer included on invitations to local events; a moment’s thought had told her that it was inevitable for it was a certainty some version of her folly would have reached the avid ears of her neighbors. Truth be told, it wasn’t that she was excluded that had stung. What chafed the most was that her entire family were no longer included in the social calendar of some of the families they had considered friends. It was by no means an absolute snub, of course. The Sheridans were too much a feature of the area for them to be uniformly shunned. But it occurred enough to make Rachel feel even more wretched that she had brought such shame upon those she held dearest. Not that it ever seemed to be an issue to the Sheridans themselves. Her family, bless them, never made her feel as if she was the reason they had been turned into social pariahs and they had staunchly refused to attend any event unless she was included as well. This, necessarily, had seriously curbed their social life but nobody had complained.

Family solidarity. In many ways it had made her feel the dreary weight of her guilt even more profoundly. She had done this to them. But on another level, it had warmed her to the core of her being. How could it not, when those that she cared for the most showed her their regard in such a way?

Still, there were few enough people she could call friends in the place where she had been raised. She had retained the good regard of Bethany Fortnum, her childhood friend and a creature with an unfailing sweet disposition. The Fortnums were one of the few families that had continued to receive her, but Beth had married the previous spring and was now living in Suffolk. That had taken her social connections down to zero. There were numerous gentlemen who would still have been happy to spend time in her company, but Rachel had good reason to suspect their motives. Her reputation was in tatters and she shuddered to think what the neighbors actually thought about her. She had resolutely elected not to dwell on it, lest it depress her, although there were times when ignoring it was difficult, especially when even the vicar tended to avoid her – although Rachel could not help but think this was to her benefit, as the man was unbearably tedious. As Rachel had long since stopped attending church, unwilling to sit through the silent censure of the other Sunday penitents, their contact was infrequent. No doubt turning up every Sunday to be silently castigated was character building, but Rachel could not help but feel that her character had grown enough. Much more and it might collapse under its own weight.

Uncharacteristically, for her father had never been the sort to wield his authority wantonly, Lord Sheridan had decided that the vicar could come to them for a small, informal service once a month and occasionally both he and Mama would sally forth to show their faces. The vicar might not like it but the church was on Sheridan land after all and the family provided a living for Mr. Priddle, so his opinion on the matter was very sensibly circumspect and making the occasional pilgrimage up to Thorncroft could hardly be considered a chore, even if the expression on the man’s face did make it seem as if it was.

Rachel knew that her life would have been very different if it had not been for the support of her family. After the catastrophic events that had taken place during her one and only Season, she could have been sent into the wilds of Wales to rusticate forever with her Great Aunt Helen. Less fortunate females were frequently banished in such a way, but there was never any question of it in Rachel’s case. Her mother had been both sorrowful and disappointed by the scrape that her eldest daughter had fallen into, but she had put such feelings aside very quickly and had set about the business of protecting her child from the cold wind of public censure. Grateful for being blessed with such parents, Rachel had not allowed herself to fall into the doldrums but had tried to repay the kindness of her family by regrouping as swiftly as possible. Indeed, insulated as she had been from the harsh opinions of others, Rachel had genuinely learned to enjoy her life again, which made her sister’s question all the more strange.

‘Do I not look happy, my love?’

‘Oh, always. But you are awfully good at hiding your feelings so I hardly count that as informative. I worry about you and I know that Mama does as well.’

‘Good heavens! Well, there is no need for either of you to do so, I can assure you. I consider myself the most fortunate of females.’

Charlotte gave an inelegant snort. ‘Is that so? Because life has been so enjoyable, cloistered as you are at Thorncroft?’

‘If I am, it is because I chose to be. And I have been in very good company during my exile.’

‘You did not come to London with us,’ Charlotte reminded her. Rachel’s insistence that she remain at Thorncroft whilst Charlotte had enjoyed her presentation and her first Season was still a sore point. What her sister had not realized was that three years was not enough time for the scandal that had surrounded Rachel’s own ignominious retreat from the capital to have subsided. As pretty and good natured as Charlotte was, Rachel knew that she would not lack for invitations if she went to London with their mother. The presence of Rachel would have soured the experience, however, and she had been desperate for her sister to enjoy an untroubled Season, as untainted by association as possible. She could not stop being Charlotte’s sister – nor would she ever want to – but she could maintain the lowest profile possible. Rachel knew it would be difficult enough for her sister if she heard the whispers that must still echo from the past, without the ruined Miss Sheridan coming along to cast a blight on things.

‘I remained at home with Liza and Papa and had a wonderful time. You know how pleasant Thorncroft is in the summer. Indeed, if it were not for Liza’s madcap antics – must I remind you of the sad story of the ornamental fish pond? – then it would have been practically blissful.’

Charlotte smiled reluctantly. ‘Well, Papa was certainly very glad that you remained here. I swear, sometimes you are the only one Liza listens to.’

‘Only on my better days. And she listens to Mama if Mama puts on her Voice.’ Margaret Sheridan was the most placid of parents but one knew one had exceeded her reservoir of tolerance when she used The Voice. It could stop any of her children in their tracks, even James and George who were settled with their own families and households. Rachel reached out to take her sister’s hand. ‘For heaven’s sake, do not worry about me beloved. Focus on the future, just as I do. You and Adam will have a wonderful life together. It’s plain to see that he loves you very much.’

‘And I love him,’ Charlotte murmured. She hesitated for a moment, then said with obvious reluctance. ‘I had a letter from Adam this morning.’

‘Now there’s a surprise! I’m only amazed it wasn’t two.’ Adam had proved to be a frequent correspondent while he was away from his affianced.

Charlotte did not smile. ‘He made a request that he bring along his best friend to stand beside him.’

Rachel looked at her sister inquiringly. ‘I think that’s an excellent idea. Even the best of men do find marriage daunting, I believe.’

‘Yes, but you haven’t heard who his friend is,’ Charlotte said doubtfully. ‘Worsley is coming. Apparently they were very close for a long time. Well I knew that they were, of course, for he has told me so but the earl has been away for so long that his name did not come up very much. Their houses are quite close in Warwickshire, I think and they played together a great deal as boys.’

Rachel was surprised. She had not been aware of this piece of news. ‘Worsley has come back from the Continent at last?’

‘Indeed. Is it all right, Rachel? It is a last minute arrangement but of course I am delighted to have a friend of Adam’s come along. I told Mama when I heard, of course and she said that Worsley had once been a suitor of yours.’

Rachel gave a small grimace. ‘So he was. But it was a long time ago.’

‘Sometimes,’ Charlotte observed with some asperity, ‘you make three years sound like thirty.’

‘It sometimes feels like thirty.’ Or like it was only yesterday…

Charlotte sighed. ‘Adam told me that the earl’s return has caused quite a stir. He has been absent for so long. He also said that Worsley’s mother is vastly relieved. She has been poorly and she was beginning to think he would not come back to see her before she died.’

‘Good heavens! Is she so very sick, then?’

Charlotte grimaced. ‘It is difficult to say. Adam says that she has been sickly for twenty-five years and this may be just another installment of a continuing saga.’

‘Oh, a malingerer. Still, I suppose she must be delighted that he has returned as he has been gone for such a long time,’ Rachel said ruefully.

‘Does it seem odd that he has been gone for so long?’ Charlotte inquired. ‘A man in his position… I would have thought that he would not have been able to absent himself for three years.’

‘I am sure he had his reasons.’ Rachel murmured, giving the skirts of the dress a shake. She hoped that those reasons did not include her. She had more than enough reasons to regret the past and an absent peer was not something she wished to add to the list of her sins. ‘You may step down from there, happy in the knowledge that your height and the hem have remained exactly the same.’

Charlotte stepped down. She was silent for a moment before speaking again, the words coming out in a rush. ‘So will it be awkward, him being there?’

It took a moment for Rachel to take her sister’s meaning, another to consider her response. Mama must have told her that Worsley had made an offer for her and that she had turned him down. The week before disaster had struck was still a bit of a muddle in her head – shock, no doubt mixed with grief – but she knew the earl’s offer had come only a few days before she had agreed to run away with Dorian Salinger. She frowned, thinking back to her uncomfortable interview with Worsley and images flashed through her head. His tall figure striding towards her as she sat in the conservatory,