Taming a Wild Lady: Tales From Seldon Park, #21

By Bethany M. Sefchick

Newly returned from India, Miss Cecilia Worth, who has been dubbed "Miss Disaster" by the gossips, needs a husband.  Or rather, her guardian, Lord Marshfield, believes she absolutely requires one.  Cecy, however, strongly disagrees.  Still, she is willing to humor her guardian and venture to London to participate in the Marriage Mart - so long as she is able to choose the man she will eventually marry.

The last thing Lord Trenton Pike wants is to be called home from the Continent to play chaperone to his uncle's ward, Miss Worth.  Unfortunately, he also doesn't have a choice in the matter.  Escorting Cecy about London, Trent would be only too happy to foist her off upon the first man who would take her – except that doing so would break his uncle's heart. 

As Trent trails Cecy around London, however, he comes to see that she is not the walking disaster he assumed she was.  In fact, she's far more than what he or anyone else sees.  They just don't bother to look closely.  Can Trent find Cecy a husband by the end of the Season, one who can see her for the wonderful woman she truly is?  And more importantly, can he keep her out of his bed until that mystery man finally appears to sweep her away to wedded bliss?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethany M. Sefchick
• Release date: Nov 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393230038

Bethany M. Sefchick

Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry company, Easily Distracted Designs. It should be noted that the owner of the titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky smile.  She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no success. When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

July 1803

Crossing Hill

Oxfordshire

Cecy slid through the halls of the enormous manor home as silently as she could, not wanting to disturb anyone.  She even ducked into alcoves when she thought she heard someone approaching, even if that someone was only a maid or a footman.  She had made the mistake of disturbing Mama and Papa earlier.  Her parents had not been pleased and had informed Cecy that little girls had no business in adult affairs, even if it had been an accident.

Her parents had also yelled at her.  Loudly.  And rather a lot.

Cecy didn’t like it when they yelled at her, but she had made a mistake.  She hadn’t meant to do so, of course.  The door to their chamber wasn’t locked, and when Mama called out as Cecy knocked, it had sounded to Cecy very much like come in.  So, she had.  Except now, she wished that she hadn’t.

Because, intentional or not, in the end, Cecy had still made a mistake.  And Mama and Papa were furious.

She had been spanked for that mistake, of course.  Hard.  Papa probably would have taken a switch to her backside if both Trent and Uncle Thomas hadn’t come into the sitting room when they heard the yelling.  Then there was more yelling – this time between Papa and Uncle Thomas.  Papa would probably blame her for that, too, though Cecy hoped not.

She had said that she was sorry over and over again, but her apology hadn’t helped and that particular place on Papa’s forehead had started to pulse like there was a worm beneath his skin.  That never led to anything good, so while Papa was arguing with Uncle Thomas, Cecy had slipped out the door and into the corridor to hide, hoping that everything bad would just go away.  Including everything that she had seen when she stumbled into Mama and Papa’s bedroom by accident.

While she was only a child yet, Cecy had been raised in the country and knew that when Mama and Papa were naked and on top of each other as they had been just now?  They were doing things that children weren’t allowed to do or see or talk about.  She had heard Trent use the word fucking for what her parents were doing.  Was that what they were doing?  Cecy supposed so, not that she really cared what it was called.  She just knew she wasn’t supposed to use that word and she really didn’t like to think about what she had just seen either.

Hoping to forget, or at least trying to forget, instead of returning to her room, Cecy set out to explore the manor house as she usually did when she was feeling lonely or scared.  There was still so much of this place she didn’t know very well and she liked the silence of the empty and unused corridors.  Actually, she liked this house – all of it – and wished it was hers.  Or at the very least, she wished that she could stay here a little longer.

This place felt like home.  No place else ever had.

Cecy also hoped that she might encounter Uncle Thomas along the way so that she could apologize to him, too.  Well, he wasn’t actually her uncle, but he was Trent’s grandfather and she liked him very much.  He made her feel safe.  Not like Mama and Papa.  And he never spanked her.  At least not with a switch like Papa sometimes did.

And he insisted that she call him uncle even though Mama and Papa didn’t like it.  Even though Uncle Thomas had a wife, he always had time to talk with Cecy and maybe play a game or two with her, unlike her parents.  All Mama and Papa were ever concerned about were each other.  And the fucking, of course.  Cecy still wasn’t completely sure what that was, though.  Just that it sounded both noisy and disgusting and not something she was ever likely to want to do with any man.

Well, maybe with Trent – one day, a very long time from now.  Cecy had thought about kissing Trent.  After all, she was eight years old already.  The maids here at Crossing Hill also wanted to kiss Trent.  Cecy had heard them talking about him one day when she was playing in the portrait gallery.  However, most of the maids said that Trent didn’t notice them or pay attention to them.

That, at least, was one problem Cecy didn’t have.  Trent not only noticed her, but he talked to her as well.  Often.  And, like his grandfather, he was nice to her.

Trent was older than Cecy, but he didn’t seem to mind her being around.  Not the way her parents did.  There were days when Cecy wasn’t even certain her parents wanted her around, or liked her very much.  But Trent and Uncle Thomas were always happy to see her.  Even if Trent sometimes pretended that he didn’t.  But in the end, Cecy always saw his smile when they spent time together.

Which was probably why she had thought about kissing him on occasion.  Because he was nice.

In general, Cecy liked nice things.  She also liked to be happy, though that didn’t happen often.

Today wasn’t so nice though.  Not outside and not inside.

She also wasn’t particularly happy, but that wasn’t really anything new.

Days like today, when the rain fell hard and thick outside and there was a mist around the entire manor house, meant she couldn’t go out and play to escape when Mama and Papa were upset with her.  Cecy had wanted to go to the stables and look for kittens (because Cecy really liked kittens and they made her happy) but if she were caught outside, she would be in trouble.  Even more trouble than she already was.

She didn’t want to cause trouble.  Really, she didn’t.  According to Papa, though, Cecy was too much trouble far too often.  Maybe that was true.  Maybe she was trouble, as Mama had said just the other day.  Cecy didn’t know.  Neither Uncle Thomas nor Trent acted as if she was trouble, but then, they weren’t really her family.  They were just people who were nice to her.

Nicer than Mama and Papa were anyway.  And nicer than the people she and her parents had lived with before.  Or the ones before that.

Actually, this place – Trent’s home – was the first one where people had been nice to Cecy.  It was also the happiest that she had ever been.

Again, to Cecy, this place felt like home.  She had never actually had a home.  Not a proper one anyway, with her own room and toys and things like that.  Rather, Mama and Papa had lived with different friends and relatives for as long as Cecy could remember.  If Mama and Papa had ever had a home, it had been long before Cecy had been born.

This place, though?  Cecy felt as if she belonged here.  It felt right in a way that no place else ever had.  The smooth stone walls felt comforting under her hands and the cut-glass tiles that made up the pictures on the walls seemed to pulse with a life that called to Cecy, begging her to stay.  She wished she could stay.  She had begged Mama and Papa to let her stay, actually.  So had Uncle Thomas.  He had said she needed stability, which sounded an awful lot like staying in one place for a long time.  But despite all of the begging and pleading and asking, she was leaving here soon, though she didn’t know exactly when.

Papa said they were going to India.  Wherever that was.  Cecy just knew that it wasn’t here.  And that place wasn’t her home either.

Then again, she had no home.  Not really.  Rather, she drifted in and out of the shadows, trying to stay out of sight of those who owned the home where they were living – except for here, of course.  Mama said that with her coloring – whatever that was – that Cecy wouldn’t be able to hide forever and eventually, she wouldn’t be welcome anywhere, but Cecy wanted to try.

Papa said that they might have to pay someone to take her off of their hands because she was so clumsy and awkward, which Cecy thought was stupid.  She wasn’t clumsy.  At least not always.  Just sometimes, particularly when she was nervous.  Which, really, was most of the time.  But she wasn’t naturally clumsy.

Cecy had been better since they had come to Crossing Hill to live.  Then again, she wasn’t nervous here.  Mostly because here felt like home and she wanted to stay.  Except she couldn’t.  Mama and Papa wouldn’t allow it.

Well, Mama might but not Papa.  He said she needed to learn how to be a military wife – whatever that was.  And how to get along with mistresses.  Cecy wasn’t sure what those were either, but she didn’t think she would like them.  No matter what Papa said about every man having them.  If there were any mistresses around here, Cecy had never seen one.  Not that she was really sure what a mistress looked like.  But she knew enough to understand that mistresses had something to do with fucking.

Which, according to Papa, wasn’t something that Cecy should know anything about.  Except that she did.

Even at her age, Cecy had come to understand that she knew a lot about things she shouldn’t and knew very little about the things she probably should.  Mama called her a wild, uneducated lady, and then Papa always reminded them both that Cecy wasn’t a lady, though she could be if she married a title.

That didn’t sound too appealing either.  In fact, marrying a title didn’t sound any more interesting to her than mistresses.  Actually, Cecy didn’t want any part of that adult world.  Or India.  Instead, if she had been allowed to choose, Cecy would have stayed right here at Crossing Hill and hidden away for the rest of her life.  She would have chosen this place to be her home.  Where there were kittens.  And places she could hide so no one would see her coloring.

You can come out now, Ce.  It’s only me.

Slowly, Cecy peeped around the corner of her chosen alcove and saw Trent standing there with a lazy grin on his face.  He didn’t smile much, but then he didn’t really have a reason to either since his parents were gone.  When he did smile, Cecy liked to encourage him.  He was always nice to her and while she couldn’t do much for him in return, she could encourage him to smile.  When he felt like smiling, that was.  Today, he apparently felt like smiling.

Trent.  I’m sorry.  Cecy emerged as she always did from her hiding places, one foot at a time and slowly, just to be sure she didn’t trip or anything.  Maybe if she weren’t too clumsy, she would be allowed to stay.  It was worth a try, anyway.  She just wasn’t sure it was going to work.  In fact, she knew it probably wouldn’t.  But she wished that it would.  Because this place was home.  She knew that in her very bones.  She only wished Mama and Papa understood that, too.

Trent didn’t have much experience with little girls, but he was pretty sure they shouldn’t behave the way Cecy did.  Actually, he wasn’t certain any child should talk or behave or think the way Cecy did.  She was more adult than child, knew a great deal about all things sexual thanks to her wretched parents, and was so scared of everything most of the time that she could barely function in the larger world.  This wasn’t right and for some reason, that bothered him probably more than it should.

Trent wasn’t Cecy’s brother or cousin or uncle.  He wasn’t Cecy’s anything.  Well, other than her friend, he supposed.  But for whatever reason, he felt a bit protective of this little girl that crept around Crossing Hill like a ghost, terrified of doing something wrong and being beaten for it.

You don’t need to apologize, Ce.  What happened before with your parents wasn’t your fault.  The door wasn’t locked and they should have known better.  Trent shook his head.  He was six years older than Cecy and knew a lot more about the world than she did.  He also knew she shouldn’t have to apologize to anyone for walking in on her parents while they were fucking.  They should have known enough to lock the door.  They were the adults, after all.

More than that, even though Cecy had made a mistake, it was just that – a mistake!  There was no reason to beat her for it!  And Cecy likely would have been beaten even worse than she had been if Grandfather hadn’t been there to put a stop to things.  And if Grandfather hadn’t stopped the beating?  Trent would have.

Cecy was eight!  She was a child!  It wasn’t her fault that her parents were so busy with each other that they didn’t notice their own daughter.  At least that’s what Grandfather said.  He had said those very words just now actually, only a quarter hour ago during the row in Mr. and Mrs. Worth’s suite of rooms.

Those two didn’t need a child, at least not according to Grandfather.  All they seemed to need was each other.  Cecy was an annoyance and in the way, at least to her parents.  Even Trent could see that.  What would happen when Cecy was older and needed an education?  Not to mention protection from the men who would likely swarm around her?  She was innocent and naïve.  She needed guidance.  In short, she needed someone to care about her.

Grandfather wanted to keep Cecy here at Crossing Hill with them while her parents went to India.  Trent thought that might be a good idea.  He didn’t much care for Cecy’s parents, though he did like her quite a bit.  Even if she was a girl.  He also thought it might be nice to come home from Eton and have a friendly face waiting for him.

Because Cecy was friendly, at least when she wasn’t terrified of a beating.  And she was nice.  Nicer than she probably should have been, given the way she was being raised.  She was also afraid of her own shadow, but for that, Trent blamed her parents.  Well, Grandfather blamed them anyway and that was a good enough reason for Trent to feel the same.

My parents are angry with me.

Cecy had a small doll clutched in her hand, likely a gift from Mr. Okey’s Toy Shoppe that had been purchased by Grandfather on his last trip to London.

Before she had come to Crossing Hill, Cecy hadn’t owned any toys.  Or books or clothes or anything that a young girl of some social standing should possess.  Or much of anything really.  She did now, though, and Grandfather was determined to give Cecy what he could while he could.  Something about a debt owed to Cecy’s grandfather, which Trent didn’t really understand, but it sounded pretty important.

Yeah, well, I’m not.  He reached out and took her small hand in his.  Yes, she was a girl and yes, she was a child, but something about that simple contact made Trent feel better.  Less alone.  He might be older than she was, but he was still just as alone in this world.  One could be alone even while surrounded by people.  What are you doing?

She gestured to the paintings on the wall high above her.  I like to look at the paintings.  I like to look at the real ladies in their dresses.  The ones that aren’t like me.  She sighed.  I wish I was a lady though.

Trent could tell she was trying not to cry.  Cecy never cried.  No matter what.  She might be afraid, but she refused to show any kind of weakness.

Looking up at the paintings that Cecy was staring at, Trent sighed in annoyance.  This was a topic they had covered before.  For reasons Trent didn’t quite understand, Cecy wasn’t a lady.  At least not the same way that he was a lord.  She didn’t have a title, and her parents always told her that the life depicted in those paintings was beyond her unless she married well.  Married a title, actually.

Trent didn’t understand why.  Grandfather had commissioned a famous artist to paint those scenes.  They were hardly random.  They were all depictions of life here at Crossing Hill.  So, if Cecy stayed?  Wouldn’t she have that life too?  Even if she wasn’t a lady?  It made sense to Trent.  After all, Grandfather didn’t treat Cecy any differently than he did Trent – as if she was a part of the family.  Because as far as Trent and Grandfather were concerned, she was part of the family.

Except that Cecy wasn’t staying here at Crossing Hill.  She was leaving for India soon.  Trent didn’t like that idea any more than Cecy did.  Cecy was fragile.  He supposed that was the right word.  India would only make things worse.

But you really wanted to go look for kittens, right?  Cecy adored kittens, almost more than anything else.

Cecy’s foot began to tap wildly and Trent knew she was going to lie to him.  Cecy was a terrible liar, and yet, she always tried.  Especially when she didn’t want anyone to go to any bother on her behalf or notice she was there.

No.  Her foot tapped faster and she looked away.

Ce.  Come on.  This is me.  Trent.  You can tell me the truth.

Slowly she let out a breath in a very adult way and looked at him.  This time, her eyes were clear and full of hurt mixed with disappointment.  Far too adult for the child she really was.

I did want to see the kittens, but Papa will be even more upset if I go outside.  This isn’t my home.  I’m not allowed.  If I break the rules, we’ll hafta leave.  She paused.  And I’ll get another beating because our leaving will be my fault.

First, no one is going to beat you.  Not while I’m here.  Second, it’s my home and I say you can go.  Once more, Trent grew angry with Cecy’s parents.  Who blamed their child if they had to move?  Who beat their child for such trivial things?  Better yet, why did they have to move so often?  Feeling both furious and indignant on her behalf, he held out his hand.  In fact, I’ll take you to see the kittens myself.  That way, no one can get mad.  I made the decision and took you outside.

For a moment, Trent thought she was going to say no.  Cecy often did.  She hated calling attention to herself.  Then, he saw something cross her face.  Something that looked a bit like defiance.

He saw that stubborn streak in her on occasion, something that said the adult Cecy – when she finally arrived at adulthood – wouldn’t be quite as quiet and shy – or afraid – as she was now.  Not as easily pushed around.  Trent hoped that was the case because after she left here?  Who knew if there would be anyone around to help her or watch out for her the way he did?  He didn’t like that idea, though, so he stopped thinking about it and hoped that it would go away.

Okay.  Finally, Cecy stepped fully into the hallway and Trent was surprised to notice that she was taller than she had been before.  She wasn’t as tall as he was, of course, but she wasn’t far behind.  Let’s go.

Lacing his fingers through hers, Trent led Cecy down the back stairs and out towards the barn where there were, he knew, at least two new litters of kittens.  He couldn’t do anything else for this little girl who was quickly becoming his friend, but he could take her to see kittens.  It wasn’t much, but it was something he wanted to do.  For her.  And just for her.

And Trent was careful not to question the reasons why.

Chapter One

Late February 1821

Crossing Hill

Oxfordshire

From the other side of the enormous mahogany desk, Lord Trenton Pike, the future Viscount Marshfield, glared at his grandfather, Thomas Pike, the current Viscount Marshfield, though Trent knew his furious expression would not change anything.  Once his grandfather’s mind was made up, that was the end of the discussion.  He was a stubborn old man in that regard, which was something that Trent understood all too well.  After all, he was much the same.

Again, you expect me to do what, exactly?  Because really, Trent wanted clarification on this point.  At least more clarification than he had already received.

After all, he had been summoned home to England from the Continent, and the delectable Lady Valentina, a widowed Italian contessa who thoroughly enjoyed fine wine, good food, and rousing bedsport – not necessarily in that order – for what his grandfather had termed a very good reason.  Thus far, Trent had yet to hear anything that qualified as a very good reason at any point during this conversation.

Or during the conversations that had taken place over the last several weeks for that matter.  Trent supposed it was to his grandfather’s credit that the older man hadn’t sprung this rather daunting task on his grandson the very moment he walked through the front doors of Crossing Hill.  Looking back now, however?  The hints about what was to come had abounded, but Trent himself had been oblivious to them.

He had been oblivious mostly because he was still thinking about Valentina’s naked breasts and how lovely they were to look upon, not to mention how delightful they were to suckle.

That had always been one of his greatest faults, Trent decided.  He was too easily distracted by a lovely woman in either need or distress, and far too easily distracted by a lovely woman with questionable morals and a willingness to share her body.  That was why he hadn’t seen this request coming, even though he probably should have.

No.  He should have seen this coming.  Without a doubt.  No probably about it.

Too much thinking with his cock and not with his head, he supposed.  Not that such a thing was new, of course.  Trent hadn’t earned his nickname as the Lothario of London because he excelled at keeping his trousers buttoned.

Cecy needs a husband.  A good husband.  Not some rogue or rake or thief who would only steal her inheritance or abuse her.  She has endured enough of that, as you well know.  She requires a man of quality.  Thus far, I have failed to find such a gentleman for her, but you, my boy?  I think you are up to the task.  Quite splendidly, in fact.  Consider this an extension of your old childhood friendship, if you will.  His grandfather sat back in his comfortable leather chair and crossed his arms over his chest the way Trent had seen him do many times over the years.  It was yet another sign that the old man’s mind was made up and would likely not be changed.

But you do not wish for me, specifically, to fill the role of her husband, correct?  Trent drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.  The very idea of marriage sent shivers up his spine, and he wished to be very clear about that part.

His grandfather shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Trent’s growing ire and discomfort, not to mention his wish to be any place other than here.  I hadn’t planned on that outcome, no, but if you would like to…

No!  Absolutely not!  Trent could not stress his position on the matter strongly enough.  It is bad enough that I have had to leave my lov…er, life back in Italy!  I refuse to be shackled with a bride the moment I step back on English soil!

Well, as I said, it is not as if I had planned that outcome anyway.  Once more, his grandfather shifted in his seat, and immediately, some of Trent’s anger cooled and the internal castigation began.  

God, he was a fool, not to mention something of a selfish bastard as well.  His beloved grandfather was clearly in pain and did not deserve to be shouted at in this fashion.  Especially not by Trent who owed this man his very existence.  Without his grandfather, Trent would have been lost to the fates – or worse, dead – a very long time ago.  

No, if anyone deserved to face Trent’s anger, it was Miss Worth and her refusal to accept any of the six previous suitors she had been presented with over the last few months.  Not his grandfather.

Since when had she grown so stubborn?  Then again, even as a child, Miss Cecilia Worth, who had ended up as grandfather’s ward through a bizarre twisting of circumstances, hadn’t always done as she was told.  The stubbornness had been there.  She had just kept it in check, unless, of course, there were kittens involved.

Just then, an image of a terrified Cecy hiding in the third-floor hallway after a particularly brutal beating – refusing to cry and just a smidge defiant even though she was terrified down to her very soul – flashed through Trent’s mind.

At that, Trent tried to forget about the beatings.  Remembering them – and how Cecy had suffered them in stoic silence – would only make him more likely to give in to his grandfather’s request.  Most likely out of a sense of guilt, if nothing else.  And Trent didn’t want to give in.  He wanted to forget about Cecy Worth and return to Italy.  As soon as possible.

Except that Grandfather needed Trent’s help.  And much as Trent might desire Lady Valentina and her delectable breasts, he loved his grandfather more.

Are you well, Grandfather? Trent asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice.  Should I ring for tea?  He glanced at the large wall of windows that dominated the right side of Thomas Pike’s study.  Outside, icy rain still pelted the windows just as it had since the moment Trent arrived here at the family’s ancestral country seat.  Close the drapes, perhaps?  After all, it is long past sundown and the air has a damp chill.  It is drafty and I don’t want you to become ill.

Instead, Trent’s grandfather shook his head and snorted a bit indignantly.  No, my boy, but thank you.  There is nothing modern medical science can do for me, I’m afraid, and I’d prefer to see the rain from right here while I’m still able to move about.

Still… Trent tried again, but once again, his grandfather shushed him just as he had when Trent had been a child.

No.  This time, his grandfather glanced back at the custom-built, wheeled chair that he used to move about Crossing Hill these days.  I am well enough for now and nothing will ever fix my legs.  At least not in my lifetime.  He turned back to Trent, pinning him with a hard look.  "However, this is precisely why I summoned you home, my boy.  All of those years gallivanting about Europe with the trollops is quite long enough.  I knew precisely what you were about over there, for I have my sources of information.  Do not imagine otherwise.  Still, I allowed it while I was able to manage on my own.  But now it is time for that kind of thing to end.  The estate needs tending in ways I can no longer manage.  We need you here, Trent.  I need you.  I can no longer do what I once did."

Trent closed his eyes.  This was exactly why he had stayed on the Continent for so long.  To avoid this very moment.  He wasn’t averse to responsibility.  In fact, he had known since he was a child that one day, he would assume his grandfather’s title.  He just didn’t want that responsibility yet.  He was still young and there were still so very many lovely willing widows and courtesans to sample.  In time, perhaps as he approached forty, that would be the right time to settle down.  But not now.

Except that now?  With his grandfather ailing more than Trent had previously known?  He no longer had a choice.  The sight of his grandfather’s thin, spindly legs that had already begun to twist inward, distorting their natural shape nearly made him ill.  Over the years, a veritable army of physicians had come and gone through the halls of Crossing Hill, as well as the family’s townhome in London.  Some, like the famed French physician Dr. Landré-Beauvais, had, indeed, seen this condition before, though it had no real name and no known cause for that matter.

Despite the various physicians’ skills, none of them could cure what ailed his grandfather.  All anyone knew was that the pain that began in his joints and radiated outward through his body was becoming worse as the years passed, bringing the once strong and powerful viscount to his knees.

I return home at least twice a year.  Trent decided to try one last time to change his grandfather’s mind.  Not that such tactics had worked the last nine times he had tried them.  Still, a gentleman could hope.

Trent had a life in Italy.  Well, he had a lover, at any rate, and something that one might term a life of relative leisure.  And he enjoyed them both rather thoroughly.  He enjoyed being able to come and go as he